Class_?S3^3/ Book_Aa?zri„ Copyright N^_!l^Z_ COPYRIGHT DEPOSm FUGITIVE POEMS BY SELMA WARE PAINE fuBftARY of CONlfiEsil two Copies RBC^ivec; llP'^'^.co.* DEC 20i90? » ' -^ ^^' 1CLASS4 nX' iM Copyrighted 1907 BY SELMA WARE PAINE IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER MARY J. PAINE AND FOR MY OWN DEAR CHILDREN ALBERT AND MARTHA IT IS MY PLEASURE TO GIVE PERMANENT FORM TO THESE VERSES OF AUNT SELMA L. A. C. CHRISTMAS 1907 THE LEGEND OF THE MOSQUE OF SAINT SOPHIA When Moslem hordes Byzantium sacked They everywhere the city racked. Not even Saint Sophia stayed Their cruel, all destroying raid. The sacred walls no shelter gave; They rode their chargers up the nave And trampled down with iron hoof The people gathered 'neath the roof. And yet, in spite of startled cry, The shout of angry foemen nigh, The ring of consecrated stones From horses' feet, the dying moans, — The priest, who at the altar stair Had just begun to chant his prayer, — Still chanted on as calmly there As of the horrors unaware. 1 THE LEGEND OF THE MOSQUE OF SAINT SOPHIA In tranquil voice, devout and clear, With not a shade of haste or fear, He said the holy Catholic Mass. When closer yet, the horde drew near He did not seem to see or hear Until they pressed at left and right And quenched the candles in his sight ; And then he turned to where was spread The sacrament. He took the bread, He held the wine above his head, And with a look sublime that said "Christ's servant never yet has fled," He walked with firm and equal tread The only open way. It led To solid minster wall. And lo, As once of old the sea did know To ope a way for Israel's host And close again, the people crossed, So now the wall did part in twain. Receive the priest and close again. While e'en the Moslems paused to hear THE LEGEND OF THE MOSQUE OF SAINT SOPHIA From just behind the walls anear A tranquil voice, devout and clear, With not a shade of haste or fear Repeat the holy Catholic Mass. Stern Islam now the minster ruled And all the conquered building schooled To speak its mandates. Much they burned And when they marked the altar turned To Christ's Jerusalem its face. They tore it rudely from its place And made it look to Mecca. Still, Listening oft against their will The very workmen could but hear From just behind the wall anear A tranquil voice, devout and clear Repeat the holy Catholic mass. And yet behind the wails, they say, The priest imprisoned, waits the day That brings the end of Moslem sway. And now at times they hear the tone THE LEGEND OF THE MOSQUE OF SAINT SOPHIA Of his devotions through the stone. The legend cries with prophet voice "That da}' will come. Let man rejoice! And then the walls will part in twain, The faithful priest come out again. Within his hand will be the bread ; He'll hold the wine above his head, And climb with firm and equal tread The altar stairs, to finish there As he began, his chanted prayer. In tranquil voice, devout and clear, With not a shade of haste or fear, He'll end the holy Catholic Mass. TO AN INVETERATE DREAMER If your castle in Spain were firm on the plain, And you dwelt in its beautiful halls; If its fountain of youth were playing in truth And the light of your dreams on its walls : — What then would you do with the hours as they flew In your beautiful castle in Spain? Alas, you would yearn from the beauty to turn To the pleasure of buildmg again Another fair castle in Spain, Another fair castle in Spain! LIMITS What are these bounds I cannot overpass, As soft as breath, invisible as air, And yet as strong as walls of triple brass? My effort an}' glorious height would dare, My thought, fleet-footed, fear no distant goal, Did not the bounds confront them unaware. Then thus to me replies the over soul, "Behold the rushing waves that seek the strand; Each farther up, successive surges roll, And prone and unresisting lies the land — When lo, the tide is turned, the waves disperse. Before each finite power its limits stand. It is the order of this universe." The order of the universe must be To keep us humble to Divinity. Lest, ere it has been fired, the clay Should to the shaping Potter say "I stand alone;" and fall to dust away. IF I WERE YOU If I were you, if I were you, My little child with eyes so blue, So love enfolded, free from care. Of evil yet so unaware — No tear should e'er mine eye bedew. I'd dance and sing the daylight through, And gather flowerets where they grew, As if I knew the time were rare If I were you. But yet my foolish thought I rue. The time were over if you knew. With childish years the heart must pair, A shattered toy would mean despair To break my heart with weeping, too, If I were you. MY DREAM I had a dream, and it was sweet. I