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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSET. 
 
SONG OF HAWAII 
 
 <BY 
 
 LEWIS EDWIN CAPPS 
 
 With Illustrations by the oAuthor 
 

 COPYRIGHT 1920 
 
 BY 
 
 LEWIS EDWIN CAPPS 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 FEB -7 192! 
 
 Honolulu 
 Paradise of the Pacific 
 19 2 
 
 ©CI.A608281 
 
INSCRIPTION 
 
 I have written some verses 
 
 And sonnets a few 
 And have taken some pictures, too. 
 Together perhaps they are worth your while, 
 At least you will find them new. 
 
 — The Author. 
 
To the one who has been mp constant 
 companion and co-worker — 
 And to the friends who have shared 
 with us the joys and Aloha of these 
 Paradise Islands, 
 
 this work * s lovingly dedicated. 
 
 n 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Answered 143 
 
 A Prayer 93 
 
 A Song of Hawaii 21 
 
 A Song of Hope 81 
 
 At the Ad Club in 1951 59 
 
 Bill Jones Soliloquy 133 
 
 Evolution of Gum Poon 97 
 
 Friends 112 
 
 Grey's Beach 137 
 
 In the Rice Mire 66 
 
 Jim's Pipe . -. 126 
 
 Johnny Martin 138 
 
 Kapiolani 130 
 
 Let's Make the World Better 142 
 
 Lights of Mokuleia 38 
 
 Medori 116 
 
 Mothers 100 
 
 Musume 62 
 
 My Mirror 53 
 
 Neptune 134 
 
 Night Blooming Cereus 54 
 
 Oleanders 119 
 
 Painting the Fishes 40 
 
 Peter 69 
 
 Tantalus 129 
 
 The Call 102 
 
 The Diver 65 
 
 The Flirtation 114 
 
 The Old Sea Wall 45 
 
 The Pilot , 140 
 
 13 
 
Page 
 
 The Quest of the North Wind 106 
 
 The Rice Is Ripe 70 
 
 The Surf Rider 89 
 
 The Tourist 123 
 
 The Trail 85 
 
 The Tryst 94 
 
 The Typhoon • • • • 49 
 
 To a Figure of Christ ' 50 
 
 To a Wood Lily 37 
 
 To the White Ginger 82 
 
 Waimea 120 
 
 When Evening Comes , 124 
 
 Where the Oleanders Grow 57 
 
 14 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Page 
 
 The Author's Home at Waikiki 6 
 
 The Hills and the Sky 19 
 
 Palms 21 
 
 The Palm Trees That Wave their High Heads 23 
 
 Nuuanu Pali 27 
 
 'Neath the Soft Blue Sunny Skies 31 
 
 Waikiki Beach 35 
 
 Coconut Tree by the Shore 43 
 
 Diamond Head 47 
 
 O Lamp That Shines for All 51 
 
 Night Blooming Cereus 55 
 
 Little Musume 63 
 
 Old Buffalo Grey 67 
 
 Scare-crows 70, 73, 74, 77, 78 
 
 See the Ripening Rice 71 
 
 And His Scare-crows Gay 75 
 
 From Over the Duck Ponds 79 
 
 White Ginger 83 
 
 The Trail 87 
 
 A Statue Bathed in a Whirl of Spray 91 
 
 Oh Feathered Sweethearts 95 
 
 The Breath of the South Wind 107 
 
 Rainbow Falls Ill 
 
 Medori San 117 
 
 Waimea 121 
 
 Jim's Pipe 127 
 
 A Pond of Water Lillies 131 
 
 His Face Was as Clear and as Fair 135 
 
 When Lo! From Out the Threatening Sky 145 
 
 15 
 
A ^0ttg nf ijauiatt 
 
A SONG OF HAWAII. 
 
 Let me sing you a song of a wonderful land, 
 Of the beautiful Isles of Hawaii. 
 Let me sing of a sun-kissed blue ocean that rolls, 
 And the sand and the hills and the sky. 
 
 21 
 
A SONG OF HAWAII. 
 
 Let me sing of the palm trees that wave their high heads. 
 In a welcoming, whispering nod, 
 Of the wondrous hibiscus, its glory and sweetness 
 Each day a new message from God. 
 
 2? 
 
A SONG OF HAWAII. 
 
 Let me sing of the great rugged hills, tow'ring up 
 
 Like the famous old mountains of Rome; 
 
 With their cool shady forests, their feathery ferns; 
 
 Of great earth fires that glow on a lava topped dome. 
 
 25 
 
A SONG OF HAWAII. 
 
 Let me sing of the Palis, the green sunlit valleys, 
 The clear cooling mist in the dell, 
 
 The marvelous rainbows that arch where the sun glows, 
 And oft by the moon's light as well. 
 
 26 
 
A SONG OF HAWAII. 
 
 Let me sing of the stars in an indigo sky, 
 
 Of the moon turning night into day, 
 
 With its wonderful whiteness, its crystalline brightness, 
 
 Its charm that forever will stay. 
 
 29 
 
A SONG OF HAWAII. 
 
 I would sing of a wonderful garden of flowers, 
 
 Of blossoming trees, showers of gold, pink and blue; 
 
 Of roses and orchids, and cool fragrant bowers, 
 
 Of the night blooming wonders that scarcely seem true. 
 
 30 
 
A SONG OF HAWAII. 
 
 I would sing of the wind and the waves as they roll 
 From the sea to the amber hued strand. 
 Of the silvery high flung fleecy clouds 
 That lazily drift o'er this rainbow land. 
 
 33 
 
A SONG OF HAWAII. 
 
 And there 'neath the soft, blue, sunny skies 
 Lies her glistening beach like a golden band, 
 A wedding ring for the Queen of the Seas 
 That old Neptune gave when he won her hand. 
 
 34 
 
TO A WOOD LILY. 
 
 Dear Lily, so sweet and so white and pure, 
 Peeping out from the depths of the wood; 
 How are we lifted from sordid things, 
 How much the sight of you does us good. 
 
 When we think how you spring from your humble bed, 
 
 And rise to the day so fair and white, 
 
 We must also think of our human kind, 
 
 Who are struggling up toward the Heavenly Light. 
 
 37 
 
THE LIGHTS OF MOKULEIA. 
 
 At night when the dark has settled down, 
 And the sky and the sea are calm 
 And the break of the waves on the coral bar 
 Is heard like a far off drum, 
 
 If you'll follow me to the rocky shore 
 
 On the mauka side of the bay, 
 
 We can hide for a time in the quiet night 
 
 And watch where the ghost lights play. 
 
