ciass_ i-:^./_y_iy_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
v4*k» Jtjuifwtr- » .^r « 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD 
 
 CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON 
 
 BOSTON 1898 
 
 SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 
 2nd COPY "^^^''-^^'^^-■'^^^ 
 1898. ' •XO'^i 
 
Copyright, 1893, 1895 
 BY CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON 
 
 Copyright, 1898 
 BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 
 1 
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall 
 
 ^"S'# 
 
 524 V 
 
 The University Press : Cambridge, U. S. A. 
 
s. 
 
 O WOULD YE BUT UNDERSTAND! 
 ■ JOY IS ON EVERY HAND! 
 
 X YE SHUT YOUR EYES AND CALL IT NIGHT, 
 
 ^^ YE GROPE AND FALL IN SEAS OF LIGHT 
 
 Q>' WOULD YE BUT UNDERSTAND. 
 
\ 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TIIK WOliLI) Paob 
 
 Hiitrii 1 
 
 Na'I'iiuio'h Answiou 2 
 
 Tiiic Com MONTI. ACK , 4 
 
 IloMios — A SicsriNA 7 
 
 A Common Inkj;ukn(Jio 8 
 
 Till': IIOCK AND TIIIO SlCA 9 
 
 Till!; Lion Path 12 
 
 UlClNI'OIMJKMKNTH 13 
 
 llii;itoiHM 14 
 
 FlKJi WITH I^'lKIO 10 
 
 'I'lIK SllIKM) 18 
 
 To TiiK I*KKA(;iii;it ly 
 
 A Tyik 20 
 
 CoMTKOMlHIl! 21 
 
 Vxivv OK TiiK lUiTiJ'; 22 
 
 Sria' Fahtkk, I'uoahio 23 
 
 A Nkw Yioak'h Kiomindicu 23 
 
 Out OP rLACii 24 
 
 LiTTLK Ckll 25 
 
 TiiK Child Simoakh 26 
 
 To A Good Many 28 
 
 I low WOULD you'!* 29 
 
 A Man must Livn: .33 
 
 In Duty Hound 33 
 
 DioHiicK 34 
 
 Why Not? 35 
 
 Our OK nil': (Jati': 30 
 
 Till': MODKUN SiCKLETON 39 
 
 Thk Lkhbon ok Dioatii — TO S. T. 1> 40 
 
 Foil Uh . . 43 
 
 TlIANKHiJIVINU 44 
 
 vli 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Cheistmas Hymn 44 
 
 Christmas 46 
 
 The Living God 48 
 
 A Prayer 50 
 
 Give Way! 50 
 
 Thanksgiving Hymn — for California ... 51 
 
 Christmas Carol — for Los Angeles ... 52 
 
 New Duty 54 
 
 Seeking 55 
 
 Finding 56 
 
 Too Much 57 
 
 The Cup 58 
 
 What Then ? 59 
 
 Our Loneliness 60 
 
 The Keeper op the Light 61 
 
 Immortality 62 
 
 Waste 63 
 
 Wings 64 
 
 The Heart of the Water 66 
 
 The Ship 67 
 
 Among the Gods 67 
 
 Songs 69 
 
 Heaven 71 
 
 Ballad of the Summer Sun 71 
 
 Pioneers 74 
 
 Exiles 74 
 
 A Nevada Desert 75 
 
 Tree Feelings 76 
 
 Monotony — from California . 77 
 
 The Beds op Fleur-de-Lys 78 
 
 It is Good to be Alive 79 
 
 The Changeless Year — Southern California 80 
 
 Where Memory Sleeps — Rondeau .... 81 
 
 viu 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Paob 
 
 California Car Windows 81 
 
 Limits 82 
 
 Powell Street 82 
 
 From Russian Hill 85 
 
 "An Unusual Rain" 86 
 
 The Hills 88 
 
 City's Beauty 89 
 
 Two Skies — from England 90 
 
 Winds and Leaves — from England .... 91 
 
 On the Pawtuxet 92 
 
 A Moonrise 93 
 
 Their Grass ! — A Protest from California . 93 
 
 The Prophets 95 
 
 Similar Cases 95 
 
 A Conservative 100 
 
 An Obstacle 102 
 
 The Fox who had Lost his Tail 104 
 
 The Sweet Uses of Adversity 105 
 
 Connoisseurs 106 
 
 Technique 107 
 
 The Pastellette 108 
 
 The Pig and the Pearl 109 
 
 Poor Human Nature Ill 
 
 Our San Francisco Climate Ill 
 
 Criticism 113 
 
 Another Creed 113 
 
 The Little Lion • • • 114 
 
 A Misfit 115 
 
 On New Year's Day 116 
 
 Our East 117 
 
 Unmentionable 118 
 
 An Invitation from California 120 
 
 Resolve 121 
 
 is 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 WOMAN Page 
 
 SiiK Wai.kktii Vkii.ei) and SlEKI'INO . . . 125 
 
 To Man 125 
 
 WOMKN OF To-DaV 128 
 
 To TUB Young Wife 129 
 
 Falsk Play l.'H 
 
 MOTIIKUIIOOI) 132 
 
 Six IIouKS A Day i:?f. 
 
 An ()m) ruovicKu 137 
 
 KlOASSUUANCE 138 
 
 MoTiiKU TO Child 140 
 
 Skkvu'ks 142 
 
 In RIoruKK-TiMio 144 
 
 SuK WHO 18 TO Come 146 
 
 GiKLS OK To-Day ' 147 
 
 "We, as Women" 148 
 
 If Mother Knew 150 
 
 The Anti-Suefuaoi8T8 152 
 
 Women do not Want It 154 
 
 Wedded Buss 157 
 
 The Holy Stove 158 
 
 The Mother's Charge IGO 
 
 A Brood Mare 161 
 
 Feminine Vanipy 164 
 
 The Modest Maid 166 
 
 Unsexed 168 
 
 Females 169 
 
 A Mother's Soliloquy 171 
 
 They Wandered Forth 173 
 
 Baby Love 174 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE MAllCir Paob 
 
 TiiK Wolf at tiik Door 177 
 
 'J'liK Lost Gamic 179 
 
 TlIH LOOKKK-ON 181 
 
 TiiK Old-Timk Waii 184 
 
 FuEio Land is Not Knoucjii 18G 
 
 Who is to Blamio? 187 
 
 1 1' a Man may not icat nkitiikk <jan hio Woitic 189 
 
 11 iH Own Lahou 190 
 
 As Fliow the Cross 19.1 
 
 To IjAijor 194 
 
 IIaicdi.v a I'moasiiuk 195 
 
 Nationai>ism 197 
 
 Tiiic Kino is Dkai)! Loncj liivio tiiic Kin<j ! . 199 
 
 "How Many I'o<;r!" 200 
 
 'l^HK DioAi) Lkvki 203 
 
 True Cart hicforio tiik IIorkio 204 
 
 'I'liK AmocisoiI) ("kij. 205 
 
 'I'inO SURVIVAL OF TIIIO FiTTKKT 208 
 
 Division of Proimcrty 209 
 
 Christian Virtues 210 
 
 What's That? 213 
 
 An Economist 215 
 
 ClIAIlITY 217 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 xiii 
 
BIRTH. 
 
 Loud, T am born ! 
 1 liJiV(3 Imilt iiK! ;i body 
 WliOHc; ways .•ir(5 all open, 
 Wli()H(i ourriMilH nil) frcc^, 
 Froin ih(! life lJial< i.s tliiiio 
 Flowing ever within iik', 
 '1\) tli(! Iif"(i iliat i,s miiK^ 
 Flowing outward tliiouf^li mo. 
 
 1 airi (;l<)tli('<l, aiMJ my laiiiiciit 
 Mts smooth to th(i s|>iiit, 
 'I'h(^ HOid mov(!H iiidiind('r'(!<l, 
 'J'h(; body is fnu! ; 
 And th(! thought th;i,t my body 
 Falls short oi" oxprcissing, 
 In tdxtun; .-ind color 
 Unfoldcth on uui. 
 
 I .'un housed, () my T'athor I 
 My body is sludt(M-(;d, 
 My spirit has room 
 'I'wixt th(! wlioh; world and inn, 
 I am guardiid with beauty and strength, 
 And within it 
 Is room for still union, 
 And birth lloweth free. 
 I 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 And the union and birth 
 Of the house, ever growing, 
 Have built me a city — 
 Have born nie a state — 
 Where I live manifold, 
 Many-voiced, many-hearted, 
 Never dead, never weary, 
 And oh ! never parted 1 
 The life of The Human, 
 So subtle — so great 1 
 
 Lord, I am born 1 
 From inmost to outmost 
 The ways are all open. 
 The currents run free, 
 From thy voice in my soul 
 To my joy in the people — 
 I thank thee, O God, 
 For this body thou gavest, 
 Which enfoldeth the earth — 
 Is enfolded by thee ! 
 
 NATURE'S ANSWER. 
 
 I. 
 
 A MAN would build a house, and found a i)lace 
 As fair as any on the earth's fair face : 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Soft hills, dark woods, smooth meadows richly green, 
 And cool tree-shaded lakes the hills between. 
 
 He built his house within this pleasant land, 
 
 A stately white-porched house, long years to stand ; 
 
 But, rising from his paradise so fair. 
 
 Came fever in the night and killed him there. 
 
 " O lovely land ! " he cried, " how could I know 
 That death was lurking under this fair show V " 
 
 And answered Nature, merciful and stern, 
 " I teach by killing ; let the others learn ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 A man would do great work, good work and true ; 
 He gave all things he had, all things he knew; 
 
 He worked for all the world ; his one desire 
 To make the people happier, better, higher ; 
 
 Used his best wisdom, used his utmost strength ; 
 And, dying in the struggle, found at length, 
 
 The giant evils he had fought the same. 
 
 And that the world he loved scarce knew his name. 
 
 " Has all my work been wrong ? I meant so well I 
 I loved so much I " he cried. " How could I tell ? " 
 
 And answered Nature, merciful and stern, 
 " I teach by killing ; let the others learn." 
 3 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 III. 
 
 A maid ^Yas askod in inarriago. AViso as fair, 
 She gave lior answer with deep thought and prayer, 
 
 Expecting, in the holy name of wife, 
 
 Great work, great pain, and greater joy, in life. 
 
 She found such w ork as brainless slaves might do, 
 By day and night, long labor, never through; 
 
 Such pain — no language can lier \y,\\n reveal ; 
 It had no limit but her power to feel ; 
 
 Such joy — life left in her sad soul's employ 
 Neither the hope nor memory of joy. 
 
 Helpless, she died, with one despairing cry, — 
 '* 1 thought it good ; how could I tell t he lie ? " 
 
 And answered Nature, merciful and stern, 
 " I teach by killing; let the others learn." 
 
 THE COMMONPLACE. 
 
 Life is so weary commonplace 1 Too fair 
 Were those young visions of the poet and seer. 
 Nothing exciting ever happens here. 
 Just eat and drink, and dress and chat ; 
 Life is so tedious, slow, and flat. 
 And every day alike in everywhere ! 
 
 4 
 
TIIK WOULD. 
 
 IJirMi (!()iii('H. I'.iiMi - 
 
 The hrcatliiiii^^ ni-(!r<';i.l ion of I li(M';irMi I 
 
 All c.'irMi, :iJl wky, all (Jod, WU'.'h dccit swcm'I, whole, 
 
 Newborn a.<;'.'i.iii lo c:u;li ik^w soul I 
 
 "()|i,a,icyonV VVIiai a, sliaiiie! Too l>ad, my dear I 
 
 How Weill you Hlaiid it, too I II, ',s very (jiieer 
 
 Tlie <lrea<irid ti'ial.s woiruMi have lo carry; 
 
 Hut yoii eaii't always help it when you marry. 
 
