m'mU}"4L-4'»?-A>\ Cloistral Strains P s "553? [OisCt 190 mis Alexander Robertson Class P S 3g.3S Book OiS 05 Copyiight}!^. iH^TsZ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT Cloistral Strains NOTE Most of the verses in this book have appeared in ^^The Dead Calypso,^'' ** Beyond the Requiems,'''' and in the Press. Their present compilation is intended to present in one volume those relating only to sacred subjects. Cloistral Strains By Louis Alexander Robertson author of "the dead calypso" AND BEYOND THE REQUIEMS" A. M. ROBERTSON SAN FRANCISCO 1902 THE L.!3HAHV0i-" CONGRESS, CLASS It- yxp Mo. COPYRIGHT, 1902 BY LOUIS A. ROBERTSON The Murdodk Press San Francisco CONTENTS PAGE THE NAZARENE ....... 7 FAITH-FOUNDED VISION . . . . . 12 "GLORIA IN EXCELSIS " . . . . . • ^3 GOLGOTHA , ... . . . . 1 4 CALVARY . . . . . . . .16 THE FIRST EASTER MORN . . . . . 1 7 VIA CRUCIS . . . . . , . .18 THE lord's PRAYER . . . . . . 2 2 THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN . ... . •23 THE WANDERER ....... 26 RESIGNATION . . . . , . . " ^7 OUT OF EGYPT . . . . . , . 28 THE ROCK OF AGES . . . . . .20 JOB . . . . . ' . . . . 30 THE needle's EYE ... . .^ , '32 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED , , . . 53 IN MEMORIAM ...... A BRUISED REED HE WILL NOT BREAK WEARY • 43 44 . 46 THE NAZARENE A MANGER- CRADLED Child, His mother near. And one they call His father standing by, Shepherds and Magi, with the gifts they bear. An angel chorus rolling through the sky, — Once more the sacred mystery we scan. And wonder if the Christ be God's best gift to man. Pale, patient Pleader for the poor and those Whose hearts are homes of sorrow and of pain. Thy voice is as a balm for all their woes ; Through twenty centuries it calleth plain As when it breathed the invitation blest, — " Ye weary, come to Me, and I will give you rest." THE NAZARENE We mark Thy miracles, but would not bring Them to the test of Reason's crucible. What profit were it such full faith to fling To unbelief's wild winds ? Oh, who can tell The sacred secrets hidden by the veil That Reason cannot rend nor mortal man assail? Why should we doubt that Thou didst walk the wave, That Thou didst still the storm on Galilee, That Thou didst summon Lazarus from his grave. Or mad'st the leper clean, the blind to see ? Oh, for the faith that hath the strength to burn Bright through these skeptic mists, though Reason from it turn ! THE NAZARENE But most we love Thee for the Voice that blessed The little children when they came to Thee, And for the human heart within Thy breast That beat for all, but bled for misery, And for the hand, stretched down in love to greet. That lifted back to life the woman of the street. For things like these our hearts can under- stand, — All, all is human, nothing doth beguile; But Thy great deeds such credence do de- mand That faith and reason fail to reconcile : Is that within our breasts a fabled hope? Oh, leave it undisturbed, lest in the gloom we grope ! THE NAZARENE Fond fictions ot our faith ! though Science turn Her searchlight on the past, and Reason scorn. What comfort give they when the soul doth yearn For that pure peace that passeth all things born Of human knowledge? Then Thy mystic birth, Thy life, Thy love. Thy death declare Thy saving worth. Then let the wrecking infidel proclaim His creedless course o'er life's uncertain sea. What knows he of the faith that Thou didst frame. That falters not to face eternity? The grave, his gloomy goal, is but a door Through which we pass to life, as Thou didst pass before. ID THE NAZARENE Reason may seek to ruin. Science scorn. But that great love of Thine hath made us wise In wisdom not of understanding born. That bids us turn to Thee with longing eyes And outstretched hands. We know that Thou art He, Nor do we seek a sign as did the Pharisee. Sweet festival that bringeth back once more The golden dreams of childhood, let us turn Like little children to the Christmas lore That once did hold us spellbound, till we learn Again the lesson of Thy love ; for we Must be like children. Lord, ere we can come to Thee. II FAITH-FOUNDED VISION Faith -FOUNDED vision of the manger, rise In all thy humble glory and unfold Time's dusty leaves, until