 Where far away on the rocky slope, 
 Over Mokuleia way, 
 You may see the spirits of ancient folk 
 As they gather at close of day. 
 
 So timid were they and afraid of men, 
 These people of long ago, 
 Their spirits will only come out by night 
 When the mystical torches glow. 
 
 3S 
 
THE LIGHTS OF MOKULEIA. 
 
 Then across the bay you can see their lights, 
 Like a village beside the sea, 
 Yet if you should venture, perchance, too near, 
 Not a light would there ever be. 
 
 But silently watch when the night is dark 
 Over Mokuleia's shore 
 And the flickering gleam of the kukui torch 
 You may see as in nights of yore. 
 
PAINTING THE FISHES 
 Dedicated to Mrs. C. J. McCarthy. 
 
 I talked one day with an old, old man, 
 Who dwelt in a cavern grey. 
 And he told me a tale as old men can, 
 Of days when the gods held sway. 
 
 He told of the fight of two giants bold, 
 
 In the sea near Hawaii's shore; 
 
 How they fought for the hand of a Princess fair, 
 
 In the midst of the breakers roar. 
 
 And they fought as only a giant can, 
 'Til the beach met a crimson bay. 
 And of two who went to the fishing reef, 
 Only one giant came away. 
 
 Then Kani, great god of the ancient tribes, 
 His messengers swiftly sent, 
 Who quickly before the august throne, 
 Brought the giant for punishment. 
 
 40 
 
PAINTING THE FISHES. 
 
 Then sent him away to a hidden cave, 
 And his punishment this should be, 
 To paint the fish as they passed that way, 
 'Til the colors were gone from the sea. 
 
 'Til the red of the giant's blood was gone, 
 'Til the gold was gone from the sand, 
 'Til the blue was gone from the rolling waves, 
 And the green from the edge of the land. 
 
 And there he is now and there he will stay, 
 Unless by his skill he please 
 The gods with a painted fish, so gay, 
 Their anger it may appease. 
 
 And nobody knows where he's hidden away, 
 But it's somewhere under the sea, 
 And each fish that he paints as he works away 
 More beautiful seems to be. 
 
 41 
 
THE SKY ROCKET. 
 
 Up from the earth to the sky above, 
 High in the air where the breezes play, 
 Up o'er the houses and trees and the world, 
 Nature's sky rockets are making their way. 
 
 The stem is the fire and the leaves are the spray, 
 And the pound of the surf is the roar. 
 The sparks are the nuts as they drop away 
 From the cocoanut trees by the shore. 
 
 42 
 

THE OLD SEA WALL. 
 
 Did you ever go down by the old sea wall 
 On the beach at Waikiki, 
 And sit with a friend where the surf rolls in, 
 And the world seems glad and free? 
 
 Did you ever sit there on the old sea wall 
 And think in the sunshine clear 
 Of the storms and strife in some far off land 
 And thank your stars you were here? 
 
 Did you ever sit there on the old sea wall, 
 With your love on a moonlit night, 
 When the tide is out and the lapping waves 
 Fall soft at your feet where the sand is white? 
 
 Did you ever stand there by the old sea wall, 
 In the night when the hush comes down, 
 When the music that charms in the twilight hours 
 Is stilled and the singers gone? 
 
 45 
 
THE OLD SEA WALL. 
 
 While out on the black of the water's face 
 Close by the reef in the torch's glare 
 You could watch the sons of an ancient race 
 Patiently, silently fishing there. 
 
 Yes, the old sea wall is a marvelous place 
 And the world ere it hurries away 
 Would be better I know if an hour were spent 
 By the old sea wall at the close of day. 
 
 46 
 
THE TYPHOON. 
 
 A cold grey sky and a booming reef, 
 The moaning wind in the tree, 
 The rain and the driving spray are one 
 And his ship's on the swelling sea. 
 
 Oh, wild grey sea let the sun come back 
 Let the blue skies glint and gleam, 
 Let the ship come home with my precious one, 
 Let the storm be a passing dream. 
 
 49 
 
TO A FIGURE OF CHRIST IN A STAINED 
 WINDOW. 
 
 O Blessed tie that binds us here, 
 
 O Lamp that shines for all, 
 
 Light Thou our way, be Guide and Friend 
 
 And Shepherd kind to them that fall! 
 
 O Blessed Love that lifts us up 
 That makes our labor light, 
 Help us, we pray, to do alway 
 Good works that please Thy sight. 
 
 O Father dear, when we are come, 
 To Thy great home above. 
 We pray our sins will be forgiven 
 And washed away in love. 
 
 50 
 
MY MIRROR. 
 
 The world is a silvered glass to me, 
 When I smile all the world smiles back, 
 When I fret or frown, all the light is gone, 
 And the face of the world looks black. 
 
 When I laugh and sing all the world is gay 
 And I dance out of simple joy, 
 But I weep and mourn over deeds undone, 
 And my life is a broken toy. 
 
 So, whatever I find in Life's mirror today 
 Is the image, as you can see, 
 Of the things I am, and if Love I seek 
 It must come from the heart of me. 
 
 53 
 
NIGHT BLOOMING CEREUS 
 
 O most unseemly and ignored, 
 
 Thou twisted, spiny cactus 
 
 On the college wall 
 
 By thorny fingers held aloof 
 
 From friend and foe, 
 
 Tell me, 
 
 Dost bloom by night in modesty? 
 
 Or is't perhaps in kindliness 
 
 For cheer of those 
 
 Who miss the glories of the day? 
 
 Or yet for love 
 
 Of some, who needs must toil by night, 
 
 Dost spread thy wealth 
 
 Of ivory and gold 
 
 Beneath the stars? 
 
 54 
 
WHERE THE OLEANDERS GROW. 
 
 Oh, the fragrance and the sweetness, 
 Oh, the color and the glow, 
 How the world takes on completeness, 
 Where the oleanders grow. 
 
 Joy and brightness through the day 
 Shining from your blossoms gay, 
 As o'er Kalakaua's Way 
 You bend and blow. 
 
 Was there ever blossom dearer? 
 Lily, rose, or orchid rare? 
 Where you swing the air seems clearer 
 For your subtle fragrance there. 
 
 Reaching out upon the driveway 
 Bringing gladness to the highway, 
 Giving heart to sick and weary 
 Pink and white and red you glow. 
 
 How you take me back to childhood 
 Bringing springtime in the wildwood, 
 Odors sweet of earliest flowers 
 Freshening field and woodland bowers. 
 