 Oh, what a sweet layette I What lovely socks I 
 
 What ail exciuisite, |)ulT and powder box I 
 
 Wlio is your doctor? Y(!S, his Hkill 's immense; — 
 
 Hut it's a dreadful (lan^(5r and (!Xp(Mis(3! " 
 
 liove comes. liove: - 
 
 And the world vvid<-ns at the touch thereof; 
 Deepens a,nd li^ht(Mis till the a,nsw(M' tru<i 
 To aJl life's (piestioMS seems to /glimmer throii'^h. 
 " Kn^a^^ed V F knew it must Ixi I VVha,t a rin^- ! 
 Worth how iniKdiV W<ill, you are a lu(;ky thini;! 
 I»ut how waH .lack disposeid of?" *' » Jaclc ? Oh, ho 
 Was just as glad as I was to be frco. 
 You mii;ht as well ask after (Jeorgf^ and .Jo<i 
 And a,ll th<" fellows that I used to know I 
 I don't iiKjuire for his past Kate; and ('arry — 
 lOvery one's j»Ieas(Ml. It's time, you kiu)W, to 
 marry." 
 
 liifc! (;om(!S. Fiifo — 
 
 licariiig within it wisdom, work, and strifo. 
 G 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 To do, to strive, to know, and, with the knowing, 
 To find life's widest pnrpose in our growing. 
 " How are you, Jim ? Pleasant weather to-day ! 
 How 's business ? " " AVell, it does n't come my 
 
 way." 
 " Good-morning, IMrs. Smith ! I hope you 're well ! 
 Tell me the news ! " " The news V There 's none to 
 
 tell. 
 The cook has left ; the baby 's got a tooth ; 
 John has gone fishing to renew his youth. 
 House-cleaning 's due — or else we '11 have to move 1 
 How sweet you are in that ! Good-bye, my love 1 " 
 
 Death comes. Death — 
 
 Love cries to love, and no man answereth. 
 
 Death the beginning, Death the endless end. 
 
 Life 's proof and first condition, Birth's best friend. 
 
 " Yes, it 's a dreadful loss I No coming back ! 
 
 Never again 1 How do I look in black ? 
 
 And then he suffered so I Oh, yes, we all 
 
 Are well provided for. You 're kind to call, 
 
 And Mrs. Green has lost her baby too I 
 
 Dear me ! How sad ! And yet what could they do ? 
 
 AVith such a hard time as they have, you know, — 
 
 No doubt 't was better for the child to go ! " 
 
 Life is so dreary commonplace. We bear 
 One dull yoke, in the country or the town. 
 We 're born, grow up, marry, and settle down. 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 T used U) think — l)u(- then ;i iiiiiii ?misl> live! 
 The I^'ates (h)l(', oiil ilu; w(i;iry years iliey giv*;, 
 And ev(!ry day alilu; in everywhere. 
 
 HOMES. 
 
 A SESTINA. 
 
 Wk are tlie HMiiiing e()inr()rial)le lioiiies 
 
 With liappy faniilicH (snlhi'oned ihciiftin, 
 
 Wh(!r(; bahy Hoids are hroii^hl to wuwX th(! vvorM, 
 
 Wh(!ro women (Mid tlieir <hitieH and d(!HireH, 
 
 l''or wlii(!h men labor as the; goal of lift!, 
 
 'J'hat j)e()|)l(! worship now instead of (Jod. 
 
 ])o wo not t(!ach the child to worshi|t (iodY — 
 Whose Hold's young rang<5 is bounded by the lioiues 
 Of thos(; Ik; lovtis, and when; Ik; learns that life 
 Is all constrained to serve; the wants therein, 
 l)om(;stic necids and ])(;rsonal desires, — 
 'I'hesc are the; e;uly limits of his world. 
 
 And ai'e w(; not tin; woman's ])erf(!ct world, 
 l'reseiib(;(l by natnrc; and ord;i,iiK;d of (lod, 
 Ji(;y(jnd whi("h sh(; can hav(; no right d(;sir(!S, 
 No need for service oth(;r than in hom(;sV 
 For doth she not bring u\) lu;r young t]K;rein ? 
 And is not ni.'iring young the; end of life? 
 
 And man ? What otlicr need hath Ik; in life 
 'J'han to go forth and labor in the; world, 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 And struggle sore with other men therein ? 
 Not to serve other men, nor yet liis God, 
 But to maintain these comfortable homes, — 
 The end of all a normal man's desires. 
 
 Shall not the soul's most measureless desires 
 Learn that the very flower and fruit of life 
 Lies all attained in comfortable homes. 
 With which life's purpose is to dot the world 
 And consummate the utmost will of God, 
 By sitting down to eat and drink therein. 
 
 Yea, in the processes that work therein — 
 Fulfilment of our natural desires — 
 Surely man finds the proof that mighty God 
 For to maintain and reproduce his life 
 Created him and set him in the world ; 
 And this high end is best attained in homes. 
 
 Are we not homes ? And is not all therein ? 
 Wring dry the world to meet our wide desires 1 
 We crown all life ! We are the aim of God 1 
 
 A COMMON INFERENCE. 
 
 A NIGHT : mysterious, tender, quiet, deep ; 
 Heavy with flowers ; full of life asleep ; 
 Thrilling with insect voices ; thick with stars 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 No cloud between the dewdrops and red Mars ; 
 The small earth whii-liiig softly on her way, 
 The moonbeams and the waterfalls at play ,* 
 A million million worlds that move in peace, 
 A million mighty laws that never cease ; 
 And one small ant-heap, hidden by small weeds, 
 Rich with eggs, slaves, and store of millet seeds. 
 They sleep beneath the sod 
 And trust in God. 
 
 A day : all glorious, royal, blazing bright ; 
 Heavy with flowers ; full of life and light ; 
 Great fields of corn and sunshine ; courteous trees ; 
 Snow-sainted mountains; earth-embracing seas; 
 Wide golden deserts ; slender silver streams; 
 Clear rainbows where the tossing fountain gleams ; 
 And everywhere, in happiness and peace, 
 A million forms of life that never cease ; 
 And one small ant-heap, crushed by passing tread, 
 Hath scarce enough alive to mourn the dead 1 
 They shriek beneath the sod, 
 " There is no God 1 " 
 
 THE ROCK AND THE SEA. 
 
 THE ROCK. 
 I AM the Rock, presumptuous Sea ! 
 I am set to encounter thee. 
 9 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Angry and loud or gentle and still, 
 I am set here to limit thy power, and I will ! 
 I am the Rock ! 
 
 I am the Rock. From age to age 
 
 I scorn thy fury and dare thy rage. 
 
 Scarred by frost and worn by time. 
 
 Brown with weed and green with slime, 
 
 Thou may'st drench and defile me and spit in my 
 
 face, 
 But while I am here thou keep'st thy place ! 
 I am the Rock ! 
 
 I am the Rock, beguiling Sea ! 
 I know thou art fair as fair can be, 
 With golden glitter and silver sheen, 
 And bosom of blue and garments of green. 
 Thou may'st pat my cheek with baby hands, 
 And lap my feet in diamond sands, 
 And play before me as children play ; 
 But plead as thou wilt, I bar the way ! 
 I am the Rock ! 
 
 I am the Rock. Black midnight falls ; 
 The terrible breakers rise like walls ; 
 With curling lips and gleaming teeth 
 They plunge and tear at my bones beneath. 
 Year upon year they grind and beat 
 In storms of thunder and storms of sleet, — 
 
THIC WORLD, 
 
 Grind and beat and wrestle and tear, 
 But the rock they beat on is always there I 
 I am the Rock 1 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 I am the Sea. I hold the land 
 As one holds an apple in his hand, 
 Hold it fast with sleepless eyes, 
 Watching the continents sink and rise. 
 Out of my bosom the mountains grow, 
 Back to its depths they crumble slow ; 
 The earth is a helpless child to me. 
 I am the Sea 1 
 
 I am the Sea. When I draw back 
 Blossom and verdure follow my track, 
 And the land I leave grows proud and fair, 
 For the wonderful race of man is there ; 
 And the winds of heaven wail and cry 
 While the nations rise and reign and die, 
 Living and dying in folly and pain. 
 While the laws of the universe thunder in vain. 
 What is the folly of man to me ? 
 I am the Sea. 
 
 I am the Sea. The earth 1 sway ; 
 Granite to me is potter's clay ; 
 Under the touch of ray careless waves 
 It rises in turrets and sinks in caves ; 
 The iron cliffs that edge the land 
 11 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 I grind to pebbles and sift to sand, 
 And beach-grass blowetli and children play 
 In what were the rocks of yesterday. 
 It is but a moment of sport to me. 
 I am the Sea ! 
 
 I am the Sea. In my bosom deep 
 Wealth and Wonder and Beauty sleep ; 
 Wealth and Wonder and Beauty rise 
 In changing splendor of sunset skies, 
 And comfort the earth with rains and snows 
 Till waves the harvest and laughs the rose. 
 Flower and forest and child of breath 
 With me have life — without me. deathu 
 What if tlie ships go down in me ? 
 I am the Sea I 
 
 THE LlOlSr PATH. 
 
 I DARE not ! 
 
 Look ! the road is very dark ; 
 The trees stir softly and the bushes shake, 
 The long grass rustles, and the darkness moves 
 Here — there — beyond ! 
 
 There 's something crept across the road just now 1 
 And you would have me go ? 
 Go there, through that live darkness, hideous 
 With stir of crouching forms that wait to kill ? 
 Ah, look ! See there ! and there ! and there again 1 
 
 12 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Great yellow glassy eyes, close to the ground 1 
 Look ! Now the clouds are lighter I can see 
 The long slow lashing of the sinewy tails. 
 And the set quiver of strong jaws that wait ! 
 Go there ? Not I ! Who dares to go who sees 
 So perfectly the lions in the path ? 
 
 Comes one who dares. 
 
 Afraid at first, yet bound 
 On such high errand as no fear could stay. 
 Forth goes he with the lions in his path. 
 And then — ? 
 
 He dared a death of agony, 
 Outnumbered battle with the king of beasts, 
 Long struggle in the horror of the night, 
 Dared and went forth to meet — O ye who fear 1 
 Finding an empty road, and nothing there, — 
 A wide, bare, common road, with homely fields, 
 And fences, and the dusty roadside trees — 
 Some spitting kittens, maybe, in the grass. 
 
 REINFORCEMENTS. 
 
 Yea, we despair. Because the night is long. 
 And all arms weary with the endless fight 
 With blind, black forces of insulted law 
 Which we continually disobey. 
 And know not how to honor if we would. 
 
 13 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 How can we fight when every effort fails, 
 
 And the vast hydra looms before us still 
 
 Headed as thickly as at dawn of day. 
 
 Fierce as when evening fell on us at war ? 
 
 We are aweary, and no help appears ; 
 
 No light, no knowledge, no sure way to kill 
 
 Our ancient enemy. Let us give o'er ! 
 
 We do but fight with fate I Lay down your arms 1 
 
 lletreat I Surrender 1 Better live as slaves 
 
 Than fight forever on a losing field I 
 
 Hold, ye faint-hearted I Ye are not alone ! 
 Into your worn-out ranks of weary men 
 Come mighty reinforcements, even now I 
 Look where the dawn is kindling in the east, 
 Brave with the glory of the better day, — 
 A countless host, an endless host, all fresh. 
 With unstained banners and unsullied shields, 
 With shining swords that point to victory. 
 And great young hearts that know not how to 
 
 fear, — 
 The Children come to save the weary world 1 
 
 HEROISM. 
 
 It takes great strength to train 
 To modern service your ancestral brain ; 
 To lift the weight of the unnumbered years 
 Of dead men's habits, methods, and ideas ; 
 
 14 
 
 1 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 To hold that back with one hand, and support 
 With the other the weak steps of a new thouglit. 
 
 It takes great strength to bring your lile upscpiaro 
 
 With your accepted thought, and liold it there; 
 
 Resisting tlio inertia that drags l)ack 
 
 From new attempts to the old habit's track. 
 
 It is so easy to drift back, to sink ; 
 
 So hard to live abreast of what you think ! 
 