saw a soul and body part, And ere the spirit spread its wings To rise in glad etherial flight, He turned his radiant face and stooped And kissed the body where it lay. He had the look of one who sees Some precious gift outworn, at last, Yet dear to him for memory's sake. He did not call it "prison house," Nor utter one reproachful word, But softly said "It served me well. It gave me feet to run m}' ways; It gave me hands to work my will; It gave me eyes to see with joy 9 10 MY DREAM The beauty of the outer world That holds the meaning of the Lord. And as the spirit hovered there, His tender reminiscent smile Illum-ed the impress he had left Upon the pallid face beneath Until it, also, seemed to smile, A moment thus, and then he spread His wings like sister bows of light. At first he slowly backward flew Then, turning, cleft the upper blue And sought the living, left the dead. DANTE, LOVER OF THE LIGHT "Shall I not everywhere enjoy the light Of sun and stars?" In exile, Dante said. Who loved the lighted tent the heavens spread; Whose friends were luminaries in the height; By light, who symboled holiness and right; Who made his angels flames and, upward led. No greater word could find at heavens head For the Eternal than — "One Simple Light." Yet Dante this who walks the thoughts of men A form of gloomy darkness from the fen Of his Inferno's black or lurid night. Oh, add the other half that, true and whole, His fame may wear the likeness of his soul. And call him Dante, Lover of the Light. 11 I DARE NOT I dare not to dull me with feasting and wine, Lest the meaning of music I should not divine; Lest beauty go by me, and I unaware; Lest fragrance unscented exhale in the air. I dare not to tarnish my thinking for fear The lilies grow pallid whenever I near. I dare not to harbor a hate at my heart Lest sunbeams that enter make haste to depart. I dare not to load me with doublings so deep, No dreams with a blessing would lighten my sleep. 12 THE RAREST DAYS. The rarest days of all the year, When wordless joy my heart beguiles, Are those when Spring in Winter's arms, New born, awakes and smiles. Though still her draping robes of snow The Winter regnant seems to wear. Behold a miracle! How soft Her light, her mist, her air! Above the earth, below the sky. From far away a sound is heard Ethereal as spirit tone — It is a herald bird. We know, perhaps, that soon again The infant Spring her eyes will close: 13 14 THE BAREST DAYS But we have seen her and are sure That while she sleeps, she grows. Such days a blissful wonder thrills My very being through and through To see the grand eternal Old Beside the eternal New. THE CAPTIVE BROOKLETS Beneath a crust at dawn of Spring The captive brooklets leap and sing; A touch of sun is all they need And lo, the prisoned streams are freed. Just how the waters feel I know For oft my thoughts are leaping so, Unuttered, captive and repressed Beneath a crust within my breast. Oh, then, a smile like touch of sun Can bid the loosened torrent run! Oh, then, a glance like arctic blast Beneath the crust can lock it fast! 15 OCTOBER October is here, October is here, The royally radiant queen of the year! Her arches are golden, her tapestries spread; Her hands are extended with bounty to shed And her smile is a glow from a loftier sphere. But what is the whisper assailing my ear? October is way to the winter so drear. The beautiful Summer is over and sped If October is here. Be silent, thou omnious whisper of fear, If shivering Winter is menacing near, By way of the Winter October was led. Rejoice in the present before it is fled. If Winter is there in the future, the dear October is here. 16 THE MORNING GLORY Oh Morning Glory, happy flower, To bloom beloved, your early hour, Then softly close your eye; And never learn the sun may beat His blessing into fiery heat Nor feel the darkness nigh. A Morning Glory child I knew; He bloomed his dewy matin through, Then quietly passed away: Nor learned how parched the earth may lie Nor that the sun deserts the sky To bring another day. 17 TO THE WOOD PEWEE ( Who bt'gan to sing his Antiimn song in June.) Oh. gentle prophet of the year's decline, Why mark so soon the shortening of the days? The blooming Summer yet has maiden ways And, see, her cheek is roseleaf, fair and fine, Her breath is fragrant with the flowering vine. Her voice is full and firm with chorused lays. Why then your sweet untimely warning raise, Your autumn strain with summer song combine? And yet an added harmony you bring. There is a message in your music laid. Could summer song its full perfection reach Without a tone from Autumn and from Spring? Of present, past and future, life is made And what is perfect has a touch of each. 18 AN