 57 
 
WHERE THE OLEANDERS GROW 
 
 Visions dear of love's young hour 
 Flooding all my memory o'er. 
 Thoughts of older years you're turning 
 Back to days that come no more. 
 
 Oleander fair and constant, 
 Blooming in the moonlight clear, 
 Blessings bringing, sweets bestowing, 
 Like the sunshine spreading cheer. 
 
 Live and grow forever sweeter, 
 Summer sun and winter weather, 
 Highways — by-ways — lanes and hedges 
 Decking, scenting, bright'ning ever. 
 
 58 
 
AT THE AD CLUB IN 1951. 
 
 Hello Jack — yes, I'm back. Had a wonderful trip 
 To Mars on a beautiful light propelled float, 
 Like a section of fairyland, graceful and strong, 
 And faster by far than a plane or a boat. 
 
 Yes, a long way to go and be back in a week 
 T'would have seemed to our ancestors brave, 
 Who thought when Columbus sailed forth on a ship 
 He had gone to a watery grave. 
 
 Of course a ship then was a dangerous thing, 
 
 But we too had one very close call, 
 
 For we missed the old moon by not more than a hair, 
 
 And it seemed for a time we should fall. 
 
 Some danger there must be, the service is new, 
 But the ride was a hard thing to beat. 
 And the new things we saw on that planet so fair 
 You'll agree were a marvelous treat. 
 
 Oh, we shot out aloft with a buzz and a whirr 
 As the light drew our ship to the stars 
 At a speed which before only light'ning had made — 
 And ere night we had landed on Mars. 
 
 59 
 
AT THE AD CLUB IN 1 95 1 . 
 
 I can hardly portray you the beautiful trees 
 That we saw in the park as we stopped. 
 They were perfect in color, in form and in flower 
 Not a leaf nor a petal had dropped. 
 
 And the grass had been trained to grow only so high 
 
 Everywhere just as smooth as a floor. 
 
 Not a lawn mower there for it needn't be cut 
 
 It grew two inches long and no more. 
 
 And to think of a city as big as New York 
 Not a pole, not a wire east or west. 
 All the telephone service was wireless, you see; 
 Every man had a phone on his vest. 
 
 Not a big clumsy thing like we use here on earth, 
 But as small as a watch for a child. 
 And when held in the hand it would "speak" or "re- 
 ceive" 
 Over hundreds and thousands of miles. 
 
 A big central plant made electrical force 
 For the city by day and by night, 
 Casting out into space great electrical waves 
 That would later run motors and light. 
 
 60 
 
AT THE AD CLUB IN 1 95 1 . 
 
 On top of each house or some quite handy spot 
 You would find a small box like a hat, 
 For receiving the current and spreading it 'round, 
 Like the meter does here in our flat. 
 
 Yes, even the tramways, without any rails 
 And with tires like our automobiles, 
 Were running their motors by wireless, you see, 
 And there wasn't a sound from their wheels. 
 
 Just think of a land without trolleys or poles 
 Without wires — and the grass like a floor. 
 Oh the joy when you know the lawn needn't be cut 
 That the grass grows "so high," and no more. 
 
 Where the roads are as smooth as the top of your desk 
 And your auto will run without gas. 
 By touching a button, you open a box 
 And get "juice" from the air as you pass. 
 
 We ourselves have made wonderful strides in the past 
 And some day may have service as nice, 
 Just a few more improvements on things we use now 
 And we'll make this a real Paradise. 
 
 61 
 
MUSUME 
 
 O pretty little musume 
 
 With the pretty little smile, 
 Wont you come to me and teach me 
 
 To be happy for awhile? 
 Wont you bring your little obi 
 
 And your little wooden shoes 
 And tell me what it is you do 
 
 That drives away the blues? 
 Wont you let me share the sunshine 
 
 Of your little laughing eyes 
 So that I too may be happier 
 
 And healthier and wise? 
 
 62 
 
THE DIVER. 
 
 A flash of gold 
 
 A boiling surge of silver spray, 
 
 A glint of sunlight on a nymph 
 
 From Neptune's own abode beneath the sea. 
 
 A fearless plunge 
 
 From off an age old tow'ring rock 
 
 Into the breaker's heaving crest 
 
 And Neptune's daughter is at home again. 
 
 The wind may rise, 
 
 And with the rising tide, 
 
 Bring flooding seas that roll and break 
 
 Like Jove's great thunder on the mountain top. 
 
 But thundering seas and dashing spray, 
 
 To this fair bather on Hawaii's shore 
 
 Are but a welcome greeting and a magic call 
 
 To romp and play in Neptune's crystal pool. 
 
 65 
 
IN THE RICE MIRE. 
 
 Old buffalo grey 
 
 In your ancient way, 
 Bearing a burden of yesterday, 
 Patiently plodding the rice-mire through 
 Dragging a plow as they used to do. 
 
 Scolded sometimes 
 
 And urged apace, 
 By this patient son of an Orient race, 
 Who follows and guides through the tropic day, 
 Shoeless and tanned, o'er his watery way, 
 Tilling the field for the rice to be — 
 Ye are staves of life to humanity. 
 
 66 
 
PETER 
 
 Where's Peter? The cry of an anguished soul, 
 
 As night and the dark came on. 
 
 Where's Peter? She cried in her wild despair. 
 
 But the light of her life was gone, 
 
 For Peter with joy in his little heart 
 
 Had wandered away to the wood, 
 
 Where tired and sleepy he laid him down, 
 
 Little dreaming of aught but good. 
 
 Then a terrible storm came threatening down 
 
 Over all in that vast recess, 
 
 And the lightning's flash and the moaning wind 
 
 Looked destruction and death, no less. 
 
 And the searchers with lanterns and frantic cries 
 
 Rushed ever, nor stood, nor sat. 
 
 'Til sudden there came from a sheltering bush 
 
 A cry — there was Peter, her cat. 
 
 69 
 
THE RICE IS RIPE. 
 
 I 
 
 See the ripening rice, see it bend and sway, 
 Tempting the birds at the break of day; 
 While the worried rice man bangs away 
 With his noisy old gun, and shouts "Hoo-ay" 
 BANG, 
 
 "Hoo-ee, hi, hoo-ee! 
 
 Hip, hoo-ee, hoo-ay!" 
 
 / 
 
 ■A 
 
THE RICE IS RIPE. 
 II 
 
 The rice is ripe! BANG "Hoo-ee, hoo-ay!" 
 From earliest dawn till late in the day, 
 The rice man shouts his plaintive lay 
 In his struggle to keep the birds away. 
 "Hip, hoo-ee, hi, hi!" 
 BANG 
 
 "Hoo-ee, hoo-ay!" 
 