 It takes great strength to live where you belong 
 When other people think that you are wrong ; 
 People you love, and who love you, and whose 
 Approval is a pleasure you would choose. 
 To bear this pressure and succeed at length 
 In living your belief — well, it takes strength 
 
 And courage too. l>ut what does courage mean 
 
 Save strength to help you face a pain foreseen ? 
 
 Courage to undertake this lifelong strain 
 
 Of setting yours against your grandsire's brain ; 
 
 Dangerous risk of walking lone and free 
 
 Out of the easy paths that used to be. 
 
 And the fierce pain of hurting those we love 
 
 When love meets truth, and truth must ride above? 
 
 But the best courage man has ever shown 
 Is daring to cut loose and think alone. 
 Dark as the urdit chambers of clear space 
 Where light shines back from no reflecting face. 
 
 15 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Our sun's wide glare, our heaven's shining blue, 
 
 "We owe to fog and dust they fumble through ; 
 
 And our rich wisdom that we treasure so 
 
 Shines from the thousand things that we don't know. 
 
 But to think new — it takes a courage grim 
 
 As led Columbus over the world's rim. 
 
 To think it cost some courage. And to go — 
 
 Try it. It taxes every power you know. 
 
 It takes great love to stir a human heart 
 
 To live beyond the others and apart. 
 
 A love that is not shallow, is not small. 
 
 Is not for one, or two, but for them all. 
 
 Love that can wound love, for its higher need ; 
 
 Love that can leave love though the heart may bleed ; 
 
 Love that can lose love ; family, and friend ; 
 
 Yet steadfastly live, loving, to the end. 
 
 A love that asks no answer, that can live 
 
 Moved by one burning, deathless force, — to give. 
 
 Love, strength, and courage. Courage, strength, 
 
 and love. 
 The heroes of all time are built thereof. 
 
 FIRE WITH FIRE. 
 
 There are creeping flames in the near-by grass ; 
 There are leaping flames afar; 
 And the wind's black breath 
 
 16 
 
THE W' 
 
 Is hot with death, 
 
 The worst of the deaths that are ! 
 
 And north is fire andfeouth is fire, 
 And east and west the\ame ; 
 The sunlight chokes, 
 The whole earth smokes, 
 The only light is flame ! 
 
 But what do I care for the girdle of death 
 
 With its wavering wall and spire ! 
 
 I draw the ring 
 
 Where I am king. 
 
 And fight the fire with fire ! 
 
 My blaze is not as wide as the world, 
 
 Nor tall for the world to see ; 
 
 But the flames I make 
 
 For life's sweet sake, 
 
 Are between the fire and me. 
 
 That fire would burn in wantonness 
 
 All things that life must use; 
 
 Some things I lay 
 
 In the dragon's way 
 
 And burn because I choose. 
 
 The sky is black, the air is red, 
 The earth is a flaming sea ; 
 
 2 17 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 But I 'm shielded well 
 
 In the seething hell, 
 
 By the fire that comes from me. 
 
 There is nothing on earth a man need fear, 
 
 Nothing so dark or dire ; 
 
 Though the world is wide, 
 
 You have more inside, 
 
 You can fight the fire with fire 1 
 
 THE SHIELD. 
 
 Fight ! said the Leader. Stand and fight ! 
 
 How dare you yield ! 
 What is the pain of the bitter blows, 
 The ache and sting and the blood that flows, 
 
 To a losing field I 
 
 Yea, said they, you may stand and fight ; 
 
 We needs must yield ! 
 What is the danger and pain to you. 
 When every blow falls fair and true 
 
 On your magic shield ? 
 
 The magical cuirass over your breast. 
 
 Leather and steel. 
 Guarded like that, of course you dare 
 To meet the storm of battle there — 
 
 But we can feel 1 
 
 18 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 The Leader fell where he fought alone. 
 
 See the lifeblood start 
 Where one more blow has pierced too far, 
 Through a bosom hardened with scar on scar, - 
 The only shield, the only bar, 
 
 For that great heart ! 
 
 TO THE PREACHER. 
 
 Preach about yesterday. Preacher ! 
 The time so far away : 
 When the hand of Deity smote and slew. 
 And the heathen plagued the stiif-necked Jew 
 Or when the Man of Sorrows came, 
 And blessed the people who cursed his name — 
 Preach about yesterday, Preacher I 
 Not about to-day ! 
 
 Preach about to-morrow. Preacher ! 
 Beyond this world's decay : 
 Of the sheepfold Paradise we priced 
 When we pinned our faith to Jesus Christ ; 
 Of those hot depths that shall receive 
 The goats who would not so believe — 
 Preach about to-morrow. Preacher, 
 Not about to-day I 
 
 Preach about the old sins, Preacher ! 
 And the old virtues, too : 
 
 19 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 You must not steal nor take man's life, 
 You must not covet your neighbor's wife, 
 And woman must cling at every cost 
 To her one virtue, or she is lost — 
 Preach about the old sins, Treacher ! 
 Not about the new ! 
 
 Preach about the other man, Preacher 1 
 The man we all can see ! 
 The man of oaths, the man of strife, 
 The man who drinks and beats his wife. 
 Who helps his mates to fret and shirk 
 When all they need is to keep at work — 
 Preach about the other man, Preacher 1 
 Not about me 1 
 
 A TYPE. 
 
 I AM too little, said the Wretch, 
 
 For any one to see. 
 Among the million men who do 
 This thing that I am doing too, 
 
 Why should they notice me ? 
 
 My sin is common as to breathe ; 
 
 It rests on every back. 
 And surely I am not to blame 
 Where everybody does the same, - 
 
 Am not a bit more black ! 
 
 20 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 And so lie took his willing share 
 
 In a universal crime, 
 Thinking that no reiDioach could fall 
 On one who shared the fault of all, 
 
 Who did it all the time. 
 
 Then Genius came, and showed the world 
 
 What thing it was they did ; 
 How their offence had reached the poles 
 With stench of slain unburied souls, 
 And all men cowered and hid. 
 
 Then Genius took that one poor Wretch 
 
 For now the time was ripe ; 
 Stripped him of every shield and blind, 
 And nailed him up for all mankind 
 To study — as a type ! 
 
 COMPROMISE. 
 
 It is well to fight and win — 
 
 If that may be ; 
 It is well to fight and die therein ■ 
 
 For such go free ; 
 
 It is ill to fight and find no grave 
 
 But a prison-cell ; , 
 To keep alive, yet live a slave — 
 
 Praise those who fell! 
 21 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 But worst of all are those who stand 
 
 With arms laid by, 
 Baunorless, helpless, no eonmiand. 
 
 No battle-cry. 
 
 They live to save unvalued breath, 
 
 With lowered eyes ; 
 In place of victory, or death, — 
 
 A compromise ! 
 
 PART OF THE BATTLE. 
 
 There is a moment when w'ith splendid joy, 
 With Hashing blade and roar of tlumdering guns 
 And colors waving wide where triumph stands, 
 The last redoubt is carried ; we have won ! 
 This is the battle I AVe have conquered now 1 
 
 But the long hours of niarehing in the sun, 
 The longer hours of waiting in the dark, 
 Peadly dishonored work of hidden spy, 
 The dull details of commissariat. 
 Food, clothing, medicine, the hosj>ital. 
 The way the transportation mules are fed, — 
 These are the battle too, and victory's price. 
 
 And we, in days when no attack is feared 
 
 And none is hoped, — no sudden courage called, - 
 
 Should strengthen our intrenchments quietly. 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Review the forces, exercise ilie troops, 
 
 Feeliiipf the while, not " When will battle come?" 
 
 Ihit, " This is battle ! We are conquering now I " 
 
 STEP FASTER, PLEASE. 
 
 Ok all most aggravating things, 
 
 If yon an^ hot in hnsto, 
 Is to have a man in front of you 
 
 With hair a <l;iy to waste. 
 
 There is this one thing that jnstifies 
 The man in the foremost place : 
 
 Tlie fact that he is the man in front. 
 The leader of the race. 
 
 But, for Heaven's sake, if you are ahead. 
 
 Don't dawdle at your ease 1 
 You set th(^ ])ace for the man behind ; 
 
 Step faster, please 1 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S REMINDER. 
 
 Uettku hav(^ a tendcM* conscience for (he record of 
 
 youi- hous(% 
 Aiul your own share in the work whi(;h they have 
 don(^. 
 
 Though your ])i'ivat(i conseicnce aches 
 With yonr personal mistakes, 
 And you don't amount to vci-y much aloiu), 
 23 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Than to be yourself as spotless as a baby one year 
 
 old, 
 Your domestic habits wholly free from blame, 
 
 While the company you stand with 
 
 Is a thing to curse a land with. 
 And your public life is undiluted shame. 
 
 For the deeds men do together are what saves the 
 
 world to-day — 
 By our common public work we stand or fall — 
 
 And your fraction of the sin 
 
 Of the office you are in 
 Is the sin that 's going to damn you, after all I 
 
 OUT OF PLACE. 
 
 Cell, poor little cell, 
 Distended with pain. 
 Torn with the pressure 
 Of currents of effort 
 Resisted in vain ; 
 Feeling sweep by you 
 The stream of nutrition, 
 Unable to take ; 
 Crushed flat and inactive, 
 "While shudder across you 
 Great forces that wake ; 
 Alone — while far voices 
 
 24 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Across all the shouting 
 
 Call you to your own ; 
 
 Held fast, l"asteiu'<l ciosi^. 
 
 Surrounded, enveloped, 
 
 J low you starve there alone ! 
 
 Cell, poor little cell, 
 
 Let the pain pass — don't hold it ! 
 
 Let the effort pass through you 1 
 
 Let go I And give way 1 
 
 You will find your own place ; 
 
 You will join your own people ; 
 
 See the light of your day I 
 
 LITTLE CELL. 
 
 Little Cell I Little Cell! with a heart as big as 
 
 heaven, 
 Remember that you are but a part ! 
 This great longing in your soul 
 Is the longing of the whole, 
 And your work is not done with your heart ! 
 
 Don't imagine, Little Cell, 
 That the work you do so well 
 Is the only work the world needs to do ! 
 You are wanted in your place 
 For the growing of the race. 
 But the growing does not all depend on you I 
 25 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Little Cell ! Little Cell I with a race's whole am- 
 bition, 
 Remember there are others growing, too I 
 You 've been noble, you 've been strong ; 
 llest a while and come along ; 
 Let the world take a turn and carry you ! 
 
 THE CHILD SPEAKS. 
 
 Get backl Give me air! Give me freedom and 
 
 room, 
 The warm earth and bright water, the crowding 
 
 sweet bloom 
 Of the flowers, and the measureless, marvellous 
 
 sky,— 
 All of these all the time, and a shelter close by 
 Where silence and beauty and peace are my own 
 In a chamber alone. 
 
 Then bring me the others I " A child " is a crime ; 
 It is " children " who grow through the beautiful 
 
 time 
 Of their childhood up into the age you are in. 
 " A child " must needs suffer and sicken and 
 
 sin; 
 The life of a child needs the life of its kind, 
 O ye stupid and blind I 
 
THE WOULD. 
 
 Then tlic best of your heart luid the best oi' your 
 
 brain I 
 The face of all beauty ! The soul without stain ! 
 Your noblest I Your wisest I With us is the place 
 To cons(!crate life to the ^ood of the race I 
 That our childhood may pass with the best you 
 
 can give, 
 
 And our manhood so live I 
 
 The wisdom of years, the experience deej^ 
 
 That shall laugh with our waking and watch with 
 
 our sleep, 
 The patience of age, the keen honor of youth, 
 To guide us in doing and teach us in truth, 
 With the garnered i-ipe fi-uit o\' the; woi-ld at our feet, 
 lioth the bjtt(!r and sweet I 
 
 What is this that you offer? One man's narrow 
 
 purse I 
 One woman's strained life, and a heart straining 
 
 worse 1 
 Confined as in pi-isons — held down as in caves — 
 The teaching of tyrants — the service of slaves — 
 The garments of falscihood and bondage — the 
 
 weight 
 
 Of your own evil state. 
 