thy page of gold Shines through the ages on our wondering eyes. From out the starry silence of the skies A mighty flood of harmony is rolled ; Once more the song is sung, the story told, And cradled on the earth a Saviour lies. What priests and prophets did with faith foretell, We looking backward with clear eyes can see The thorn-crowned God forsake His throne above ; We hear the chorus, but we hear as well The midnight moan in dark Gethsemane, And sink overwhelmed beneath His bound- less love. 12 "GLORIA IN EXCELSIS" O Nazarene, down nineteen hundred years We hear the angel-chorus ring once more; We see the star, the manger, and the store Of precious gifts which there the shepherd-seers Laid at Thy feet in thankfulness and tears. O Christos ! may thy children, rich and poor, Kneel like the Magi on that day of yore And offer Thee their homage and their prayers. In cottage and in palace let the knee Be bent in adoration on this day; In lonely forest, or by moaning sea. Where roses bloom, or winter holds its sway. Let all hearts turn to Bethlehem again And hear the tidings, " Peace, good-will to men." 13 GOLGOTHA A SONNET OF THE CROSS Morn hid her face, and day was backward rolled, Mysterious rumblings shook the sacred hill ; In ghastly wonder there, shrouded and chill. Uprose the dead, Christ's passing to behold. Waked stalkers from your couches in the mould. Weird miracles ye saw, portending ill; God's days of flesh were o'er, His moments told, A prayer groaned through His lips, then all was still. His crown of thorns, His bleeding hands and feet. That fatal drain sped by the soldier's spear, A fountain whence Mercy's encrimsoned tide 14 GOLGOTHA Flows free to all; one short forgiving prayer, Then soared His soul; man's ransom was com- plete, The world's great price was paid, when Christos died. 15 CALVARY That morn no rosy splendors flushed the sky. Nature was stunned and paralyzed with fear; Darkness and silence reigned. Death hovered near The cross where hung the Christ in agony. " My God, my God, hast thou forsaken Me?" He cried aloud in anguish and despair; Earth trembled while the veil was rent, and there The dead walked forth, then closed the tragedy. Draw near in safety now, ye faithful few, Who weeping stood apart on that dark morn ! Death triumphs for a season ; soon anew To immortality and glory born. He '11 rise victorious. Leader of the way Through Death's dark portals to eternal day. i6 THE FIRST EASTER MORN Last at the Cross and first beside the tomb, Three trembling women waited there to pay To their dead Lord their sacred rites that day, And sought their mournful vigil to resume ; But when they saw the early sun illume The sepulchre the stone was rolled away. Their hearts stood still with terror and dismay. The grave was empty. Then the heavy gloom Was lifted and a flood of glory shed Its beams around them, and they heard a voice : — " Why seek the living here among the dead? Your Lord is risen." Their breaking hearts rejoice; Grief melts in gladness, and with tear-dimmed eyes They view the shining stranger with surprise. 17 VIA CRUCIS Thou thorn-crowned God of Glory, Rejected Nazarene, I often read Thy story And linger o'er each scene, Till, with rapt wonder gazing. Mine eyes behold afar. Above Thy cradle blazing. The Magi's pilot star. i8 VIA CRUCIS Back through the night of ages I tread the faith-lit way, And with the seers and sages My adoration pay. With them I kneel and ponder Why Thou foredoomed shouldst be Through all Thy life to wander. But always toward the tree. The distant, dismal rafter Did o'er Thy childhood throw A shadow which thereafter Stood forth a cross of woe. No sound of mirth or gladness Was heard through all Thy years ; Thy life was filled with sadness. Thy cup overflowed with tears. 19 VIA CRUCIS Yet in Thy love revealing A mercy all could claim ; Sustaining, cheering, healing The sick, the blind, the lame; Consoling and forgiving. Thy hands above them spread,- O Lips that cheered the living ! O Voice that waked the dead ! Yet sorrow was Thy guerdon. And grief was ever near, And mindful of the burden That Thou wert doomed to bear. Through gathering gloom extended Thy path of pain, until Thy bleeding footsteps wended Up Calvary's dark hill. 20 VIA CRUCIS Through darkness there directing The way that Thou must go, Its shadow still reflecting Along Thy path of woe. The ancient auguration, Fulfilled, at last doth rise In black-sparred consummation To lift Thee to the skies. Thy breaking heart presages The end that now is nigh; But soon, O Light of Ages And Dayspring from on high. Through clouds of glory cleaving. Thy soul shall find the light. Behind Thee ever leaving Darkness and death and night. 