EVENING FANCY When heaven holds Orion forth No belted hunter it appears; It is an instrument of light That leads the music of the spheres. From Rigel to Betelgeuse strung Across the gleaming central three, My fancy draws the shining chords Too far away for us to see. And thence the sweetest numbers swell That tune the circling nights and years, But all too grand the mighty strain To enter in at mortal ears. 19 THE JESUIT'S SPRING AT MOUNT DESERT A little spring, a little spring, So light, so slight, so frail a thing! A cup of earth the water brims Where low the sweeping swallow skims A plain by sea and peak begirt Upon the shore of Mount Desert! A little spring, a little spring. So light, so slight, so frail a thing! Yet there in ages gone — they say, The Indian quaffed — and went away The French who sought the island bay Took oft a draught — and went away. The English came with rulers' sway, And daily drank — and went away. The atom men of either race 20 THE JESUITS SPRING 21 AT MOUNT DESERT Have left behind them not a trace, Unless their dust is in the trees That deck the mountains by the seas; And yet the spring is flowing still As fresh as any new born rill, And stars in nightly passing o'er Salute a sister on the shore, And centuries that onward fare Familiar greet a comrade there. Thou little spring, thou little spring, Thou light, thou slight, thou frailest thing, Unfixed and formless, changing flow Of countless drops that come and go, — With power to last is thus endued The gentle, yielding, oft renewed; While force, defiant, falls a prey To foe, to waste, to slow decay. WHERE EARTH AND HEAVEN MEET See yonder, radiant, soft and still The sky is resting on a hill, And I will speed with eager feet To where the earth and heaven meet. I run, I run, till set of sun — No nearer I when day is done — I run, I run, 'till dawn is gray — But heaven is just as far away. Wait, little man, nor waste thy breath, An angel comes, the angel of death; And he will bear thee, strong and fleet, To where the earth and heaven meet. 22 THE DUAL THE EVIL SPIRITS The Dual is doubting, Is discord, is combat, Unholy, unwhole; Is labor, unrest. The Dual is tempter. The Dual is evil Disrupting the soul; Defying the blest. THE GOOD SPIRITS The Dual is union The Dual is music. Conjoining aright. Is marriage accord. The sun, it is dual With love and with wisdom With heat and with light. Is dual the Lord. THE ANGELS The Dual outgoeth And lo, is the trine, The one, the eternal, The very Divine. 23 I AM NOT MY OWN. Three things that repose not; The river in flowing, The coming and going Of breathing and heart. The river it knows not, But, leaping or gliding, Obeys to the guiding That made it to start. My heart and my breathing Not needing my heeding, So follow the leading With which they began. I list to the seething At night, and the beating; 24 I AM NOT MY OWN 25 "The shuttle is fleeting" I say, "with my span, Is weaving the veiling My spirit is given To carry, unriven, From cradle to tomb. No stitch will be failing; I'll lay me to sleeping. The Weaver is keeping His hand on the loom." SUGGESTED VERSES Impotent pieces in the game He plays Upon this checker-board of nights and days, Hither and thither moves and checks and slays And, one by one, back in the closet lays. The ball no question makes of ayes and noesj But right and left as strikes the Player goes And he that tossed it down into the Field He knows about it all — He knows — He knows. O, Thou, who man of coarser earth didst make And even with Paradise devise the snake; For all the sin wherewith the face of man Is blackened, man's Forgiveness give and take. The Ruhriyat of Omar Khayyam, Who didst with Paradise devise the snake, Of man the gratitude unmeasured take That with tempter Thou didst give the choice To heed or resist him and forsake. 26 27 SUGGESTED VEBSES For what were life but victory to win, Or virtue but the conqueror of sin? Or what were light but triumph over dark, Or death, but birth to seeds of life within? Or what were man, if in an endless round Of equal happiness his days were found? A babe in arms fed on a pap of bliss, Or beast erect in silken fetters bound. Aye then, not now, impotent pieces played; Aye then, not now, the ball whose course is made. Thou who with Paradise didst form the snake O'er snake and man Thy love and law are laid. TERZA RIMA Thou, Terza Rima, never art completed. No circled sonnet thou, in one compounding Thy sense and music duly mixed and meted, Within itself, itself so sweetly rounding. Thou rather art a jeweled chain. Behind thee Thou ever, though in concord so abounding. Dost leave a waiting link of rhyme to bind thee; And whereso'er thy lovely way may wander, Before, there waits another link to find thee. O, Terza Rima, happily I ponder How truly thus our tale of life thou chimest It, too, awaits completed rhyming yonder As time into eternity thou rhymest. 