 And what is this brought as atonement for these? 
 For our blind misdirection, our death and disease; 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 For the grief of our childhood, the loss and the 
 
 wrong ; 
 For the pain of our childhood, the agony strong ; 
 For the shame and the sin and the sorrow thereof — 
 Dare you say it is love ? 
 
 Love ? First give freedom, — the right of the brute I 
 The air with its sunshine, the earth with its fruit. 
 Love ? First give wisdom, — intelligent care. 
 That shall help to bring out all the good that is 
 
 there. 
 Love ? First give justice ! There 's nothing 
 
 above ! 
 
 And then you may love ! 
 
 TO A GOOD MANY. 
 
 O BLIND and selfish ! Helpless as the beast 
 Who sees no meaning in a soul released 
 And given flesh to grow in — to work through I 
 Think you that God has nothing else to do 
 Than babble endlessly the same set phrase ? 
 Are life's great spreading, upward-reaching ways 
 Laid for the beasts to climb on till the top 
 Is reached in you, you think, and there you stop ! 
 They were raised up, obedient to force 
 Which lifted them, unwitting of their course. 
 You have new power, new consciousness, new sight ; 
 You can help God ! You stand in the great light 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Of seeing him at work. You can go on 
 And walk with him, and feel the glory won. 
 And here you sit, content to toil and strive 
 To keep your kind of animal alive ! 
 Why, friends ! God is not through ! 
 The universe is not complete in you. 
 You 're just as bound to follow out his plan 
 And sink yourself in ever-growing Man 
 As ever were the earliest, crudest eggs 
 To grow to vertebrates with arms and legs. 
 Society holds not its present height 
 Merely that you may bring a child to light ; 
 But you and yours live only in the plan 
 That 's working out a higher kind of man ; 
 A higher kind of life, that shall let grow 
 New powers and nobler duties than you know. 
 Rise to the thought ! Live in the widening race ! 
 Help make the State more like God's dwelling- 
 place I 
 New paths for life divine, as yet untrod, — 
 A social body for the soul of God ! 
 
 HOW WOULD YOU? 
 
 Half of our misery, half our pain, 
 Half the dark background of our self-reproach, 
 Is thought of how the world has sinned before. 
 We, being one, one with all life, we feel 
 
 29 
 
m THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 The misdeiiieanors of uncounted time ; 
 We suifer in the foolishness and sins 
 Of races just behind us, — burn \Yith shame 
 At their gross ignorance and murderous deeds ; 
 We suffer back of them in the long years 
 Of squalid struggling savagery of beasts, — 
 Beasts human and subhuman ; back of them 
 In helpless creatures eaten, hunted, torn; 
 In submerged forests dying in the slime ; 
 And even back of that in endless years 
 Of hot convulsions of dismembered lands, 
 And slow constricting centuries of cold. 
 So in our own lives, even to this day, 
 We carry in the chambers of the mind 
 The tale of errors, failures, and misdeeds 
 That we call sins, of all our early lives. 
 And the recurrent consciousness of this 
 We call remorse. The unrelenting gauge, 
 Now measuring past error, — this is shame. 
 And in our feverish overconsciousness, 
 A retroactive and preactive sense, — 
 Fired with our self-made theories of sin, — 
 We suffer, suffer, suffer — half alive, 
 And half with the dead scars of suffering. 
 
 Friends, how would you, perhaps, have made 
 
 the world ? 
 Would you have balanced the great forces so 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Their interaction would have bred no shock ? 
 
 No cosmic throes of newborn continents, 
 
 No eras of the earth-eucircling rain, — 
 
 Uncounted scahling- tears that fell and fell 
 
 On molten worlds that hotly dashed them back 
 
 In storms of fierce repudiated steam ? 
 
 Would you have made earth's gems without the 
 
 fire, 
 Without the water, and without the weight 
 Of crushing cubic miles of huddled rock? 
 Would you have made one kind of plant to reign 
 In all the earth, growing mast high, and then 
 Keep it undying so, an end of plants V 
 Would you have made one kind of animal 
 To live on air and spare the tender gi'ass. 
 And stop him, somehow, when he grew so thick 
 That even air fell short. Or would you have 
 All plants and animals, and make them change 
 By some metempsychosis not called death ? 
 For, having them, you have to have them change, 
 For growth is change, and life is growth; and change 
 Implies — in this world — what we miscall pain. 
 
 You, wiser, would have made mankind, no doubt, 
 
 Not slowly, awfully, from dying brutes 
 
 Up into living humauness at last. 
 
 But fresh as Adam in the Hebrew tale; 
 
 Only you would have left the serpent out, 
 
 31 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 And left him, naked, in tlie garden still. 
 
 Or somehow, dodging tliis, have still contrived 
 
 That he should learn the whole curriculum 
 
 And never miss a lesson — never fail — 
 
 Be born, like Buddha, all accomplished, wise. 
 
 AVould you have cliosen to begin life old, 
 
 Well-balanced, cautious, knowing where to step, 
 
 And so untortured by the memory 
 
 Of childhood's foolishness and youth's mistakes ? 
 
 Or, born a child, to have experience 
 
 Come to you softly without chance of loss, 
 
 Recurring years each rolling to your hand 
 
 In blissful innocent unconsciousness ? 
 
 O dreamers with a Heaven and a Hell 
 Standing at either end of your wild rush 
 Away fi'om the large peace of knowing Grod, 
 Can you not see that all of it is good ? 
 Good, with the postulate that this is life, — 
 And that is all we have to argue from. 
 Childhood means error, the mistakes that teach ; 
 But only rod and threat and nurse's tale. 
 Make childhood's errors bring us shame and siu. 
 The race's childhood grows by error too. 
 And we are not attained to manhood yet. 
 But grief and shame ai-e only born of lies. 
 Once see the lovely law that needs mistakes, 
 And you are young forever. This is Life. 
 
THK WORLD. 
 
 A MAN MUST LIVE. 
 
 A MAN must live. We justify 
 Low shift and trick to treason high, 
 A little vote for a little gold 
 To a whole senate bought and sold, 
 By that self-evident reply. 
 
 But is it so V Pray tell nie why 
 Life at such cost you have to buy ? 
 In what religion were you told 
 A man nmst live ? 
 
 There are times when a man must die. 
 
 Imagine, for a battle-cry, 
 
 From soldiers, with a sword to hold, - 
 From soldiers, with the flag unrolled. 
 
 This coward's whine, this liar's lie, — 
 A man nmst live ! 
 
 IN DUTY BOUND. 
 
 In duty bound, a life hemmed in 
 
 Whichever way the spirit turns to look ; 
 
 No chance of breaking out, except by sin ; 
 Not even room to shirk — 
 Simply to live, and work. 
 
 3 33 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 An obligation pre-imposed, unsought, 
 
 Yet binding with the force of natural law ; 
 
 The pressure of antagonistic thought ; 
 Aching within, each hour, 
 A sense of wasting power. 
 
 A house with roof so darkly low 
 
 The heavy rafters shut the sunlight out ; 
 
 One cannot stand erect without a blow ; 
 Until the soul inside 
 Cries for a grave — more wide. 
 
 A consciousness that if this thing endure, 
 
 The common joys of life will dull the pain; 
 The high ideals of the grand and pure 
 
 Die, as of course they must, 
 
 Of long disuse and rust. 
 
 That is the worst. It takes supernal strength 
 
 To hold the attitude that brings the pain ; 
 And they are few indeed but stoop at length 
 
 To something less than best, 
 
 To find, in stooping, rest. 
 
 DESIRE. 
 
 Lo, I desire ! Sum of the ages' gro^i;h — 
 Fruit of evolving eras — king of life — 
 I, holding in myself the outgrown past 
 In all its ever-rising forms — desire. 
 34 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 With the first grass-blade, I desire the sun ; 
 With every bird that breathes, T love the air ; 
 With fishes, joy in water ; with my horse, 
 Exult in motion ; with all living flesh, 
 Long for sweet food and warmth and mate and 
 
 young ; 
 With the whole rising tide of that which is, 
 Thirst for advancement, — crave and yearn for it ! 
 Yea, I desire ! Then the compelling will 
 Urges to action to attain desire. 
 What action? Which desire? Am I a plant, 
 Rooted and helpless, following the light 
 Without volition ? Or am I a beast, 
 Led by desire into the hunter's snare ? 
 Am I a savage, swayed by every wish. 
 Brutal and feeble, a ferocious child ? 
 Stand back. Desire, and put your plea in words. 
 No wordless wailing for the summer moon, 
 No Gilpin race on some strong appetite, 
 Stand here before the King, and make your plea. 
 If Reason sees it just, you have your wish ; 
 If not, your wish is vain, plead as you will. 
 The court is open, beggar ! I am King ! 
 
 WHY NOT? 
 
 Why not look forward far as Plato looked 
 And see the beauty of our coming life, 
 
 35 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 As he saw that which might be ours to-day? 
 If his soul, then, could rise so far beyond 
 The brutal average of that old time, 
 When icy peaks of art stood sheer and liigii 
 In fat black valleys where the helot toiled ; 
 If he, from that, could see so far ahead, 
 Could forecast days when Love and Justice both 
 Should watch the cradle of a healthy child, 
 And Wisdom walk with Beauty and pure Joy 
 In all the common ways of daily life, — 
 Then may not we, from great heights hardly won, 
 Bright hills of liberty, broad plains of peace. 
 And flower-sweet valleys of warm human love, 
 Still broken by the chasms of despair 
 AVhere Poverty and Ignorance and Sin 
 Pollute the air of all, — why not, from this, 
 Look on as Plato looked, and see the day 
 When his Republic and our Heaven, joined, 
 Shall make life what God meant it ? 
 Ay, we do ! 
 
 OUT OF THE GATE. 
 
 Out of the glorious city gate 
 A great throng came. 
 A mighty throng that swelled and grew 
 Around a face that all men knew — 
 36 
 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 A man who bore a noted name — 
 Gathered to listen to his fate. 
 
 The Judge sat high. Unbroken black 
 Around, above, and at his back. 
 The people pressed for nearer place. 
 Longing, yet shamed, to watch that face ; 
 And in a space before the throne 
 The prisoner stood, unbound, alone. 
 So thick they rose on every side, 
 There was no spot his face to hide. 
 
 Then came the Plerald, crying clear. 
 That all the listening crowd should hear ; 
 Crying aloud before the sun 
 What thing this fallen man had done. 
 He — who had held a ruler's place 
 Among them, by their choice and grace — 
 He — fallen lower than the dust — 
 Had sinned against his public trust ! 
 
 The Herald ceased. The Poet arose, 
 The Poet, whose awful art now shows 
 To this poor heart, and heart of every one, 
 The horror of the thing that he had done. 
 
 " O Citizen ! Dweller in this high place ! 
 Son of the city ! Sharer in its pride ! 
 Born in the light of its fair face ! 
 
 37 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 By it fed, sheltered, taught, and glorified ! 
 Raised to pure mauhood by thy city's cai'e ; 
 Made strong and beautiful and happy there ; 
 Loving thy mother and thy father more 
 For the fair town which made them glad before ; 
 Finding among its maidens thy sweet wife ; 
 Owing to it thy power and place in life ; 
 Raised by its people to the lofty stand 
 Where thou couldst execute their high com- 
 mand ; 
 Trusted and honored, lifted over all, — 
 So honored and so trusted, didst thou fall ! 
 Against the people — who gave thee the power — 
 Thou hast misused it in an evil hour ! 
 Agamst the city where thou owest all — 
 Thy city, man, within whose guarding wall 
 Lie all our life's yoimg glories — ay, the whole I 
 The home and cradle of the human soul ! 
 Against thy city, beautiful and strong. 
 Thou, with the power it gave, hast done this 
 wrong ! '' 
 
 Then rose the Judge. " Pi'isoner, thy case was tried 
 
 Fairly and fully in the courts inside. 
 