21 THE LORD'S PRAYER Our Heavenly Father, unto Thee we pour Our constant prayers, and bless Thy hallowed Name! Come in Thy kingdom, God, and now proclaim The age of peace to last for evermore. In every land, from distant shore to shore. Through all the earth Thy blessed will be done. As where in heaven, before Thy shining throne. Thy saints and seraphs ceaselessly adore. Give us, O God, this day our daily bread; Forgive us now as others we forgive; Guide our weak feet that they may never tread Temptation's paths, and teach us how to live. That, by Thy power, we from the tomb shall rise And share Thy glorious kingdom in the skies. 22 THE CROSS- CROWNED CAIRN A WHISPERED prayer, a stone with reverent hand Laid near a cross that on a cairn doth stand, — This and no more ; no fragrant buds to wreathe A garland for the silent dead beneath ; No requiem rolling on the desert air To guide us to the lonely sleeper there; No rudely written legend to proclaim His birth, his death, his country, age, or name; Yet never vault, from dark Machpelah's cave, Where Israel's primal Patriarch found a grave; Nor yet the dome that Artemisia raised O'er Caria's king, at which a world amazed In wonder stood; nor Gizeh's gloomy pile, Housing the haughtiest Pharaoh by the Nile; Nor sacred shrine, nor quiet cloistered fane. Wherein the proudest dust of earth hath lain, 23 THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN E*er sent a softer slumber than these stones That shelter from the sun a wanderer's bones. The prayers we pray, our dirges of distress, 'Neath carven arch, or in the wilderness. What are they to the dead ? Oh, who can say Where the dread Spoiler pauses, — if the clay Alone surrenders to his blighting breath. Or whether down the sombre stream of death, The spirit, drifting into darkness, dies, As did this flesh beneath these burning skies? It is not so! The symbol that doth keep Its lonely vigil on yon stony heap Is eloquent, and tells of Him who first Did through Death's black, unbroken barriers burst ; Of Him on whom a world has learnt to lean, And from the darkest hours of grief to glean 24 THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN The Hope that helps when other comforts fail, The Faith that falters not before the veil, The Love that prays in every Christian land. When in the presence of the dead we stand. That though the dreamless dust may never wake. The soul may somewhere see the morning break. 25 THE WANDERER The old cathedral bells sound sweet and clear; And as I listen to their well-known peal A thousand thronging recollections steal Across the gulf of many a vanished year. At last I stand, a way-worn wanderer, Within Thy temple, God, and almost feel The presence of the dead, and as I kneel Sweet angel voices mingle with my prayer. The bells are hushed — the mighty organ rolls Majestic music through the gloomy fane; A happy chorus of triumphant souls With hallelujahs swell the sacred strain; A light celestial fills my streaming eyes, A Jacob's ladder reaching to the skies. 26 RESIGNATION I FEEL Thy chastening rod, O God, nor dare To murmur aught against Thy just decree ; A bruised reed, I yet can come to Thee, And know that Thou wilt hearken to my prayer. The day is well-nigh spent, the night is near, But as the shadows gather over me. Through the dark gloom my weary eyes can see The breaking of a dawn more bright and fair. Oh, give me strength to follow that clear light Which, like the flaming pillar in the sky. From Egypt led the way-worn Israelite And brought him forth from death to liberty; Shine on my path, that I may see the way That leads from darkness to eternal day. 27 OUT OF EGYPT Hope of the helpless! Comforter of those Whose world is walled within the sick man's room! Lord God of Love and Mercy! unto whom Pale prisoners of pain come with their woes ! I thank Thee for the cheering light that throws Its blessed beam at last across the gloom, — A cloud by day, a fire by night it glows, Hope's pilot pillars that my path illume. Oh, if it be Thy will that I should make My way from out the durance of despair. Though to full strength I never may attain. Yea, even though these links I may not break. Let me remember still in grateful prayer The Love that for a season loosed the chain. 