28 L'ART POUR L'ART! The casket for the casket, And not to hold the gem? The casket for the ruby, The ring, the diadem. Yet make it very royal And golden if you will; But let it shrine a jewel More rare and royal still. So be your poem, dearest, A casket that is wrought With noble art of wording For gems of love and thought. 29 FAME Oh, what is fame! A sweet acclaim When those we love exalt our name, Or hear the praise that others raise, Or see our bays. But what is fame! An echo tame, Though laurel wreaths our temples frame. With those we love no longer near. There's none to hear. 30 OLD BOOKS A thresher prime is father Time, When harvest loads his wain He beats the hollow husks aside, And hoards the golden grain. A winnower is father Time, The chaff he blows away. The sweetened seed he treasures up For many a year and day. Oh, very wise is father Time, His flail is tried and true! I love the garnered pile of books He's winnowed through and through. 31 RONDEL DE CHARLES D'ORLEANS Le temps a laissi^ son manteau De vent, de froidure et de pluie; Et s'est vestu de broderie De soleil, luisant, cler et beau. II n'y a beste ni oiseau Qu 'en son jargon ne chante ou crie: Le temps a laissi^ son manteau De vent, de froidure et de pluie. Riviere, fontaine et ruisseau Portent en livr^e jolie Gouttes d'argent d'or favrerie; Chacun s'abille de nouveau. Le temps a laissi^ son manteau De vent, de froidure et de pluie. 32 RONDEL. Translation The weather now has laid aside Its coat of wind and cold and rain; Has clothed itself with robes again Embroidered and in sunshine dyed. No beast or bird that has not tried In its own tongue to sing or plain; The weather now has laid aside Its coat of wind and cold and rain. The fountain, brook and river wide To wear a livery are fain Of silver drops and jewelled train. Each man in new attire has vied. The weather now has laid aside Its coat of wind and cold and rain. 33 SONNET Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voj^age, Ou, comme cestui la, qui conquit la toison, Et puis est retourn^, plein d'usage et raison, Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son age! Quand revoiray-je, helas! de mon petit village Fumer la chemin^e, et en quelle saison Revoiray-je le clos de ma pauvre maison Qui m' est une province, et beaucoup davantage! Plus me plaist le sejour qu'ont basti mes ayeux Que des palais remains le front audacieux; Plus que le marbre dur me plaist I'ardoise line; Plus mon Loire gaulois que le Tybre latin, Plus mon petit Lyr6 que le mont Palatin Et plus que I'air marin la douceur angevine. Joachim du Be II ay 34 SONNET. Translation How happy is the man whose journey safely ends And as Ulysses once, or he that won the fleece, Experienced and wise, returns to live at peace. The remnant of his age to pass among his friends! My little native town, alas," when shall I see Its smoking chimneys rise, when shall I look again Upon the close that holds my dwelling poor and plain. Which all a province is, and more than that,- to me! More pleasing is to me my fathers' quiet home Than the audacious front of palaces at Rome; More pleases me the slate, than the hard marbles do. Than Tiber's Latin stream more dear my Gallic Loire, My little Lyr6 than Mount Palatin by far And more than the sea air the sweetness of Anjou. 35 HOME TO MOTHER Thy life gave light, dear mother, as thy face. The love and truth that lit thine eye and brow Are like a sun unsetting to me now Whose rays illuminate each darkened place, And would, within, unworthiness erase, And all with light's nobility endow. At thought of thee our kneeling spirits bow In gratitude to the Celestial Grace. Oh, gift of God to man that clearest shows Of the Divine Paternal Image trace Is parent love. In mother love it grows And what it has received anew bestows Until it binds by love the human race, — And on to heavenly transformation goes. 39 DEAR FATHER'S EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY Four score, four score! The darling years I love them everyone, From that which kissed his baby face To that which crowns it with the grace Of eighty summers' sun; And strengthens it with eighty times A winter's bracing cold. How faint the traces of the care, The labor and the sorrow there The Psalmist has foretold. "What is the mystery," they ask. "Why does he not grow old?" 40 BEAR FATHER'S EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY 41 And speak of temperance, a heart Of happy cheer, and so a part, — A little part, is told. They say with nature hand in hand He gained her pristine wealth, In that he balanced legal toil With loving labor on the soil. His garden mine of health. But still the master mystery The words do not define For that which drives the shadows hence Is his abiding confidence In Providence Divine. If sorrow rises in his cup. He knows it should be quaffed. He drinks it, names it not, forgets And, hoping unabated, sets His lips to sweeter draught. 