 Thy guilt was proven, and thou hast confessed, 
 
 And now the people's voice must do the rest. 
 
 I speak the sentence which the people give : 
 
 It is permitted thee to freely live, 
 
 3S 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 \ 
 
 Redeem thy sin by service to the state, 
 But nevermore within this city's gate ! " 
 
 Back rolled the long procession, sad and slow, 
 Back where the city's thousand banners blow. 
 The solemn music rises glad and clear 
 When the great gates before them open near, 
 Rises in triumph, sinks to sweet repose, 
 When the great gates behind them swing and close. 
 j Free stands the prisoner, with a heart of stone. 
 The city gate is shut. He is alone. 
 
 THE MODERN SKELETON. 
 
 As kings of old in riotous royal feasts, 
 Among the piled up roses and the wine, 
 Wild music and soft-footed dancing girls, 
 The pearls and gold and barbarous luxury, 
 Used to show also a white skeleton, — 
 To make life meeker in the sight of death. 
 To make joy sweeter by the thought thereof, 
 
 So our new kings in their high banqueting, 
 With the electric lustre unforeseen. 
 And unimagined costliness of flowers ; 
 Rich wines of price and food as rare as gems, 
 And all the wondrous waste of artifice ; 
 Midst high-bred elegance and jewelled ease 
 
 39 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 And beauty of rich raiment ; tliey should set, 
 High before all, a sickly pauper child, 
 To keep the rich in mind of poverty, — 
 The sui'e coucomitant of their estate. 
 
 THE LESSON OF DEATH. 
 
 TO S. T. D. 
 
 In memory of one whose breath 
 Blessed all with words wise, loving, brave ; 
 "Whose life was service, and whose death 
 Unites our hearts around her grave. 
 
 Another blow has fallen, Lord — 
 
 "Was it from thee? 
 Is it indeed thy fiery sword 
 That cuts our hearts ? "We know thy word ; 
 "We know by heart wherein it saitli 
 " "Whom the Lord loves he chasteneth " — 
 But also, in another breath. 
 This : " The wages of sin is death." 
 
 IIow may we tell what pain is good, 
 
 In mercy sent ? 
 And what is evil through and through, 
 Sure consequence of what we do, 
 Sure product of thy broken laws, 
 Certain effect of given cause, 
 
 Just punishment? 
 
 40 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Not sin of those wlio suffer, Lord — 
 To them no shame. 
 
 For father's sins our children die 
 
 With Justice sitting idly by ; 
 
 The guilty thrive nor yet rejient, 
 
 While sorrow strikes the innocent — 
 
 Whom shall we blame? 
 
 'T is not that one alone is dead, 
 
 And these bereft. 
 
 For her, for them, we grieve indeed ; 
 
 But there are other hearts that bleed ! 
 
 All up and down the world so wide 
 
 We suffer, Lord, on every side, — 
 We who are left. 
 
 See now, we bend our stricken hearts, 
 
 Patient and still, 
 Knowing thy laws are wholly just. 
 Knowing thy love commands our trust. 
 Knowing that good is God alone, 
 That pain and sorrow are our own, 
 And seeking out of all our pain 
 To struggle up to God again — 
 
 Teach us thy will ! 
 
 When shall we learn by common joy 
 
 Broad as the sun, 
 By common effort, common fear, 
 All common life that holds us near, 
 
 41 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 And this gTeat bitter common pain 
 Coming again and yet again — 
 
 That we are one ? 
 
 Yea, one. We cannot sin apart, 
 
 Suffer alone ; 
 Nor keep our goodness to om'selves 
 Like precious things on hidden shelves. 
 Because we each live not our best, 
 Some one must suffer for the rest — 
 For we are one ! 
 
 Our pain is but the voice of wrong — 
 Lord, help us hear ! 
 Teach us to see the truth at last. 
 To mend our future from our past. 
 To know thy laws and find them friends, 
 Leading us safe to lovely ends, 
 
 Tliine own hand near. 
 
 Not one by doing right alone 
 
 Can mend the way ; 
 But we must all do right together, — 
 Love, help, and serve each other, whether 
 We joy or suffer. So at last 
 Shall needless pain and death be past, 
 And we. thy children living here, 
 Be worthy of our father dear ! 
 
 Gk)d speed the day ! 
 
 42 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Oh, help us, Father, from this loss 
 To learn thy willl 
 
 So shall our lost one live again ; 
 
 So shall her life not pass in vain ; 
 
 So shall we show in better living — 
 
 In loving, helping, doing, giving — 
 That she lives still ! 
 
 FOR US. 
 
 If we have not learned that God 's in man, 
 
 And man in God again ; 
 That to love thy God is to love thy brother, 
 And to serve the Lord is to serve each other, 
 
 Then Christ was born in vain 1 
 
 If we have not learned that one man's life 
 
 In all men lives again ; 
 That each man's battle, fought alone, 
 Is won or lost for every one, — 
 
 Then Christ hath lived in vain I 
 
 If we have not learned that death 's no break 
 
 In life's unceasing chain ; 
 That the work in one life well begvm 
 In others is finished, by others is done, — 
 
 Then Christ hath died in vain ! 
 
 43 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 If we have not learned of immortal life, 
 
 And a f utm'e free from pain ; 
 The kingdom of God in the heart of man, 
 And the living world on Heaven's plan, — 
 Then Christ arose in vain ! 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Well is it for the land whose people, yearly, 
 Turn to the Giver of all Good with praise, 
 
 Chanting glad hymns that thank him, loudly, 
 clearly. 
 Rejoicing in the beauty of his ways. 
 
 Great name that means all perfectness and power ! 
 
 We thank thee — not for mercy, nor release, 
 But for clear joy in sky and sea and flower. 
 
 In thy pure justice, and thy blessed peace. 
 
 We live ; behind us the dark past ; before, 
 A wide way full of light that thou dost give ; 
 
 More light, more strength, more joy and ever 
 more — 
 O God of joy ! we thank thee that we live ! 
 
 CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 Listen not to the word that would have you believe 
 That the voice of the age is a moan ; 
 
 44 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 That the red hand of wrong 
 
 Is triumphant and strong, 
 And that wrong is triumphant alone ; 
 There was never a time on the face of the earth 
 
 When love was so near its own. 
 
 Do you think that the love which has died for the 
 
 world 
 Has not lived for the world also ? 
 B Filling man with the fire 
 
 Of a boundless desire 
 To love all with a love that shall grow ? 
 It was not for nothing the White Christ was born 
 Two thousand years ago. 
 
 The power that gave birth to the Son of the King 
 All life doth move and thrill, 
 
 Every age as 't is passed 
 
 Coming nearer at last 
 To the law of that wonderful will, — 
 As our God so loved the world that day, 
 
 Our God so loves it still. 
 
 The love that fed poverty, making it thrive, 
 Is learning a lovelier way. 
 
 We have seen that the poor 
 
 Need be with us no more. 
 And that sin may be driven away ; 
 The love that has carried the martyrs to death 
 
 Is entering life to-day. 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 The spirit of Christ is awake and alive, 
 
 In the work of the world it is shown, 
 Crying loud, crying clear, 
 That the Kingdom is here, 
 
 And that all men are heirs to the throne I 
 
 There was never a time since the making of man 
 When love was so near its own ! 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Slow, slow and weak, 
 As first the tongue began to speak. 
 The hand to serve, the heart to feel, 
 Grew up among our mutual deeds, 
 Great flower out-topping all the weeds, 
 Sweet fruit that meets all human needs. 
 Our love — our common weal. 
 
 It spread so wide, so high, 
 We saw it broad against the sky, 
 Down shining where we trod ; 
 It stormed our new-born consciousness, 
 Omnipotent to heal and bless, 
 Till we conceived — we could no less, 
 It was the love of God ! 
 
 Came there a man at length 
 
 W^hose lieait so swelled with the great strength 
 
 Of love that would have way, 
 
 46 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 That in his body he fulfilled 
 The utmost service love had willed ; 
 And the great stream, so held, so spilled, 
 Pours on until to-day. 
 
 Still we look back to this grand dream, 
 Still stoop to drink at this wide stream, 
 Wider each year we live ; 
 And on one yearly blessed day, 
 Seek not to earn and not to pay. 
 But to let love have its one way, — 
 To quench our thirst to give ! 
 
 Brothers, cease not to bless the name 
 Of him who loved through death and shame, 
 We cannot praise amiss ; 
 But not in vain was sown the seed ; 
 Look wide where thousands toil and bleed, 
 Where men meet death for common need — 
 Ilath no man loved but this ? 
 
 Yea, all men love ; we love to-day 
 Wide as the human race has sway, 
 Ever more deep, more dear ; 
 No stream, — an everlasting sea, 
 Beating and throbbing to be free, 
 To give it forth there needs must be 
 One Christmas all the j^ear I 
 
 47 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 THE LIVING GOD. 
 
 The Living God. Tlie God that made the world 
 
 Made it, and stood aside to watch and wait, 
 
 Arranging a predestined plan * 
 
 To save the erring soul of man — I 
 
 Undying destiny — unswerving fate. 
 
 I see his hand in the path of life, 
 
 PLs law to doom and save, 
 
 His love divine in the hopes that shine 
 
 Beyond the sinner's grave, 
 
 His care that sendeth sun and rain, 
 
 His wisdom giving rest, 
 
 His price of sin that we may not win 
 
 The heaven of the blest. 
 
 Not near enough ! Not clear enough! 
 
 O God, come nearer still ! 
 I long for thee ! Be strong for me ! 
 
 Teach me to know thy will ! 
 
 The Living God. The God that makes the world, 
 
 Makes it — is making it in all its worth ; 
 
 His spirit speaking sure and slow 
 
 In the real universe we know, — 
 
 God living in the earth. 
 
 I feel his breath in the blowing wind, 
 
 His pulse in the swinging sea, 
 
 And the sunlit sod is the breast of God 
 
 48 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Whose strength we feel and see. 
 
 Ilis tenderness in the springing grass, 
 
 His beauty iu the flowers, 
 
 His living love in the sun above, — 
 
 All here, and near, and ours ! 
 
 Not near enough ! Not clear enough I 
 
 O God, come nearer still ! 
 I long for thee ! Be strong for me ! 
 
 Teach me to know thy will ! 
 
 The Living God. The God that is the world. 
 
 The world ? The world is man, — the work of man. 
 
 Then — dare I follow what I see ? — 
 
 Then — by thy Glory — it must be 
 
 That we are in thy plan ? 
 
 That strength divine in the work we do ? 
 
 That love in our mothers' eyes ? 
 
 That wisdom clear in our thinking here ? 
 
 That power to help us rise ? 
 
 God in the daily work we 've done. 
 
 In the daily path we 've trod ? 
 
 Stand still, my heart, for I am a part — 
 
 I too — of the Living God ! 
 
 Ah, clear as light ! As near ! As bright ! 
 
 O God ! My God ! My Own ! 
 Command thou me I I stand for thee I 
 
 And I do not stand alone ! 
 
 4 49 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 O God I I cannot ask thee to forgive; 
 
 I have done ^Yl•ong•. 
 Thy law is just ; tliy hiw must live, — 
 AVhoso doth wrong must suffer pain. 
 But help me to do right again, — 
 
 Again be strong. 
 
 GIVE WAY! 
 
 Shall we not open tlie human heart. 
 
 Swing the doors till the hinges start ; 
 Stop our worrying doubt and din, 
 Hunting heaven and dodging sin ? 
 
 There is no need to search so wide, 
 
 Open the door and stand aside — 
 Let God in ! 
 
 Shall we not open the human heart 
 To loving labor in tield and nuirt ; 
 
 Working together for all about, 
 
 The glad, liu'ge labor that knows not doubt ? 
 Can lie be held in our narrow rim V 
 Do the work that is work for Him — 
 Let God out! 
 
 Shall we not open the human heart, 
 Never to close and stand apart ? 
 
 50 
 
 I 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 God is a force to givo way to 1 
 God is a thing you have to do I 
 God can never be caught by prayer, 
 Hid in your lieart and fastened there — 
 Let God through ! 
 
 THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
 
 FOR CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Our forefathers gave tlianks to God, 
 
 In the land by the stormy sea, 
 For bread hard wrung from the iron sod 
 
 In cold and misery. 
 Though every day meant toil and strife, 
 
 In the land by the stormy sea, 
 They thanked their God for the gift of life — 
 
 How much the more should we 1 
 
 Stern frost had they full many a day, 
 
 Strong ice on the stormy sea. 
 Long months of snow, gray clouds hung low, 
 
 And a cold wind endlessly ; 
 Winter, and war with an alien race — 
 
 But they were alive and free I 
 And they thanked their God for his good grace- 
 
 How much tlie more should wel 
 
 For we have a land all sunny with gold, — 
 A land by the summer sea ; 
 51 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Gold in the earth for our hands to hold, 
 
 Gold ill blossom and tree ; 
 Comfort, and plenty, and beauty, and peace, 
 
 From the mountains down to the sea. 
 They thanked their God for a year's increase ■ 
 
 How much the more should we ! 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAEOL. 
 
 FOR LOS ANGELES. 
 
 On the beautiful birthday of eTesus, 
 While the nations praising stand, 
 
 He goeth from city to city, 
 
 He walketh from land to land. 
 
 And the snow lies white and heavy. 
 And the ice lies wide and wan. 
 
 But the love of the blessed Christmas 
 Melts even the heart of man. 
 
 With love from the heart of Heaven, 
 In the power of his Holy Xame, 
 
 To the City of the Queen of the Angels 
 The tender Christ-child came. 
 
 The land blushed red with roses. 
 The land laughed glad with grain, 
 
 And the little hills smiled softly 
 In the freshness after rain. 
 
 52 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Land of the fig and olive ! 
 
 Land of the fruitful vine ! 
 His heart grew soft within him, 
 
 As he thought of Palestine, — 
 
 Of the brooks with the banks of lilies, 
 
 Of the little doves of clay, 
 And of how he sat with his mother 
 
 At the end of a summer's day, 
 
 His head on his mother's bosom. 
 His hand in his mother's hand, 
 
 Watching the golden sun go down 
 Across the shadowy land, — 
 
 A moment's life with human kind ; 
 
 A moment, — nothing more ; 
 Eternity lies broad behind. 
 
 Eternity before. 
 
 High on the Hills of Heaven, 
 
 Majestic, undefiled. 
 Forever and ever he lives, a God ; 
 
 But once he lived, a Child ! 
 
 And the child-heart leaps within him, 
 And the child-eyes softer grow, 
 
 When the land lies bright and sunny, 
 Like the land of long ago ; 
 
 53 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 And the love of God is mingled 
 With the love of dear days gone, 
 
 When he comes to the city of his mother, 
 On the day her child was born ! 
 
 NEW DUTY. 
 
 re o^^ 
 
 God alone ; 
 Bowing in eternal thrall, 
 Giving, sacrificing all, 
 
 Before the Throne. 
 
 Once we owed it to the King, — 
 
 Served the crown ; 
 Life, and love, and everything, 
 In allegiance to the King, 
 
 Laying down. 
 
 Now we owe it to INIankind, — 
 
 To our Race ; 
 Fullest fruit of soul and mind, 
 Heart and hand and all behind. 
 
 Now in place. 
 
 Loving-service, wide and free, 
 
 From the sod 
 \jY> in varying degree. 
 Through me and you — through you and me 
 
 Up to God ! 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 SEEKING. 
 
 I WENT to look for Love among the roses, the roses, 
 The pretty winged boy with the arrow and the bow ; 
 In the fair and fragrant places, 
 'Mid the Muses and the Graces, 
 At the feet of Aphrodite, with the roses all aglow. 
 
 Then I sought among the shrines where the rosy 
 
 flames were leaping — 
 The rose and golden flames, never ceasing, never 
 still — 
 For the boy so fair and slender, 
 The imperious, the tender. 
 With the whole world moving slowly to the music 
 of his will. 
 
 Sought, and found not for my seeking, till the sweet 
 
 quest led me further, 
 And before me rose the temple, marble-based and 
 gold above. 
 Where the long procession marches 
 'N'eatli the incense-clouded arches 
 In the world-compelling worship of the mighty God 
 of Love. 
 
 Yea, I passed with bated breath to the holiest of 
 
 holies. 
 And I lifted the great curtain from the Inmost, — 
 
 the Most Fair, — 
 
 55 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Eager for the joy of finding, 
 For the glory, beating, blinding. 
 Meeting but an empty darkness ; darkness, silence 
 — nothing there. 
 
 Where is Love? I cried in anguish, while the 
 
 temple reeled and faded ; 
 Where is Love? — for 1 must find him, I must 
 know and understand ! 
 Died the music and the laughter, 
 Flames and roses dying after, 
 And the curtain I was holding fell to ashes in my 
 hand. 
 
 FINDING. 
 
 Out of great darkness and wide wastes of silence, 
 Long loneliness, and slow untasted years, 
 Came a slow filling of the empty places, 
 A slow, sweet lighting of forgotten faces, 
 A smiling under tears. 
 
 A light of dawn that filled the brooding heaven, 
 A warmth that kindled all the earth and air, 
 A thrilling tender music, floating, stealing, 
 A fragrance of unnumbered flowers revealing 
 A sweetness new and fair. 
 
 After the loss of love where I had sought him, 
 After the anguish of the empty shrine, 
 56 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Came a warm joy from all the hearts around me, 
 A feelhig that some perfect strength had found 
 me, 
 
 Touch of the hand divine. 
 
 I followed Love to his intensest centre, 
 
 And lost him utterly when fastened there ; 
 1 let him go and ceased my selfish seeking. 
 Turning my heart to all earth's voices speaking, 
 And found him everywhere. 
 
 Love like the rain that falls on just and unjust, 
 Love like the sunshine, measureless and free. 
 From each to all, from all to each, to live in ; 
 And, in the world's glad love so gladly given, 
 Came heart's true love to me ! 
 
 TOO MUCH. 
 
 There are who die without love, never seeing 
 The clear eyes shining, the bright wings fleeing. 
 Lonely they die, and ahungered, in bitterness 
 
 knowing 
 They have not had their share of the good there 
 
 was going. 
 
 There are who have and lose love, these most 
 
 blessed. 
 In joy unstained which they have once possessed, 
 
 67 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Lost while still dear, still sweet, still met by glad 
 
 affection, — 
 An endless happiness in recollection. 
 
 And some have Love 's full cup as he doth give it — 
 Have it, and diink of it, and, ah, — outlive it ! 
 Full fed by Love 's delights, o'er wearied, sated, 
 They die, not hungry — only suffocated. 
 
 THE CUP. 
 
 And yet, saith he, ye need but sip ; 
 
 And who would die without a taste ? 
 Just touch the goblet to the lip. 
 
 Then let the bright draught run to waste 1 
 
 She set her lip to the beaker's brim — 
 
 'T was passing sweet ! 'T was passing mild ! 
 
 She let her large eyes dwell on him, 
 And sipped again, and smiled. 
 
 So sweet ! So mild ! She scarce can tell 
 
 If she doth really drink or no ; 
 Till the light doth fade and the shadows swell, 
 
 And the goblet lieth low. 
 
 O cup of dreams ! O cup of doubt ! 
 
 O cup of blinding joy and pain ! 
 The taste that none would die without ! 
 
 The draught that all the world must drain I 
 
 58 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 WHAT THEN ? 
 
 Suppose you write your heart out till the world 
 Sobs with one voice — what then ? 
 
 Small agonies that round your heart-strings curled 
 Strung out for choice, that men 
 
 May pick a phrase, each for his own pet pain, 
 And thank the voice so come. 
 They being dumb. What then? 
 
 You have no sympathy ? O endless claim 1 
 
 No one that cares ? What then ? 
 Suppose you had — the whole world knew your 
 name 
 And your affairs, and men 
 Ached with your headache, dreamed your dreadful 
 dreams, 
 And, with your heart-break due, 
 Their hearts broke too. What then? 
 
 You think that people do not understand ? 
 
 You suffer ? Die ? What then ? 
 Unhappy child, look here, on either hand, 
 
 Look low or high, — all men 
 Suffer and die, and keep it to themselves 1 
 
 They die — they suffer sore — 
 
 You suffer more ? What then ? 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 OUR LONELINESS. 
 
 There is no deeper grief than loneliness. 
 
 Our sharpest anguish at the death of friends 
 
 Is loneliness. Our agony of heart 
 
 When love has gone from us is loneliness. 
 
 The cr;s^ng of a little child at night 
 
 In the big dark is crowding loneliness. 
 
 Slow death of woman on a Kansas farm; 
 
 The ache of those who think beyond their time; 
 
 Pain unassuaged of isolated lives, — 
 
 All this is loneliness. 
 
 Oh, we who are one body of one soul! 
 Great soul of man born into social form! 
 Should we not suffer at dismemberment? 
 A linger torn from brotherhood ; an eye 
 Having no cause to see when set alone. 
 Our separation is the agony 
 Of uses uiif ultilled — of thwarted law ; 
 The forces of all nature tlirob and push, 
 Crjdng for their accustomed avenues; 
 And we, alone, have no excuse to be, — 
 No reason for our being. We are dead 
 Before we die, and know it in our hearts. 
 
 Even the narrowest union has some joy, 
 Transient and shallow, limited and weak ; 
 And joy of union strengthens with its strength, 
 
 CO 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Deepens and widens as the union grows. 
 Hence the pure light of long-enduring love, 
 Lives blended slowly, softly, into one. 
 Hence civic pride, and glory in our states, 
 And the fierce thrill of patriotic fire 
 When millions feel as one 1 
 
 When we shall learn 
 To live together fully ; when each man 
 And woman works in conscious interchange 
 With all the world,— union as wide as man, — 
 No human soul can ever suffer more 
 The devastating grief of loneliness. 
 
 THE KEEPER OF THE LIGHT. 
 
 A LIGHTHOUSE keeper with a loving heart 
 Toiled at his service in the lonely tower, 
 Keeping his giant lenses clear and bright. 
 And feeding with pure oil the precious light 
 Whose power to save was as his own heart's 
 power. 
 
 He loved his kind, and being set alone 
 
 To help them by the means of this great light, 
 He poured his whole heart's service into it, 
 And sent his love down the long beams that lit 
 The waste of broken water in the night. 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 He loved his kind, and joyed to see the ships 
 Come out of nowhere into his bright field, 
 And glide by safely with their living men. 
 Past him and out into the dark again, 
 
 To other hands their freight of joy to yield. 
 
 His work was noble and his work was done ; 
 
 He kept the ships in safety and was glad ; 
 And yet, late coming with the light's supplies, 
 They found the love no longer in his eyes — 
 
 The keeper of the light had fallen mad. 
 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 When I was grass, perhaps I may have wept 
 As every year the grass-blades paled and slept ; 
 Or shrieked in anguish impotent, beneath 
 The smooth impartial cropping of great teeth — 
 1 don't remember much what came to pass 
 When I was grass. 
 
 When I was monkey, I 'm afraid the trees 
 Were n't always havens of contented ease ; 
 Things killed us, and we never could tell why ; 
 No doubt we blamed the earth or sea or sky — 
 I have forgotten my rebellion's shape 
 When I was ape. 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Now I have reached the comfortable skin 
 This stage of living is enveloped in, 
 And hold the spirit of my mighty race 
 Self-conscious prisoner under one white face, - 
 1 'm awfully afraid I 'm going to die, 
 Now I am I. 
 
 So I have planned a hypothetic life 
 To pay me somehow for my toil and strife. 
 Blessed or damned, I someway must contrive 
 That I eternally be kept alive ! 
 In this an endless, boundless bliss I see, — 
 Eternal me 1 
 
 When I was man, no doubt I used to care 
 About the little things that happened there. 
 And fret to see the years keep going by, 
 And nations, families, and persons die. 
 I did n't much appreciate life's plan 
 When I was man. 
 