28 THE ROCK OF AGES I AM the Babe that in the manger lay, The mystic oiFspring of the mother-maid ; I am the Christ whose pale and suffering clay Was the great price for man's salvation paid; I am the God to whom a world has prayed For nineteen hundred years ; I am the Way, The Truth, the Life, the comfort and the stay To whom despairing mortals look for aid. Faith-faggots kindled in the furious light Of bigot hate, like wrecking beacons gleam Across the crimson waves that beat Time's shore. But through the wildest storm and blackest night I stand the Rock of Ages, and My beam Leadeth and saveth those whose hearts are pure. 29 JOB Majestic Mourner ! when thy spirit moaned Itself to music on thy wondrous page; When thy great sorrowing soul in anguish groaned. And when Fate flung to thee her galling gage. Oh ! what a soul-sustaining heritage Was hidden in the fortitude that owned How vain and weak it were a war to wage With Him, the Lord, who sits in heaven en- throned ! Thy flesh was fed to foulness. Sorrow clad Thy soul with sackcloth, and thy forehead frowned With the black ashes of a heart consumed; 30 JOB But through it all, O Man of Uz, thy sad But sure philosophy thy trials crowned With perfect peace that out of patience bloomed. 31 THE NEEDLE'S EYE Through the small postern of a needle's eye A camel easier far its way can wend Than for a rich man's spirit to ascend And pass the shining portals of the sky. Yet there are many who can testify- That Riches oftentimes are swift to blend With Charity that boasteth not to bend Above the bed where Want and Sickness lie. Ye rail against the Rich, but little know The countless deeds of kindness they have done Unto the Poor. But there 's an Eye to see — 'Tis His who soothed the suffering long ago, And said, " In that ye did it unto one — The least of these — ye did it unto Me." 32 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED To the regions where the righteous dwell in ever- lasting peace. To the House of Many Mansions in the skies, Where the Halls of Heaven echo to the songs that never cease, And the dawnless day in darkness never dies; Where the prophets, priests, and martyrs, and the saved and sainted stray Through the streets of gold that like to crystal gleam. Once my spirit in a slumber burst the shackles of the clay. And I passed the gates of heaven in a dream. There I saw the shining city with its walls or precious stone, — Jasper, jacinth, amethyst, and chrysolite, — 33 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED And the crystal river ever flowing forth beneath the throne. And the trees whose leaves are balm for every blight; Heard the clear celestial chorus and the never- ending hymn. And the harps that never know a tuneless chord ; Saw the princely six-winged angels and the shining seraphim Hide their faces as they bent before the Lord. Like the sands upon the seashore, or the stars that gem the sky. Did that multitude exceed all human count; There the vilest who find mercy when the last dark hour is nigh. As the thief who hung beside Him on the mount, 34 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED Stand with legions of the chosen, gleaned from every clime and creed, With a pardon purchased by the Paraclete : Some by faith oft find salvation, and some gain it by a deed. Like the woman of the town who kissed His feet. There I saw her, and saw many who like her had loved and erred. And among them one who had from childhood grown Like a pure and peerless lily, till the serpent's hiss she heard In the flowers that along her path were strown. Then she rose like her of Corinth,— for her fault- less form and face Made sin seem a thing to worship and to bless; 35 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED She was wooed by Wit and Wisdom, Rank and Wealth sought her embrace, And men journeyed from afar for her caress. Much I marveled as I saw her, and I bade her tell me how She had washed her scarlet raiment into white ; How she stood among the ransomed with a halo on her brow. How her sinful soul had reached that realm of light. As she turned and looked upon me, from her lips the story came Of the sacred spark that sometimes smoulder- ing lies Deep in sin, then like a phoenix through the ashen heaps of shame Bursts in beauty tnd on wings of mercy flies. 