42 DEAR FATHERS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY Sustaining still his happy home, And turning eager glance On thoughts and deeds of humankind He helps with word and pen and mind And joys in man's advance. So lightening life for all around By humor's happy play, And working daily as in youth And following his idea of truth He goes his blessed way. AUGUST i6, 1892. THE GOLDEN WEDDING ODE The centuries have flown like flocks of birds Since Sappho sang her spirit into words, And yet the ages waft her message through And are the carrier doves from her to you, — To you, my darling parents, therefor hear What Sappho sends to greet your golden year. Oh, learn from voice sublime And wonder sweet with time, A meaning of this day that holds so much. Yes, hear! "Gold is the child of Zeus rust can- not touch." Let baser metals yield to slow decay; The tooth of rust through iron gnaw its way, And cutting, cutting, let it blunt the pride Of noble steel that cuts for all beside. Let lofty bronze record heroic deeds 43 44 THE GOLDEN WEDDING ODE While greenish rust upon the record feeds; — But let the royal gold Its own forever hold, And guard supreme the symbol's holy use; For rust can never touch it. 'Tis the child of Zeus. And so when wedded love has golden grown No rust can touch it. 'Tis of Zeus the own. The stream of years has only washed away Whatever dross at first about it lay. In furnace fire of life it has been tried, And from alloy it has been purified. Triumphant as the sun, Undimmed, eternal one It shines unto the new from out the old, From Zeus to New Jerusalem with streets of gold. JULY 9, 1890. THE PRAYER OF A THIRSTING SOUL BY MARY J. PAINE The little flower, true to Thy bidding, Drinks in at night Thy gift of dew; So grant it, Lord, that I, too, waiting May fill my soul from Thee anew. So help me, Lord, with cheerful trusting To do Thy will whate'er it be; That I may find my heart, when thirsting, Filled with the needed dew from thee. EVER LISTENING BY MARY J. PAINE Listening, listening, ever listening For the quiet breathing near; For the gentle Voice saying "I am here." 45 AT MOUNT HOPE All loved her. E'en the locust bends Above her grave with loving grace: And see, a hovering bough descends And parts in twain, as hands that bless Or strive to touch with a caress The name the granite letters trace! So tenderly if nature yearns, Oh, mother of the heavenly heart. Where but thy dust to dust returns, How must thou be at home above There where the very life is love, — For love thou wast and ever art! iqo2 46 ANEMONE AT MOUNT HOPE Full fifty years ago beneath this mound, That swells so softly from the sloping ground It seems that nature must herself have made, The fairest infant of an hour was laid. And see, upon the grave the wind flower blows. Most delicately exquisite that grows! Anemone, no chiseled word could tell The story of the little life so well. Thou fleeting flower of passage, stainless star That strains its stem to ride the wind afar; And ever upward turns a longing face To greet its kindred stars in upper space! How like the soul that left the form below, And yet unlike! It had no need to know An earthly blooming, and was free to rise To meet its angel kindred in the skies. 47 AUGUST IN OUR GARDEN The air is full of twittering of birds, The harsh imperious calling of the young, The ceaseless chatter of the swifts on high. — The air is full? But hark an undertone The swarming of "innumerable bees" Around the woodbine blossoms overhead. — Yet is the air not full, for now I hear The softer murmer of the summer breeze Which rises, falls, and yet is ever there. And so, methinks, the hearing perfect keen Might pierce through underlying depths of sound And depths and depths, until it reached at last The great infolding silence that has held The world since time began and still will hold — Primeval silence mother of all sound. 48 SWEET PEA As if you were only alight, With pinions of pink and of white Outspread for aerial flight, Sweet Pea! As if, when you found you were tied And freedom to fly was denied, Your longing in fragrance you sighed To be free. Yet always alert for a spring And buoyant with hope that a swing At last might unloosen your wing, Sweet Pea. And such was a life that I knew; As longing and buoyant it grew. As fettered and fragrant as you. Sweet Pea! 40 THANKS TO THE LARCH Like a syncopated music Oh, my Larch, how sweet the way Thou dost bear October's golden Into the November gray! For it is by lappings over Bridging change to sight and sound, That we pass in circled rhythm Through the year's unbroken round. 