 WASTE. 
 
 Doth any man consider what we waste 
 Here in God's garden ? While the sea is full. 
 The sunlight smiles, and all the blessed earth 
 Offers her wealth to our intelligence. 
 We waste our food, enough for half the world, 
 
 C3 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Ill helpless luxury aiuong tlio rich, 
 
 111 helpless ignorance among the poor, 
 
 In spilling what we stop to quarrel for. 
 
 AVc waste our wealth in failing to produce, 
 
 In robbing of each other every day 
 
 In place of making things, — our human crown. 
 
 We waste our strength, in endless effort poured 
 
 Like water on the sand, still toiling on 
 
 To make a million things we do not want. 
 
 AVe waste our lives, those which should still lead on, 
 
 Each new one gaining on the age behind, 
 
 In doing what we all have done before. 
 
 We waste our love, — poured up into the sky, 
 
 Across the ocean, into desert lands, 
 
 Sunk in one narrow circle next ourselves, — 
 
 While these, our brothers, suffer — are alone. 
 
 Ye may not pass the near to love the far ; 
 
 Ye may not love the near and stop at that. 
 
 Love spreads through man, not over or around 1 
 
 Yea, grievously we waste ; and all the time 
 
 Humanity is wanting, — wanting sore. 
 
 Waste not, my brothers, and ye shall not want! 
 
 WINGS. 
 
 A 8EN8K of wings — 
 
 Soft downy wings and fair — 
 Great wings that whistle as they sweep 
 
 C4 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Aloiio- tlic sl,ill tj;iilfs — empty, (loop — 
 ()1! iliiii bliio air. 
 
 Dovok' vvin!:^s tli;il, follow, 
 
 Doves' wiii.t^s ihiil, fold, 
 Dovoh' wings that ilutUu- down 
 
 To nestle in your liold. 
 
 Doves' wings iliat settle, 
 
 Doves' wings (li;it i-est., 
 Doves' wings that brood so warm 
 
 Above the litth; nest. 
 
 Larks' wings that ris(» and rise, 
 Climbing the rosy skies — 
 
 Fold and drop down 
 
 To birdlings brown. 
 
 Liglit wings of wood-birds, Ihat one scarce believes 
 Mov(mI in the leaves. 
 
 The quiclc, shy flight 
 
 Of wings that flee in fright — 
 
 A start as swift as liglit — 
 
 Only the shaken air 
 
 To tell tlui.t wings w(!re there. 
 
 Broad wings that beat for many days 
 Above the land wastc^.s and the water ways ; 
 Beating steadily on and on, 
 5 C5 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Through dark and cold, 
 Through storms untold, 
 Till the far sun and summer land is won. 
 
 And wings — 
 
 Wings that unfold 
 With such wide sweep-before your would-be hold — 
 Such glittering sweep of whiteness — sun on 
 
 snow — 
 Such mighty plumes — strong-ribbed, strong- 
 webbed — strong-knit to go 
 From earth to heaven ! 
 Hear the air flow back 
 In their wide track ! 
 Feel the sweet wind these wings displace 
 Beat on your face I 
 See the great arc of light like rising rockets trail 
 They leave in leaving — 
 They avail — 
 These wings — for flight 1 
 
 THE HEART OF THE WATER. 
 
 O THE ache in the heart of the water that lies 
 Underground in the desert, unopened, unknown. 
 While the seeds lie unbroken, the blossoms un- 
 blown, 
 And the traveller wanders — the traveller dies 1 
 
 66 
 
 I 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 O the joy in the heart of the water that flows 
 From the well in the desert, — a desert no more, — 
 Bird-music and blossoms and harvest in store, 
 And the white shrine that showeth the traveller 
 knows 1 
 
 THE SHIP. 
 
 The sunlight is mine ! And the sea ! 
 And the four wild winds that blow ! 
 The winds of heaven that whistle free — 
 They are but slaves to carry me 
 Wherever I choose to go ! 
 
 Fire for a power inside I 
 
 Air for a pathway free 1 
 I traverse the earth in conquest wide ; 
 The sea is my servant I The sea is my bride ! 
 And the elements wait on me ! 
 
 In dull green light, down-filtered sick and slow 
 Through miles of heavy water overhead. 
 With miles of heavy water yet below, 
 
 A ship lies, dead. 
 Shapeless and broken, swayed from side to side, 
 The helpless driftwood of an unknown tide. 
 
 AMONG THE GODS. 
 
 How close the air of valleys, and how close 
 The teendng little life that harbors there I 
 67 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 For me, I will climb moimtaius. Up and up, 
 
 Higher and higher, till I pant for breath 
 
 In that thin clearness. Still? There is no sound 
 
 Xor memory of sound upon these heights. 
 
 Ah ! the great simlight ! The caressing sky. 
 
 The beauty, and the stillness, and the peace ! 
 
 I see my pathway clear for miles below ; 
 
 See where I fell, and set a friendly sign 
 
 To warn some other of the danger there. 
 
 The green small world is wide below me spread. 
 
 The great small world ! Some things look large 
 
 and f au' 
 "Which, in their midst, I could not even see ; 
 And some look small which used to terrify. 
 Blessed these heights of freedom, wisdom, rest ! 
 I will go higher yet. 
 
 A sea of cloud 
 Rolls soundless waves between me and the world. 
 This is the zone of everlasting snows, 
 And the sweet silence of the hills below 
 Is song and laughter to the silence here. 
 Great fields, huge peaks, long awful slopes of snow. 
 Alone, triumphant, man above the world, 
 I stand among these white eternities. 
 
 Sheer at my feet 
 Sink the unsounded, cloud-encumbered gulfs ; 
 And shifting mists now veil and now reveal 
 68 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 The unknown fastnesses above me yet. 
 
 I am alone — above all life — sole king 
 
 Of these white wastes. How pitiful and small 
 
 Becomes the outgrown world 1 I reign supreme, 
 
 And in this utter stillness and wide peace 
 
 Look calmly down upon the universe. 
 
 Surely that crest has changed ! That pile of cloud 
 That covers half the sky, waves like a robe ! 
 
 That large and gentle wind 
 Is like the passing of a presence here ! 
 See how yon massive mist-enshrouded peak 
 Is like the shape of an unmeasured foot, — 
 The figure with the stars ! 
 Ah 1 what is this ? It moves, lifts, bends, is gone ! 
 
 With what a shocking sense of littleness — 
 A reeling universe that changes place, 
 And falls to new relation over me — 
 I feel the unseen presence of the gods 1 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 I. 
 
 O WORLD of green, all shining, shifting! 
 O world of blue, all living, lifting ! 
 O world where glassy watei'S smoothly roll ! 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Fair eartli, and lieavcn free, 
 Ye arc but part of luo — 
 Yo are my soul ! 
 
 O woman nature, shining, shifting ! 
 O woman creature, living, lifting ! 
 Come soft and still to one who waits thee here 1 
 Fair soul, both nune and free, 
 Ye who arc part of mc, 
 Appear 1 Appear ! 
 
 II. 
 
 How could I choose but weep? 
 The poor bird lay asleep ; 
 For lack of food, for lack of breath, 
 For lack of life he came to death — 
 How could r choose but weep? 
 
 How could I choose but smile? 
 There was no lack the while I 
 In bliss he did undo himself ; 
 Where life was full he slew himself — 
 How could I choose but smile? 
 
 AVould ye but understand I 
 Joy is on every hand ! 
 Y''e shut your eyes and call it night, 
 Ye grope and fall in seas of light — 
 AVould ye but understand ! 
 70 
 
THE WOULD. 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 Thou bright mirage, that o'er man's arduous way 
 Ilast hung in tlio hot sky, with fountains stn^am- 
 
 ii'g, 
 Cool marhlc domes, and ])ahn-i"ronds waving, 
 gleaming, — 
 Vision of rest and peace to end tJie day ! 
 Now he is weariest, alone;, astray, 
 
 Spent with long labor, led by thy sweet seem- 
 ing, 
 Faint as the breath of Nature's lightest dreaming, 
 Thou waverest and vanislu^st away! 
 
 Can Nature dream? Ts (Jod's great sky (h^ceiving? 
 AVhere joy like that the clouds above us show 
 Be sure the counterpart must lie below. 
 
 Sweeter than hope, more blessed than believing ! 
 We lose the fair reflection of our home 
 Because so near its gates our feet have come ! 
 
 BALLAD OF THE SUMMER SUN. 
 
 It is said that human nature need(;th hardshij) to 
 be strong. 
 
 That highest growth has come to man in countries 
 white with snow ; 
 
 And they tell of truth and wisdom that to north- 
 ern folk belong, 
 
 71 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 And claim the brain is feeble where the south 
 
 winds always blow. 
 They forget to read the story of the ages long ago : 
 The lore that built the pyramids where still the 
 
 simoom veers, 
 The knowledge framing Tyi'ian ships, the greater 
 
 skill that steers. 
 The learning of the Hindu in his volumes never 
 
 done, 
 All the wisdom of Egyptians and the old Chaldean 
 
 seers, — 
 Came to man in summer lands beneath a summer 
 
 sun. 
 
 It is said that human nature needeth hardship to 
 
 be strong. 
 That courage bred of meeting cold makes martialj 
 
 bosoms glow ; 
 And they point to mighty generals the northern] 
 
 folk among, 
 And call mankind emasculate where southern waters 
 
 flow. 
 They forget to look at history and see the nations 
 
 grow ! 
 The cohorts of Assp'ian kings, the Pharaohs' char- 
 ioteers, 
 The march of Alexander, the Persians' conquering 
 
 spears, 
 
 72 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 The legions of the Romans, from Ethiop to Hun, 
 The power that mastered all the world and held it 
 
 years on years, — 
 Came to man in summer lands beneath a summer 
 
 sun. 
 
 It is said that human nature needeth hardship to 
 
 be strong, 
 That only pain and suffering the power to feel 
 
 bestow ; 
 And they show us noble artists made great by loss 
 
 and wrong, 
 And say the soul is lowered that hath pleasure 
 
 without woe. 
 They forget the perfect monuments that pleasure's 
 
 blessings show ; 
 The statue and the temple that no man living nears, 
 Song and verse and music forever in the ears. 
 The glory that remaineth while the sands of time 
 
 shall run, 
 The beauty of immortal art that never disappears, — 
 Came to man in summer lands beneath a summer 
 
 sun. 
 
 The faith of Thor and Odin, the creed of force 
 
 and fears, 
 Cruel gods that deal in death, the icebound soul 
 
 reveres, 
 
 73 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 But the Lord of Peace and Blessing was not one ! 
 Truth and Power and Beauty — Love that endeth 
 
 tears — ji 
 
 Came to man in summer lands beneath a summer j 
 
 sun. I 
 
 PIONEERS. I 
 
 Long have we sung our noble pioneers, ] 
 
 Vanguard of progress, heralds of the time, j 
 
 Guardians of industry and art sublime, | 
 
 Leaders of man down all the brightening years ! ■ 
 
 To them the danger, to theu' wives the tears, i 
 
 While we sit safely in the city's grime, \ 
 
 In old-world trammels of distress and crime, ] 
 
 Playing with words and thoughts, with doubts and ] 
 
 fears. i 
 
 Children of axe and gun ! Ye take to-day j 
 
 The baby steps of man's first, feeblest age, ■ 
 
 While we, thought-seekers of the printed page, 
 
 We lead the world down its untrodden way ! 
 
 Ours the drear wastes and leagues of empty waves, I 
 The lonely deaths, the undiscovered gTaves. | 
 
 i 
 EXILES. ] 
 
 Exiled from home. The far sea rolls 
 Between them and the country of their birth ; 
 The childhood-turning impulse of their souls \ 
 
 Pulls half across the earth. 
 
 74 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Exiled from home. No mother to take care 
 That they work not too hard, grieve not too sore ; 
 No older brother nor small sister fair ; 
 No father any more. 
 