36 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED " It was Christmas Eve/' she told me, " and the night was wild and cold ; I was speeding through the darkness unto one Whom I loved, — not for his bounty, though he gave me gems and gold; But there is no word in Love's long lexicon That can tell the burning torture of the thirst that often craves In the hearts of hapless women who are thrown Like to waifs upon the waters, but at last across the waves See the saving sail of rescue to them blown. " Thus my soul was thirsting for him, and my heart began to beat With the hope that he would call me wife at last, 37 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED When I looked and saw a woman crouching in a darkened street. And I heard her moan with anguish as I passed. As I heard that wail of sorrow, quick from pleasure's path I turned And soon bent above the sufferer where she lay; She was faint with pain and hunger, and I saw that she had learned The dark lesson of the love that leads astray. " Little cared I for the Levites that passed on the other side, Or for those who quickly gathered round me there: I, a sinner, turned Samaritan and helped her when she cried, As God heard, ere many days, my own last prayer. 38 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED Then 1 flung my robe around her, took her home, and she was laid On my bed, by which I watched her until morn; As the cold gray dawn of Christmas o'er her pallid features strayed. On a sinner's couch a sinless soul was born. " With her child upon her bosom soon in sleep I saw her lie, Then outworn I sank in slumber there by them; Soon I heard an angel chorus roUing through the winter sky, — 'T was the herald hymn they heard in Bethle- hem; Then my dreaming senses drifted through the years unto the time Of my girlhood and the place where I was born, 39 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED And In my dreams I fancied that I heard again the chime I had often listened to on Christmas morn. " Once again within the little village church I seemed to kneel. Once again the blessed anthem seemed to hear, And a peace that passeth telling o'er my spirit then did steal. And I woke and saw God's saving purpose clear. Though 't was He who called my soul from sin unto salvation when The young sufferer cried to me, I knew it not; It was woman unto woman, sinner unto sinner then, — 'T was the sympathy by Impulse oft begot. 40 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED " But ere many days the icy darts, which first I did not feel When I gave my cloak to shield her from the blast. Were soon burning in my bosom, and I saw the Spoiler steal Through the gloom and stand beside my couch at last. Then the lips that Sin had silenced unto prayer began to plead For forgiveness as life swiftly ebbed away ; But I cried aloud for mercy in my souFs extremest need. And I heard a voice these words of comfort say: — " ' I was sick and I was hungry, I was naked, and ye came In my misery and ministered to me; 41 A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED Inasmuch as you have done it to this woman, you may claim The salvation that from sin shall set you free/ Then the gloom began to gather, but a Hand in mine I felt As my spirit through the shades of darkness passed. But soon woke and saw the shadows in a death- less glory melt. And beheld my Saviour face to face at last." 42 IN MEMORIAM SANDS W. FORMAN With more than Spartan fortitude he bore An overwhelming weight of woe that few E'er bend beneath and live; Fate round him threw Ataxia's torturing chain long years before His noon of life was reached, and yet he wore The galling fetters bravely, for he