60 HOME I stood beneath Saint Peter's mighty dome And called myself too happy that at last My living feet had come where in the past My wistful longings oft had flown from home; That fair as fancy pictured her was Rome Her flower of art as beautiful and vast; That with the feelings that my dreams forecast I now could read the world's historic tome. I called myself too happy — but my thought (So quickly that I had no time to chide) E'en at this hour of fortune's utmost grace, From all the beaut}' round me sprang aside My distant home beyond the ocean sought To rest upon a dear remembered face. 61 TO A VERY HAPPY CHILD Oh, happy baby boy, In verse could you express One half your perfect joy. Your radiant happiness, All poems ever made By any bard of old Beside that verse of yours Would be but poor and cold. Oh, happy baby boy, If you could put in songs One half the perfect joy That to your smile belongs, The masters of the world, From Palestrina down Would to your melodies Award the victor's crown. 52 TO A VERY HAPPY CHILD 63 Could singer take a draft From out that well of joy You drink from every day, Oh, happy little boy, And could he, also, be Endued with highest power To sing it truly — then — Aye, in that very hour The listening world would lie, Enraptured, at his feet, Holding breath to hear A strain so heavenly sweet. BIRTHDAY GREETING Twenty-one. Twenty-one! Something ended, something done, Something only just begun! Smile upon it, rain and sun. For we watch it, and we love it And we dream it fruited o'er. And we say "May heaven bless it From the root to seeded core!" 54 BIRTHDAY SONG To tune of Auld Lang Syne Each kindly friend, your singing lend, The new is at the door: For every birthday is a birth Beginning living o'er. Beginning living o'er, my friends, Beginning living o'er! For every birthday is a birth Beginning living o'er! But do not yet the past forget; Before he turns and hies. Say "Leave your lesson, friend" — and lo, He blesses ere he flies. He blesses ere he flies, my friend , He blesses ere he flies! Say, "Leave your lesson friend," and lo, He blesses ere he flies. 55 56 BIRTHDAY SONG For what is best must bear the test Of old and new combined. The old must give the seed; the new The ray, the rain, the wind. The ray, the rain, the wind, my friend; The ray, the rain, the wind. The old must give the seed, the new The ray, the rain, the wind. Then singing, we will sow the seed Together, comrades mine; And hope the years will grow for us A strong and fruitful vine; A strong and fruitful vine, my friends, A strong and fruitful vine; And hope the years will grow for us A strong and fruitful vine. NEW YEAR, 1897. A PRAYER Oh, give us, Lord, the open mind To welcome truth whate'er it be; But vision keen to separate The error that is not of Thee. And give us, Lord, the open heart For high and lowly, slave and free; But keep it closed to any love Not in accord with that to Thee. And give us. Lord, the open soul. — What most it needs we cannot see, But make it from obstruction clear A channel for the life from Thee. 59 SINGING PRAISE ALWAYS And shall I praise Thee only where I see Thy blessings smile, And not where altered blessings wear Misfortune's mien awhile? Oh, no: for praise can pierce disguise And praise can understand. And praise can feel the love that lies In sorrow's clasping hand. And praise has found the true relief And knows the golden lore; However great the cause for grief. For gratitude is more. And resignation well can bear And prayer can lift on high, 60 SINGING PRAISE ALWAYS 61 But praise can better change our care And make it fructify. Then praise the Lord with thought and deed Nor wait till blessings call For those we neither hear nor heed May be the best of all. "I shall be satisfied when I awake With Thy likeness." (Psalm xvii: 15.) When I awake; ah, yes, when I awake! For now I wander in a troubled dream Among deceitful shows that only seem To be the goods whose borrowed forms they take. And so I follow wealth as it would slake My longing; — good report, as if a beam Of praise could light my darkness; — beauty's gleam As it were saving grace, — till I awake. Then open. Lord, these eyes so slumber-tied That I may see by truth's revealing flame What baffles any skill at words to name; The purest joy to deep content allied, The ecstasy that can with calm abide, That has Thy likeness and is satisfied. 