 73 
 
THE RICE IS RIPE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In his favorite pool lies the buffalo grey, 
 He has plowed the field in his queer old way 
 The coolie has planted, and soon will say 
 Make ready the floor to tread and flay — 
 BANG 
 
 "Hoo-ee, hip, hi!" 
 BANG 
 
 "Hoo-ee, hoo-ay!" 
 
 
 w 
 
 74 
 
THE RICE IS RIPE. 
 
 IV 
 
 He has faithfully tended by night and by day 
 Now the rice is ripe, and he gets his pay 
 If his frantic shouts and his scare-crows gay 
 And his trusty old gun keep the birds away. 
 "Hip, hi!" 
 BANG 
 
 "Hoo-ee, hi, hoo-ee, hoo-ay!" 
 
 77 
 
THE RICE IS RIPE. 
 
 V 
 
 So from over the duck ponds and far away, 
 Comes the coolies cry at the break of day. 
 An Orient song, in an Orient way, 
 From his age old world, he has learned to say 
 "Hip, hoo-ee, hi, hi!" 
 BANG 
 
 "Hoo-ee, hoo-ay!" 
 
 . .;.,. 
 
 78 
 
A SONG OF HOPE. 
 
 I sing, for the birds in the bright blue sky 
 Are singing of happy years, 
 And Nature is smiling with blossoming trees, 
 But mine eyes are a flood of tears. 
 
 I sing for the love that my heart has held, 
 For the love that my heart has known, 
 For love is a joy and love is a song, 
 
 But my heart is a quarried stone. 
 
 I sing, for my soul is a thing apart, 
 And the soul of me looks above, 
 Where the stars shine ever above the clouds; 
 But my life is without its love. 
 
 Yet, I sing for the hope of a life to come, 
 For a sun that is yet to shine, 
 For the Father's gift of a heavenly home, 
 For the joy which at last is mine. 
 
 81 
 
TO THE WHITE GINGER. 
 
 Oh, Ginger sweet on the mountain side, 
 So fragrant and white and pure, 
 How you lure me up on a summer's day 
 To climb the heights, and to roam the paths 
 Where the gently cooling zephyrs play. 
 
 How I love at night by the moon's soft light 
 To rest neath the sparkling sky, 
 While the odor sweet of the ginger flower 
 Takes my heart to the days gone by. 
 
 Oh Ginger flower in your quiet nook 
 Hidden sometimes like the souls of us, 
 How the world if it knew of your sweetness rare, 
 Would come to worship and cherish and love 
 The ginger blossoms on Tantalus. 
 
 82 
 
THE TRAIL. 
 
 I'd like to leave a trail on earth 
 In passing day by day, 
 That sometime might by other's help 
 Become a broader way. 
 
 A trail worn down by footprints, 
 As it were of kindly deeds; 
 Just a simple word of comfort, 
 Just a hand in time of need. 
 
 I'd like to leave a little trail 
 Of good deeds to the poor, 
 Perhaps sometime a word, to change 
 An idler to a doer. 
 
 Just one step, to do a kindness 
 For some stranger down and out, 
 Lying ill, with cares and worries, 
 Debt and hardships all about. 
 
 Just a penny to the beggar, 
 As I pass him on the road; 
 Just a step to cheer the widow, 
 Who is staggered by her load. 
 
 85 
 
THE TRAIL. 
 
 Just a few steps this or that way, 
 Cheering some who seem to fail; 
 Every simple act of kindness, 
 Widening out the narrow trail. 
 
 Just a little trail is all 
 That I can leave as I pass on, 
 But I'd like to leave such footprints 
 As might help another one 
 
 To be kinder to his fellows, 
 To more freely lend a hand, 
 'Til the trail becomes a highway, 
 Long and wide throughout the land. 
 
^Tf 5f 
 
THE SURF RIDER 
 
 (To H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, 1920.) 
 
 With body bronzed in the tropic sun, 
 Slowly the surf rider slips from the shore 
 Gliding face down on his slender board 
 Straight for the reef where the breakers roar. 
 
 And now in the tumbling tide he waits 
 While the smaller waves roll by, 
 Scorning to challenge the lesser surf 
 Choosing with only the great to vie. 
 
 But the water is swift and high and strong 
 And his board is tossed like a chip in the air 
 While the rider, quick as a lightning flash, 
 Dives for his life, nor a moment to spare. 
 
 And again he is up, and again in his place, 
 With the breakers rolling by 
 For a sportsman true is this son of Neptune, 
 With a heart that will do or die. 
 
 89 
 
THE SURF RIDER. 
 
 Like a sea-bird he rests in the far away 
 Then suddenly rises with arms outspread 
 While the spray at his feet in a silver shower 
 Curves like the wings of the gull overhead. 
 
 And out from the smother and out from the foam 
 Straight as an arrow he speeds away 
 Chased by the breaker's rolling crest, 
 A statue bathed in a whirl of spray. 
 
 Comes with the speed of an aeroplane 
 'Til the breaker sinks in a quiet tide, — 
 The surfer drops near the sandy shore — 
 Then back to the reef for another ride. 
 
 90 
 
A PRAYER. 
 
 May we forgive and so forget, 
 The hurts that some have made, 
 May we forget the little pains 
 
 That cut like dagger's blade 
 And turning thus our eyes above, 
 
 Ask God to keep us true 
 To faith and hope and kindly love 
 
 That we each day some good may do. 
 
 93 
 
THE TRYST. 
 
 Little feathered sweethearts in your leafy bower 
 By gently nodding grasses, set with many a flower, 
 On crystal waters floating, light as air, 
 To strife a stranger, as to worldly care. 
 
 How long we all for paradise like this! 
 So free to live and love in quiet bliss. 
 To have no care for some succeeding hour, 
 O feathered sweethearts in your leafy bower! 
 
 94 
 
EVOLUTION OF GUM POON. 
 
 Gum Poon was a boy over China way, 
 
 With much of work and little of play, 
 
 Till at length he grew to a man's estate 
 
 Left his Flowery Kingdom and risked his fate 
 
 In a land of dreams, where, he'd oft been told, 
 
 Toil and ambition would bring him gold. 
 