knew The sufferer's sad philosophy, and drew From it the strength that taught him to endure. And when I looked upon his calm, cold face. He seemed to whisper that his wearied soul Had found the peace no living lips can tell; And as we laid him in his resting-place The winter wind breathed slow and seemed to roll A requiem o'er him, sighing '' All is well." 43 "A BRUISED REED HE WILL NOT BREAK " A BRUISED reed He will not break, Though bitter blasts around it roar; His faithful He will not forsake. Yea, though the weary brain may ache, The fainting flesh its fate deplore, A bruised reed He will not break. The bravest heart at last may quake. The raven locks be frosted o'er; His faithful He will not forsake. Though winter winds the oak may shake, — Yea, lay it low upon the moor, — A bruised reed He will not break. iL.cfC' 44 "A BRUISED REED HE WILL NOT BREAK'' Though unto grief each morn we wake. Let 's not forget the cross He bore ; His faithful He will not forsake. Let us obey the words He spake. And walk the way He went before. A bruised reed He will not break, His faithful He will not forsake. 45 WEARY Not as a means of grace. And hope of glory, — No! But could I see Thy face, And hear the blessing flow. As when Thy living lips the promise poured. Then would I kneel and wait for mercy. Lord. Ye weary, come to Me And I will give you rest. Have I not bent the knee And all my soul confessed? Art Thou a myth, O God? or am I blind, Groping in gloom for peace I cannot find? 46 WEARY Oh, shed one beam of light, And when my flesh is wrung Through agony's long night. When all my life is hung On Retrospection's cross, and when the spear Of Conscience strikes my soul, then be Thou near. Whisper one word of hope. That my faint heart may know How with these fears to cope. And respite gain from woe. Bind up my wounds and breathe the healing balm Of one kind word to comfort and to calm. Not for a heaven unearned. Nor to escape a hell. My lips have often burned To drink of Mercy's well ; Yearning in that sweet flood themselves to steep, And drift away from life in dreamless sleep. 47 Some Press Notices of The Dead Calypso^ and Other Verses. There are poems in this volume of noble range. Robertson is certainly a purist, and has a thorough knowledge of the technique of poetry. He is never guilty of a false quantity, nor does he ever lower the tone from its original setting. His work has received recognitionjn the East and in England, and there is an increasing demand there for the work of this extraordinary CaHfornian poet. — San Francisco Evening Post. His verses show the hand of a man of great literary attain- ments; a man whose mentality has been cultivated to the highest pitch, and yet whose soul is, and ever has been, the soul of a born poet. In expression and form Mr. Robertson's verses are in themselves perfect; yet this mechanical excellence, if we may so express it, attracts no attention to itself. The lines run so smoothly and the thoughts are so beautifully expressed, that it is the intent of the poetry, and not its form, that makes the lasting impression on the reader's mind. — San Francisco Call. His lines oft glow in brilliant pictures. They unfold grand scenes; tableau after tableau presents itself in brilliant, pulsating coloring. This is particularly true of the poem " The Dead Calypso." There is a sonorous ring to this verse. The scenes painted in it are the work of a master of the English language. Not a word that does not express full meaning; not a word that could be improved by a substitute, and for this, apart from the poetic qualities of Mr. Robertson's writings, admiration is his just due. — San Francisco Bulletin. Last night before retiring, I read again, for the third or fourth time, that powerful poem ** Ataxia." What imagination! What realism ! It stirred every fibre of my nature, awakened every quality and every faculty, and mixed all night with all my thoughts and fancies. If a piece of self-revelation, it is awful; any way, it is a super-Byronic production —creation. — Addi- son P. Russell, Author of '' A Club of One.'' The Dead Calypso, and Other Verses. By Louis A. Robert- son. A. M. Robertson, publisher, San Francisco. ^1.50, net. NOV 28 1302 -- ' , ; ^^r;-^^^ ;