62 "Blessed are ye that sow beside all Waters.' Isaiah xxxii: 20. What is the part of man? To sow. He cannot make the harvest grow. A little he can tend the seed, And here and there remove a weed. 'Tis God that gives the sun and rain The flower, the fruit, the seed again. - And yet whate'er the harvest yield To man the produce of the field. And in myself as small my part; I did not start my beating heart; I watch my breathing come and go; I cannot make it fast or slow. I feel the life within me swell, But how it works I cannot teU. 63 64 And yet for me these forces blend, The strength is mine to use and spend. Then help us, Lord, the fields to sow Without, within, where waters flow. If full or scant the harvest be The fruit of deeds we leave to Thee Nor send to count our profits o'er A dull anxiety before. If others reap where we have sown We glean from harvests not our own. Thou askest not from arid plain The model sheaf of ripened grain; Of feeble powers Thou askest naught Of perfect deed, of wisest thought, And knoweth well Thy guardian eye When barrens only fallow lie. And when the tardy seeds await The fitting hour to germinate. THE LORD GAVE THE WORD "The Lord gave the word; great was the company of them that published it." Psalms Ixviii : 1 1 . The Lord gave the Word; The life of man, the lettered writ, From day to day, they publish it; The circling world, the little flower, They publish it from hour to hour. The Lord gave the Word; The wrath of man, the powers of ill. They publish it against their will. Then publish it, each conscious heart. Be of its working, conscious part. The Lord gave the word. 65 THE CHAPEL IN THE HEART Thrice blessdd is the man who keeps, From other things apart, A secret room, a holy place, A chapel in his heart. For there, when all the world without Grows dark upon his sight, He may retire and find within His chapel full of light: And there, when jangling sounds of earth Fall discords on his ear. He can repair and, undisturbed, The eternal music hear: 60 THE CHAPEL IN THE HEART And there he hastens, when the world Loud praises, to confess, With sad and true humility, His own unworthiness: And there, when with a golden snare Temptation hems his way. He quickly turns, with trembling lips And bated breath to pray. Thrice blessed is the man who keeps From other things apart. This sacred room, this holy place, This chapel in his heart. A SONG IN THE NIGHT At dead of night my little bird, My prisoned bird of bounded wing, By some infrequent feeling stirred, A sudden song will sing. I think it lightly sleeps the while, For slumber seems to sift away The shriller tones that would beguile In its diurnal lay. And he who lies awake and spins A web of care, must stop to mark What charm the smitten silence wins, How tender grows the dark; And recognize, although annoy Or care, or grief the heart immerse, A great simplicity of joy Is in the universe. 68 RANDOM THOUGHTS Do not disdain the royal wine although From vessel coarse of earthenware it flow: Nor scorn the truth, whatever it may be, From any lips that offer it to thee. The body's role; To serve the soul. If it usurp and master — What disaster! If the soil of the soul is fallow and fit, The suitable seed will be wafted to it. "Which love is the better the old or the new?" The question is strange. As every morn The freshness and beauty of earth are reborn 69 RANDOM THOUGHTS ■ aim of the air, in the light, in the dew;- very morning, the old love is new. Perfect joy has aftermath, Utilizing its excess. When in conscious quietude Rapture rests to happiness. The face that here belongs to me Everyone but me can see. Have I other things my own That to all but me are known? Who ties a knot and thinks thereby How he the knot at need untie; Who, when he lights a fire provides To check it, if it overrides; Who, angry, recognizes it And quickly uses curb and bit; — He does not lose in life the race By backward steps he must retrace. BANBOM THOUGHTS 71 TEARS The tears of grief are tempest streams That scar the beaten earth with seams; Or tears of grief are clearing showers. The tears of joy refresh the flowers. The tears that noble actions start Unfold a rainbow in the heart. A grief did Youth betide, He rent his garments, weeping sore And laid him in the dust and cried "I never shall be happy more." A sorrow came to Age He slowly bowed his stricken head As do the winds when tempest rage, "This, too, will pass awa)^" he said. Freest things in earth and sky Birds and thoughts unfettered fly Swiftly sweeping, low and high, Fleetly fleeting far and nigh. 72 RANDOM THOUGHTS Give me thoughts that upward spring Like the birds that soar and sing And to earth on homeward wing Strength and joy from heaven bring. JUST ENOUGH Between