 Oh, of course in this land of flowers and song 
 He was cheered by a maid, for the days were long 
 While he worked in the field for his pittance small 
 And pinched and saved till he had withal 
 Enough to pay for a garden tract, 
 Where he raked and watered — and this is a fact — 
 
 With a pole on his back and his baskets two 
 He'd come in the morning all wet with dew 
 Crying: "Calloty, leddishy, nicey papai," 
 And the neighborhood answered his piping cry. 
 "Green bean, yellow bean, Weget-a-bil." 
 Not once did he falter, but worked with a will. 
 
 97 
 
EVOLUTION OF GUM POON. 
 
 And soon the old pole and the baskets two 
 Gave way to a wagon and horse. It's true 
 Not much of a horse and not much of a cart 
 But along with them he had won the heart 
 Of the little maid and soon there grew 
 Some young Gum Poons who helped him too. 
 
 And after a while as the years went by 
 His garden grew to a ranch, with a stye 
 For his pig and a pond for his duck, 
 And the price went up on his garden truck 
 'Til he felt himself quite a business man. 
 And counting his cash as a wise man can 
 
 He found he had plenty — and being so busy 
 Decided to buy him a regular "Lizzie," 
 With cupboards and shelves, and the whole cov- 
 ered o'er 
 All shiney and new with his name on the door. 
 Then he called on Bob Lillis, to prove he could 
 
 drive, 
 Took the whole family with him. (They still are 
 alive ! ) 
 
 98 
 
EVOLUTION OF GUM POON. 
 
 So you see what Gum Poon by his thrift has attained, 
 For he worked in the sun and he worked when 
 it rained 
 And his garden was only a part of what grew; 
 His boys are as bright as ever you knew, 
 They study in school, and they work with a will 
 While Gum Poon now motors his "Weget-a-bil." 
 
 99 
 
"MOTHERS." 
 
 We used to have a little dog 
 
 When Brother Frank was born, 
 Who'd lie beside my mother's bed 
 
 At noon and night and morn. 
 And any time a stranger came 
 
 She'd bark and growl and yelp, 
 And seemed to feel that mother 
 
 Needed someone there to help. 
 
 And then we had another dog, 
 
 A little wooly thing 
 Who not from any special line 
 
 Had ever seemed to spring. 
 'Til once she had some babies, 
 
 And the night when they were born 
 Was cold, and she was quite too frail 
 
 To keep her babies warm. 
 
 And thus one died, and morning came, 
 
 And in the early dawn 
 A little mother tenderly, 
 
 Took first the weaker one, 
 
 100 
 
MOTHERS. 
 
 And then another in her mouth 
 
 And whined and said as best she could 
 
 "Please take these like your own, 
 
 And keep them for me by the fire 
 Till they are stronger grown." 
 
 And then she brought the little one, 
 
 Whose life had passed away, 
 And laid it gently at our feet 
 
 As though she tried to say: 
 "Please can't you help this little one? 
 
 I'd be so very good. 
 And love you dearly all my days," 
 
 And how we wished we could. 
 
 m 
 
"THE CALL." 
 
 Our Church held a meeting one evening last week, 
 To decide, as all good churches do, 
 About calling a minister, what should we say 
 And how we should get him and who. 
 
 Now some of the sisters were old and alone 
 And they wanted a charming young man; 
 While some of the brethren were dreadfully sure 
 "An 'Orthodox' old we must get if we can." 
 
 Then a letter was read from a man whom it said 
 Would be willing to show us the road, 
 If the church would stand back of him solid and strong 
 And help him to carry the load. 
 
 When one blessed Sister whose duty was plain, 
 Said she knew he was young for the place, 
 And she heard he'd baptised a mere infant one time 
 By sprinkling it "right in the face." 
 
 "Oh, he never will do," cried a brother 
 — Did I hear someone laughing back there?" 
 Then a friend said, "He didn't baptise this child, 
 'Twas only a christening, that I'll declare." 
 
 102 
 
THE CALL. 
 
 Right here Deacon Puncture rose up in his place, 
 Tall and gaunt with a manner sublime, 
 And his voice nearly broke as in sepulchral tones 
 He asked, "Was his hand wet at the time?" 
 
 "If his hand was wet, he's a sinner, 
 For infant baptism's a sin, 
 And unless you're put under the water, 
 There can never be cleansing within." 
 
 Now I felt myself shaking with laughter, 
 
 And looking I saw a broad grin 
 
 On the face of dear Brother Makiki 
 
 Who believed in good works, not "Doctrine." 
 
 Then here rose up Sister McCallum 
 And stated with tears in her eyes, 
 She had privately catechised this man 
 And most heretic were his replies. 
 
 He didn't believe in "Damnation" 
 And "Union" he preached might and main; 
 "Atonement" he said was a subject 
 'Twould take a whole week to explain. 
 
 10- 
 
THE CALL. 
 
 He was born and brought up a "Disciple" 
 But was now in a union Kirk, 
 Preaching the Word and helping the Lord 
 In a wonderful, prosperous work. 
 
 "Tis enough," cried dear Brother MacDoodle, 
 "I protest — and the pews you may search, 
 To a 'Christian' I never will listen," said he, 
 "Who'd preach in a Union Church." 
 
 "We have too many churches to pay for," 
 Said he — "Yes, I always make union my plea." 
 But the Devil was laughing this time I am sure 
 As he said "they should all think like me." 
 
 Then another explosion of laughter I heard, 
 From a Brother who said with a grin, 
 "To do good is what we are after, 
 The baptism beer might have been." 
 
 And he urged all the brothers and sisters 
 To "n?or^" for the cause is the Lord's. 
 "If a church can't do good in the city 
 It had better close up," were his words. 
 
 104 
 
THE CALL. 
 
 And I laughed as I thought that the preacher 
 Might talk himself blue in the face 
 To a Molluscan few who were certain and sure 
 He would bring the whole church to disgrace. 
 
 And I laughed till they carried me out on the lawn, 
 Where I laughed myself all out of breath, 
 They were pumping me up with a bicycle pump, 
 I was laughing myself to death. 
 
 Then a pinch on my arm from my wife woke me up, 
 As she said "Hiram, what do you mean 
 By sleeping in church?" And I smiled as I thought: 
 "I'm so glad that was only a dream." 
 
 105 
 
THE QUEST OF THE NORTH WIND. 
 
 The North Wind had slept by the Polar sea, 
 Frozen for ages as cold as could be; 
 Not a sound to disturb his deep sleep in the snow; 
 Just the cold sky above and the ice pack below. 
 
 Just the glittering stars in a steely blue bowl, 
 The sparkle of frost on the hill, 
 
 And the ice as it piled up around the North Pole 
 With a groan, to forever lay still. 
 
 The Aurora had tried with her wonderful light 
 To waken the sleeper, but try as she might, 
 By Blazing and sparkling and darting on high — 
 Her glorious streamers illumined the sky 
 
 Like a halo of fire — yet her glamor of light 
 Like the glow of a new-coming day, 
 Was all to no purpose, no, try as she might, 
 The giant old North Wind still slumbered away. 
 
 But, hark! What was that? 
 
 Something cracked like the sound of a gun! 
 
 'Twas the ice breaking up, and the silent old streams 
 
 So long dead, were beginning to run. 
 
 106 
 
From the top of the hill all the snow came away; 
 
 From their dens in the woods came the bears, 
 
 For the breath of the South Wind had reached them 
 
 that day, 
 And opened the mouths of their lairs. 
 
 Then the North Wind awoke with a leap and a bound, 
 
 And he cried: "What is this! Who is here?" 
 
 For the South Wind had kissed him, 
 
 Then hurried away all a-tremble with maidenly fear. 
 
 And the breath of the South Wind, 
 
 All scented with flowers, with orange and myrtle and 
 
 bay, 
 Had awakened a lover resistless and bold, 
 Who would follow her ever and aye. 
 
 And so the North Wind left his icy old home 
 To set out on a wild, wild chase; 
 He had loved the touch of the warm South Wind, 
 And he wanted to see her face. 
 
 He followed her over the mountains, 
 The plains, and the brooks, and the lea; 
 He followed her under the quiet stars, 
 And out on the flowing sea. 
 
 He followed the ships on the ocean, 
 
 The honking wild fowl in the air; 
 
 He roared and he howled and he whistled, 
 
 But never an answer was there. 
 
 109 
 
While ever away to the south went she, 
 Toward the land of the palm and the pine; 
 To the land of the warm soft southern breeze, 
 To the home of the flowering vine. 
 
 And the North Wind following, kissed the flowers, 
 And fondled the blossoms rare, 
 'Till they died from the touch of his icy hand, — 
 So he had never welcome there. 
 
 And he wasted away in that sunny clime, 
 'Til his power and strength were gone; 
 For the gentleness of the south land 
 Had taken the giant's brawn. 
 
 And the South Wind, safe in her flowery home, 
 
 Lay down for a quiet rest; 
 
 While the North Wind, worn with the long, long chase, 
 
 In despair gave up the quest. 
 
 No friend found he in the sunny south, 
 So he drifted again to his home; 
 Where the memory sweet of that fair retreat 
 Keeps him ever alert to roam. 
 
 And the faintest breath of the south land, 
 Starts him off on another flight 
 In his fruitless search for the mystic maid, 
 Who fled when he waked that night. 
 
 110 
 
"FRIENDS." 
 
 {To Grace Wilson and Genevieve Dillman.) 
 
 Softly they slip into our lives, 
 
 And cling and stay, 
 And so become a part of us 
 
 That we are all unconscious 
 Of the friendship sweet, 
 
 As we are thoughtless 
 Of our hands and feet. 
 
 'Til by some accident, 
 We're racked with pain. 
 
 And thus the friends who come, 
 And dwell with us in love, 
 
 And now are gone again, 
 In going, leave an aching void. 
 
 So have we learned to lean on them 
 In time of stress. 
 
 And yet so simply 
 Have they borne the load 
 
 That we are loath 
 Again Jo stand alone. 
 
 Oh, may our Lord, 
 
 112 
 
FRIENDS. 
 
 And Father of us all, 
 
 Have in His keeping, 
 And forever bless, 
 
 The friend who comes 
 Like summer's dawn, 
 
 So softly stealing, 
 And departs like radiant sunset, 
 
 Watched until the darkness comes at last 
 And sad we turn away, 
 
 And to our tasks, 
 Until we meet again. 
 
 113 
 
THE FLIRTATION. 
 
 I met her one day on a busy street, 
 And I lost my heart to her there. 
 I thought she smiled as I passed her by, 
 So daintily sweet — so trim and so fair. 
 
 (And such wonderful nut brown hair!) 
 
 On a street car one day I sat near her; 
 Oh, joy! Yes, she surely did smile; 
 This time I'd have spoken out boldly, 
 But her mother seemed watching the while. 
 
 (And she did have the tenderest smile!) 
 
 Then I found her one night in a movie, 
 With another — perhaps 'twas her beau; 
 How I longed for some way to address her. 
 For some word I might say 'ere she go. 
 (And her wonderful eyes all aglow!) 
 
 So I watched for my chance — then I whispered 
 "There's a far better seat over here." 
 And joy of my heart, she came over, 
 And chatted and flirted — oh, dear! 
 
 (Like a shell was her pink little ear!) 
 
 114 
 
THE FLIRTATION. 
 
 We talked as we looked at the picture, 
 She thought the young lover was fine — 
 And nestled up closer beside me, 
 Lightly resting her soft hand in mine. 
 (She was so like a clinging vine!) 
 
 Then I thought 'ere this goes any further, 
 I'll find out how old she may be, 
 Sc I asked, and she lisped as she answered: 
 "Mother thes, I'm jutht half patht three." 
 
 (And I'm in love with this maiden, dear me!) 
 
 115 
 
MEDORI SAN. 
 
 Medori! Medori! Medori san! 
 Ah! here she comes — little maid of Japan; 
 Child of the Orient, sunbrowned and tanned — 
 Medori! Medori! Medori san! 
 
 Brown little eyes, full of laughter and fun, 
 Lips that are red as the rose in the sun, 
 Two little feet always ready to run — 
 Medori! Medori! Medori san! 
 
 Deftly she works with her little brown hands, 
 Chatters and gossips whenever she can; 
 Perfumes and powders and waits for some man 
 To say: Medori; Medori! Medori san! 
 
 116 
 
OLEANDERS. 
 
 There's a joy and gladness ringing, 
 There is always someone singing, 
 Peace and love to sadness bringing, 
 Where the Oleanders bloom. 
 
 There's a hint of jasmine sweet, 
 And a dear old southern street 
 Winging back to memory fleet, 
 Where the Oleanders bloom. 
 
 Rarer flowers there may be, 
 Lilies fair and Rosemarie, 
 But the world seems best to me 
 Where the Oleanders bloom. 
 
 119 
 
WAIMEA. 
 
 As I dream of Oahu's windward shore, 
 
 I can hear the crash and the sullen roar 
 
 Of the tow'ring waves, as they roll, wind-blown, 
 
 To drive and pound on her walls of stone. 
 