Too Little and Too Much Just Enough suspended swings If we give it but a touch Lightly backward, forward springs. Yet, undaunted by rebuff, Hope is always trying still To catch and hold the Just Enough And believes at last she will. SQUIBS THE SONG OF SUNDRY FREETRADERS "Ah, fredome is a nobill thing," As well the poet sang of old; And trade should be as free as air. This is the principle I hold. By name and by conviction free, A staunch freetrader will I be: — But — kindly Congress — just for me Protect m}^ little Industrie. If freedom is a noble thing Exceptions prove the rule they say, To prove so good a rule I will The part of an exception play. Free trade, free trade for each and all Who live upon this earthly ball But — kindly Congress — just for me Protect mj little Industrie ! 75 LIGHTNESS OF HEART Lightness of Heart! Lightness of Heart! Why have you left me, Lightness of Heart? In the morning of life we were seldom apart, You and I, Lightness of Heart. But now I must call you and bid you to stay, And often I call when you do not obey. Why do you leave me. Lightness of Heart? Then Lightness of Heart, pirouetting, replies; "I am merry and thoughtless. I cannot abide The dull afternoon and the evening tide With its thronging of thoughts for the future and past, With its loving and longing for all that will last. There's a Gladness of Spirit, serene and more wise, Who is friendly to sunset and stars in the skies; I am fair, but they say she is fairer than I. Call her. I dance to the sunset. Good-bye." '*Oh, Lightness of Heart!" — I sigh — And turn to the beautiful sunset. "Good-bye." 76 THE DIFFERENCE There was a man, there was a man Who hated meddling so, He saw his neighbor's house burn down, And closer drew his dressing gown And let the building go. There was a man, there was a man Who always lent a hand. Whate'er his neighbor did, he'd try To have a finger in the pie. They drove him from the land. An old Diogenes remarked The difference to hit Twixt meddling when you do no good And bravely helping when you should, Requires a pretty wit. 77 THE BEAUTY LOVING MR. LEE There was a young American, His name was Mr. Lee, He went to Europe on a tour, The wonders for to see. He visited the famous spots And many a foreign view: He stood before the Stauerbach, It was the thing to do. And "Oh!" he cried in ecstacy And "Ah!" he cried in bliss, "A happy land is Switzerland To own a fall like this!" But when he turned him home and sought America once more, 78 THE BEAUTY LOVING MR. LEE 79 He found his purse was very thin, And he lamented sore. He pondered on the swiftest way His pockets to refill; Decided near Niagara Falls To build a mighty mill. And when its screaming whistle joined In great Niagara's roar And awed the smaller mills that rose Along the littered shore, He felt his pockets swell and cried "I soon can go, 'tis plain. To slake my thirst for beauty at The Stauerbach again." THE TEASING TYRANT I cannot clip the wings of fancy, So she flutters where she will; Brings me tales of fair Elysium, And I listen, listen still. Till my soul arises; "Fancy, What you tell me is not true." "I never said it was," she chuckles, And is off to pastures new. She will come again, — I know her, — Sweetly lying as before. And my soul will sit and scorn me While I listen as of yore. 80 INDEX An Evening Fancy .... 19 A Pkayeb ..... 59 At Mount Hope, All Loved Her 46 At Mount Hope, Anemone 47 A Song in the Night .... 68 August in our Garden 48 Birds and Thoughts .... 71 Birthday Greeting .... 54 Birthday Song ..... 55 Blessed are ye that Sow 68 Dante ...... 11 Ever Listening ..... 45 Fame ...... 30 Father's Eightieth Birthday 40 Home ...... 51 I Dare Not ..... 12 If I Were You ..... 8 I am not My Own . , . . 24 I Shall be Satisfied .... 62 Jesuit's Spring ..... 20 Just Enough ..... 72 L'Art pour L'Art .... 29 Legend of the Mosque of Saint Sophia 1 Lightness of Heart . , . . 76 Limits ...... 6 Morning Glory .... 17 82 INDEX 83 My Dream ..... OCTOBEK ...... Old Books ..... Random Thoughts .... Rondel — ry Charles d'Orleans Rondel — by Charles d'Orleans — Translation Praise Always ..... Sonnet — by Joachim du Bellay Sonnet — by Joachim du Bellay — Translation Suggested Verses Sweet Pea Tkrza Rima Thanks to the Larch The Beauty-Loving Mr. Lee The Captive Brooklets The Chapel in the Heart The Difference The Dual The Golden Wedding Ode The Lord Gave the Word The Order of the Universe . The Prayer of a Thirsting Soul The Rarest Days The Song of Sundry Freetraders The Teasing Tyrant To A VERY Happy Child To the Wood Pewee To AN Inveterate Dreamer . To Mother Where Earth and Heaven Meet 9 16 31 69 32 33 60 34 35 26 49 28 50 78 15 66 77 23 43 65 7 45 13 75 80 52 18 5 39 22 DEG 20 ii.