 Like a myriad horse in a battle wide, 
 As to war's wild hell they gallop and ride, 
 And race and fall in a seething tide, 
 Forever and ever and evermore. 
 
 120 
 

THE TOURIST. 
 
 How quiet the morning at old Waikiki! 
 The crystal tipped waves softly break on the shore 
 With a hushed little swish, and a soft little swash; 
 The charm is alluring, I'm sure. 
 
 But rattledy, bang, and bangity rat! 
 
 The milkman is coming again; 
 
 And I wake with a start and a strain of the heart, 
 
 For to rest any longer is vain. 
 
 Ah, no! Not in vain, for it's quiet again, 
 And I would like to sleep if I may; 
 But clickety, clack, go the Japanese shoes 
 Of the servant girls come for the day. 
 
 The bread man drives down the gravelly lane, 
 The Filipine comes with the ice in his dray; 
 The trolley car comes with the papers again, 
 And rattles and roars like a lion at bay. 
 
 Well, now it's all over, and I may, perhaps, 
 Get more sleep 'ere it's time for my dip, 
 When BANG! goes the great morning gun at the Fort- 
 Well, I'll sleep when I get on the ship. 
 
 123 
 
WHEN EVENING COMES. 
 
 Why, yes! I remember 
 
 In years that are gone, 
 
 When our dear eastern friends came to call; 
 
 How we took them around 
 
 This old island of ours, 
 
 And showed them the Pali and all. 
 
 When evening had come, 
 
 Out to "Heinle's" we went 
 For a dinner or dance or a neighborly chat, 
 An old-fashioned cocktail, 
 
 Gin fiz and all that. 
 
 Oh, the joy of those wonderful 
 
 Nights of the past! 
 How the hula was danced, if we stayed till the last. 
 We had friends by the score, 
 
 Royal fellows we met — 
 Princes, Dukes, Earls, and more 
 
 We could count in our set. 
 
 124 
 
WHEN EVENING COMES. 
 
 But alas, and alack! 
 
 What a wonderful change 
 Has come over this gracious old town; 
 No more dance at "the Young," 
 
 No more grand dinners out, 
 No more joy when the sun has gone down. 
 
 Now, when evening time comes, 
 
 And the day's work is o'er, 
 We look up this dear friend from back home, 
 Inquire if he's seen 
 
 All the pictures in town; 
 And has he been swimming today? 
 Then we bid him "Good-night!" 
 
 And we say with a frown: 
 "We stay home now when evening has come." 
 
 125 
 
JIM'S PIPE. 
 
 A stranger came to me one day, 
 
 And smiled and shook my hand, 
 And asked about the dog and cat 
 
 And all about myself and wife 
 And yet made no demand for coin 
 
 Or to insure my life. 
 And so I looked and marvelled 
 
 And racked my feeble brain, 
 For after he had talked awhile 
 
 In most familiar strain, 
 I thought about his robust form 
 
 Was some familiar look, 
 And so thru memory's spacious halls I took 
 
 A backward gaze, 
 Where myriad faces came and went, 
 
 Like dreams of happy days, 
 And then I thought 
 
 Mayhap this guy has come to swipe 
 My watch and chain. 
 Then Betty came 
 And called him "Dear," 
 And so again 
 I looked and laughed, 
 For now I recognized, at last, 
 My long time friend, Jim Pratt, 
 
 Without his pipe. 
 
 126 
 
TANTALUS. 
 
 When I look up at Tantalus, 
 
 What wonders do I see? 
 A mountain peak with rolling clouds? 
 
 Perhaps a giant tree? 
 No, when I look at Tantalus, 
 
 'Tis this that comes to me: 
 A little cottage covered o'er 
 
 With vines and scent of **ti," 
 That leads me to a garden fair, 
 
 And winding paths and blossoms rare; 
 And trails that lead away to quiet nooks, 
 
 And little showers to hide from; and good books 
 To read, and after that, 
 
 The rainbows and the sun, 
 The even-song of birds 
 
 That come to say the day is done. 
 The tinkle of a far off bell, 
 
 And then a sunset — melted gold it seems, 
 With copper shades and shapes one sees in dreams. 
 
 Then afterward, a supper hour and peace, 
 Beneath a tropic moon and such a walk 
 
 Along the winding downward trails, 
 As leads one to the Maker's throne, 
 
 With cheerful heart that never fails 
 To render thanks that He, for us, 
 
 Has made, and kept, old Tantalus. 
 
 129 
 
KAPIOLANI. 
 
 A monarch once there was in fair Hawaii, 
 
 Who's great ambition — 
 
 Not to 'press and kill, 
 
 But rather to advance the people's good. 
 
 And so with art and means, 
 
 She spread before their eyes 
 
 A glorious vista — 
 
 Flowery ways and trees, 
 
 And artful greens, 
 
 And 'mongst them all, 
 
 A pond of water lilies; 
 
 To this day a blest remembrance 
 
 Of a gracious Queen — Kapiolani! 
 
 130 
 
BILL JONES' SOLILOQUY. 
 
 Bill Jones sat in front of the grocery store 
 And a frown spread over his face, 
 As he whittled a stick and whistled a tune, 
 And sang to himself in a gentle croon: 
 "Heaven must be a hell of a place." 
 
 Now there's old Jim White with his smiling face 
 Like an old he-wolf of the human race, 
 He goes to church and he prays a lot, 
 But his heart is home in his money-pot, 
 If they let him in it's a plumb disgrace. 
 
 And old Tom Stringer who went the pace 
 
 And lived a life that was foul and base, 
 
 Then married a widow and sold her home, 
 
 And left her to fight for her bread alone. 
 
 Yet he says his soul has been "saved by grace." 
 
 And so there is many a similar case 
 
 Where some low down crook with a saintly face, 
 
 Has lived by the sweat of a weaker one, 
 
 Who worked and worried from sun to sun 
 
 If they go to heaven I'll shun the place. 
 
 Once my steps to a big stone church I traced 
 Where a door man stood with a frozen face 
 And the folks inside all kept aloof 
 As though I had a tail and a cloven hoof, 
 "If heaven's like that it's a hell of a place." 
 
 133 
 
NEPTUNE 
 
 Where, Oh where, is old Neptune's home? 
 Is it out where the wild billows roll? 
 Is it far, far away in some cavern deep 
 Where they bring him his terrible toll? 
 
 Yet on bright sunny days when old ocean is calm, 
 And the ships on her bosom float free, 
 I have thought the old fellow a very fine chap, 
 And have wished that I might have been he. 
 
 And again he is stormy and rages at times; 
 Disdaining the work of mere man. 
 He drives the great ship to a watery grave, 
 And does all the damage he can. 
 
 But now there's a chance we can make him be good, 
 For he lives near this island so grand, 
 And I saw him come up from his home in the sea, 
 To look out on our wonderful land. 
 
 His face was as clear and as fair as could be, 
 With his whiskers and helmet and all; 
 I could hear him, almost, saying, "How do you do?" 
 And I'm sure he'll be home if we call. 
 
 ]34 
 
-v.:.:.;,. :■"">' ■'--'-"/ ■.., ■" 
 
GREY'S BEACH 
 
 Did you ever see the beach at Waikiki? 
 Did you ever spend an hour by the sea? 
 Have you ever seen "Grey's Beach" 
 
 Or a real to goodness "peach?" 
 Then you'd better have a walk along o' me. 
 Did you ever go out strolling on fine days, 
 Just to watch the pretty maidens and their ways? 
 From their bonnets gay and sweet 
 
 To their ankles trim and neat; 
 Pretty, yes — but come along with me to Grey's. 
 There you'll find them lightly swimming in the sea, 
 Or idly basking in the shadows on the lea. 
 Nymphs and naiads they appear, 
 
 Gayly clad, with faces clear, 
 Nestling in the coral sand at Grey's. 
 When the early morning sun shines on the sea, 
 Or the moon shines in the night time dreamily, 
 You will hear the bathers shouting, 
 
 Care and worry gayly flouting, 
 Swimming off the beach at Grey's. 
 Then leave all your worries off and come with me, 
 The rolling crystal ocean come and see, 
 Health bestowing, every minute, 
 
 Best for you if you are in it, 
 Swimming off the beach at Grey's. 
 
 137 
 
JOHNNY MARTIN. 
 
 Pray, who is Johnny Martin, Pa, that people call him 
 
 great ? 
 Is he like Sunny Cunha, tall, a man of heavy weight? 
 Or like our Supervisor Low, as good as one could wish, 
 Who spends his life in worrying, about the price of fish? 
 Perhaps like Albert Carlson, he can sing a jazzy song? 
 Oh is he yet a merchant prince, like our friend, Ah Leong? 
 
 Nay, nay, my son! He's none of these, but just a 
 
 little man 
 Who spends his time and money doing all the good 
 
 he can. 
 He's been in jail and prison, and he's going there 
 
 again, 
 He goes there every Sunday, and he's loved by all 
 
 the men. 
 He tells them of the home folks and a better life to be, 
 He teaches them a song of Hope, and Life and Liberty; 
 He cheers the sick and weary; he brings succor to 
 
 the poor, 
 And the little children love him, like the Master long 
 
 before. 
 
 138 
 
JOHNNY MARTIN. 
 
 And there's not an ailing sinner or a dweller in the slums 
 But gladly gives a welcome hand, when Johnny Martin 
 comes. 
 
 And I'm sure, when Johnny answers to the roll-call up 
 
 above, 
 He will find a hearty welcome to an everlasting Love 
 From the Saints, and from the Father, in the mansions 
 
 of the blest, 
 When he leaves this world of hardship, where he always 
 
 does his best. 
 
 139 
 
THE PILOT. 
 
 (To Frank M. Dowling, beloved friend and pastor.) 
 
 Full long our ship had sailed 
 Against the winds and shifting tides, 
 
 And heavy gales 
 Had lashed her fore and aft, 
 
 And beat her sides, 
 Until her very soul seemed wrenched, 
 And all her spirit broken with the strain. 
 And then at last, 
 As ugly breakers loomed amain, 
 And blinding fogs shut down, 
 There came aboard our struggling craft, 
 
 As though by angels sent, 
 A saintly man, a\ Pilot — 
 Fearing God and loving men, 
 So that he risked his all, 
 That he might save the ship — 
 
 And this he did. 
 And now we come to port, and anchor 
 In the quiet ways of peace and rest. 
 And he to other ships, and other folk, 
 
 140 
 
THE PILOT. 
 
 Who need the more his kindly hand, 
 
 And so we say; God speed, and bless, 
 
 Not him alone, but those who with him came, 
 
 And helped and shared the load, 
 
 And bore the strain. 
 
 And may they all be safely anchored, 
 
 In their port at home. 
 
 And so in peace and love, 
 
 Until the Father calls to other work, 
 
 In earth or heaven above. 
 
 Amen ! 
 
 141 
 
LET'S MAKE THE WORLD BETTER. 
 
 i 
 
 Let's make the world better to live in, 
 
 Let's paint the old shed in the yard, 
 
 Let's plant a few trees where the ground is so bare 
 
 Let's soften the road that is hard. 
 
 Let's build a few homes for the poorer folk, 
 Like our own, with some grass at the door, 
 Where the baby can play in the clear summer air, 
 And give mother a rug for her floor. 
 
 Let's make the hours shorter for Nellie and Tom 
 So they too may go out for a swim. 
 Let's pick up the neighbor sometimes in the car 
 That would make the world better for him. 
 
 And put on a smile as we go down the street, 
 Smiles are catching, the doctors all say, 
 And the world would be better to live in I'm sure 
 If the frowns were all driven away. 
 
 142 
 
ANSWERED. 
 
 {Easter Morning on Punchbowl, 1920.) 
 
 'Tis Easter morn — ■ 
 
 And darkening storm and rain and wind 
 
 Sweep o'er the earth, 
 
 Grim visaged messengers, to tell us of God's power. 
 Amid this sombre tumult, 
 On the hill, there stands the Cross of Christ, 
 Beloved memorial of His great sacrifice — 
 That all mankind might, this beholding, 
 Feel again the consciousness of promises 
 To men of old, which were fulfilled — 
 And promises to us of glories yet to be. 
 
 At sunrise hour the people come, 
 
 Upwending to the cross their toilsome way, 
 
 To worship, and do honor to the risen Lord. 
 
 Glad songs are sung, and voices raised 
 
 In prayer and thankful praise, 
 
 That "Christ the Lord is risen today" — 
 
 Dear Lord, "Thy will be done." 
 
 143 
 
ANSWERED. 
 
 A Father's blessing on His children asked — 
 When lo! from out the threat'ning sky 
 There bursts a vision of God's Glory, 
 In blazing light, and streaming rays of hope 
 
 and cheer, 
 From His own Cross above, 
 To our poor symbol of His love and care 
 For men, on earth— 
 
 A Glorious Benediction. 
 
 144 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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