 Exiled from home ; from all familiar things ; 
 The low-browed roof, the grass-surrounded door ; 
 Accustomed labors that gave daylight wings ; 
 Loved steps on the worn floor. 
 
 Exiled from home. Young girls sent forth alone 
 When most their hearts need close companioning ; 
 No love and hardly friendship may they own, 
 No voice of welcoming. 
 
 Blinded with homesick tears the exile stands ; 
 To toil for alien household gods she comes ; 
 A servant and a stranger in our lands, 
 Homeless within our homes. 
 
 A NEVADA DESERT. 
 
 An aching, blinding, barren, endless plain, 
 
 Corpse-colored with white mould of alkali, 
 Hairy with sage-brush, slimy after rain, 
 Burnt with the sky's hot scorn, and still again 
 Sullenly burning back against the sky. 
 
 Dull green, dull brown, dull purple, and dull gray, 
 The hard earth white with ages of despair, 
 
 75 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. ! 
 
 i 
 
 Slow-crawling, turbid streams where dead reeds | 
 
 sway, I 
 
 Low wall of sombre mountains far awa}'', ; 
 
 And sickly steam of geysers on the air. I 
 
 TREE FEELINGS. 
 
 I WONDER if they like it — being trees ? 
 
 I suppose they do. . . . 
 
 It must feel good to have the ground so flat. 
 
 And feel yourself stand right straight up like that — 
 
 So stiff in the middle — and then branch at ease, 
 
 Big boughs that arch, small ones that bend and 
 
 blow, 
 And all those fringy leaves that flutter so. 
 You 'd think they 'd break off at the lower end 
 When the wind fills them, and their great heads 
 
 bend. 
 But then you think of all the roots they drop. 
 As much at bottom as there is on top, — 
 A double tree, widespread in earth and air 
 Like a reflection in the water there. 
 
 I guess they like to stand still in the sun \ 
 
 And just breathe out and in, and feel the cool sap ! 
 
 run; j 
 
 And like to feel the rain run throuo-h their hair > 
 
 * I 
 
 And slide down to the roots and settle there. \ 
 
 76 I 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 But I think they like wind best.. From the light 
 
 touch 
 That lets the leaves whisper and kiss so much, 
 To the great swinging, tossing, flying wide, 
 And all the time so stiff and strong inside ! 
 And the big winds, that pull, and make them feel 
 How long their roots are, and the earth how leal ! 
 
 And O the blossoms ! And the wild seeds lost ! 
 And jewelled martyrdom of fiery frost ! 
 And fruit trees. I 'd forgotten. No cold gem, 
 But to be apples — and bow down with them ! 
 
 MONOTONY. 
 
 FROM CALIFORNIA. 
 
 When ragged lines of passing days go by. 
 Crowding and hurried, broken-linked and slow, 
 Some sobbing pitifully as they pass, 
 Some angry-hot and fierce, some angry cold, 
 Some raging and some wailing, and again 
 The fretful days one cannot read aright, — 
 Then truly, when the fair days smile on us. 
 We feel that loveliness with sharper touch 
 And grieve to lose it for the next day's chance. 
 And so men question — they who never know 
 If beauty comes or horror, pain or joy — 
 If we, whose sky is peace, whose hours are glad. 
 Find not our happiness monotonous 1 
 
 77 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 But when the long procession of the days 
 
 Eolls musically down the waiting year, 
 
 Close-ranked, rich-robed, flower-garlanded and fair ; 
 
 Broad brows of peace, deep eyes of soundless truth, 
 
 And lips of love, — warm, steady, changeless love ; 
 
 Each one more beautiful, till we forget 
 
 Our niggard fear of losing half an hour. 
 
 And learn to count on more and ever more, — 
 
 In the remembered joy of yesterday, 
 
 In the full rapture of to-day's delight, 
 
 And knowledge of the happiness to come, 
 
 We learn to let life pass without regret, 
 
 We learn to hold life softly and in peace, 
 
 We learn to meet life gladly, full of faith. 
 
 We learn what God is, and to trust in Him ! 
 
 THE BEDS OF FLEUR-DE-LYS. 
 
 High-lying, sea-blown stretches of green turf. 
 
 Wind-bitten close, salt-colored by the sea. 
 Low curve on curve spread far to the cool sky, 
 And, curving over them as long they lie, 
 Beds of wild fleur-de-lys. 
 
 Wide-flowing, self-sown, stealing near and far. 
 
 Breaking the green like islands in the sea ; 
 Great stretches at your feet, and spots that bend 
 Dwindling over the horizon's end, — 
 Wild beds of fleur-de-lys. 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 The light keen wind streams on across the lifts, 
 Their wind of western springtime by the sea ; 
 The close tm:f smiles unmoved, but over her 
 Is the far-flying rustle and sweet stir 
 In beds of fleur-de-lys. 
 
 And here and there across the smooth, low grass 
 
 Tall maidens wander, thinking of the sea ; 
 And bend, and bend, with light robes blown aside. 
 For the blue lily-flowers that bloom so wide, — 
 The beds of fleur-de-lys. 
 
 The Presidio, San Francisco. 
 
 IT IS GOOD TO BE ALIVE. 
 
 It is good to be alive when the trees shine green, 
 And the steep red hills stand up against the sky ; 
 Big sky, blue sky, with flying clouds between — 
 It is good to be alive and see the clouds drive by ! 
 
 It is good to be alive when the strong winds blow. 
 The strong, sweet winds blowing straightly oft" the 
 
 sea; 
 Great sea, green sea, with swinging ebb and flow — 
 It is good to be alive and see the waves roll free ! 
 
 79 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 THE CHANGELESS YEAR. 
 
 SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Doth Autuinn remind tliee of sadness ? 
 And Winter of wasting and pain ? 
 Midsummer, of joy that was madness ? 
 Spring, of hope that was vain V 
 
 Do the Seasons tly fast at thy laughter ? 
 Do the Seasons hig slow if thou weep, 
 Till thou long'st for the land lying after 
 Tlie River of Sleep ? 
 
 Come here, where the AVest lieth golden 
 In the light of an infinite sun, 
 Where Summer doth Winter embolden 
 Till they reign here as one ! 
 
 Here the Seasons tread soft and steal slowly ; 
 A moment of question and doubt — 
 Is it Winter? Come faster ! — come wholly ! 
 And Spring rusheth out I 
 
 We forget there are tempests and changes ; 
 We forget there aj-e days that are drear ; 
 In a dream of delight, the soul ranges 
 Through the measureless yeai-. 
 
 Still the land is with blossoms enfolden. 
 Still the sky burnetii blue mi its deeps ; 
 Time noddeth, 'mid poppies all golden, 
 And memory sleeps. 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 WHERE MEMORY SLEEPS. 
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 Where memory sleeps tiie soul doth rise, 
 Free of that past where sorrow lies, 
 And storeth against futiu'e ills 
 The courage of the constant hills, 
 The comfort of the quiet skies. 
 
 Fair is this land to tired eyes. 
 Where summer sunlight never dies, 
 
 And summer's peace the spirit fills, 
 Where memory sleeps. 
 
 Safe from the seasoji's changing cries 
 
 And chill of yearly sacrifice, 
 
 Great roses crowd the window-sills, — 
 Calm roses that no winter kills. 
 
 The peaceful heart all pain denies, 
 Where memory sleeps. 
 
 CALIFORNIA CAR WINDOWS. 
 
 Lark songs ringing to Heaven, 
 Earth light clear as the sky ; 
 
 Air like the breath of a greenhouse 
 AVitli the greenhouse roof on high. 
 
 Flowers to see till you're weary, 
 To travel in hours and hours ; 
 
 6 81 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Ranches of gold and purple, 
 Counties covered with flowers ! 
 
 A rainbow, a running rainbow, 
 That flies at our side for hours ; 
 
 A ribbon, a broidered ribbon, 
 A rainbow ribbon of flowers. 
 
 LIMITS. 
 
 On sand — loose sand and shifting 
 On sand— dry sand and drifting - 
 
 The city grows to the west ; 
 Not till its border reaches 
 The ocean-beaten beaches 
 Will it rest. 
 
 On hills — steep hills and lonely, 
 That stop at cloudland only — 
 
 The city climbs to the sky; 
 Not till the souls who make it 
 Touch the clear light and take it, 
 Will it die. 
 
 POWELL STREET. 
 
 You start 
 
 From the town's hot heart 
 
 To ride up Powell Street. 
 
 S2 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Hotel and theatre and crowdino- sliops, 
 
 And INIarket's cabled stream that never stops, 
 
 And the mixed hurrying beat 
 
 Of countless feet — 
 
 Take a front seat. 
 
 Before you rise 
 
 Six terraced hills, up to the low-hung skies ; 
 
 Low where across the hill they seem to lie, 
 
 And then — how high ! 
 
 Up you go slowly. To the right 
 
 A wide square, green and bright. 
 
 Above that green a broad facade. 
 
 Strongly and beautifully made, 
 
 In warm clear color standeth fair and true 
 
 Against the blue. 
 
 Only, above, two purple domes rise bold, 
 
 Twin-budded spires, bright-tipped with balls of 
 
 gold. 
 Past tliat, and up you glide. 
 Up, up, till, either side. 
 
 Wide earth and water stretch around — away — 
 The straits, the hills, and the low-lying, wide-spread, 
 
 dusky bay. 
 Great houses here. 
 Dull, opulent, severe. 
 
 Dives' gold birds on guarding lamps a-wing — 
 Dead gold, that may not sing I 
 Fair on the other side 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Smooth, steGi>laid sweeps of turf and green boughs 
 
 waving wide. 
 This is the hilltop*s crown. 
 Below you, down 
 
 In blurred, dim streets, the market quarter lies, 
 Foul, narrow, torn with cries 
 Of tortured things in cages, and the smell 
 Of daily bloodshed rising ; that is hell. 
 
 But up here on the crown of Powx^ll Street 
 
 The air is sweet ; 
 
 And the green swaying mass of eucalyptus bends 
 
 Like hands of friends. 
 
 To gladden you despite the mansions' frown. 
 
 Then you go down. 
 
 Down, down, and round the turns to lower grades ; 
 Lower in all ways ; darkening W' itli the shades 
 Of poverty, old youth, and unearned age. 
 And that quick squalor which so blots the page 
 Of San Francisco's beauty, — swift decay 
 Chasing the shallow grandeur of a day. 
 
 Here, like a noble lady of lost state. 
 Still calmly smiling at encroaching fate, 
 Amidst the squalor, rises Russian Hill, — 
 Proud, isolated, lonely, lovely still. 
 
 So on you glide. 
 
 Till the blue straits lie wide 
 
 84 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Before you ; purple iiiomiiiihis loom across, 
 
 And islands grt^eii as moss ; 
 
 Willi soL't vvliiie i'og-wreaths drifting, drilling 
 
 through 
 'I\) com fori, you; 
 
 And light, low-singing waves that tell you reach 
 The cud, — North Beach. 
 
 FROM RUSSIAN HILL. 
 
 A STRANGE day — bright and slill ; 
 Strange for the stillness hen;, 
 For the strong trade-winds blow 
 With such a steady sweep it seems like rest, 
 Forev(M- steadily across the crest 
 Of Kussiau Hill. 
 
 Still now and cleai', — 
 
 So cl(!ar you count the houses spreading wide 
 In the fair cities on the fartlier side 
 Of our broad bay ; 
 
 And brown (ioat Island lieth largo between, 
 its brownness brightcming into sudden green 
 From rains of ycstcM'day. 
 
 l)lue? Blue above of Californian sky, 
 Whi(;h lias no peer on earth for its pun^ llamo ; 
 Ibight blue of bay and strait spread wide below, 
 And, past the low, dull hills that hem it so, — 
 
 85 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Blue as the sky, blue as the placid bay, — 
 Blue mouutains far away. 
 
 Thanks this year for the early rains that came, 
 To bless us, meaning Summer by and by. 
 This is our Spring-in- Autumn, making one 
 The Indian Summer tenderness of sun — 
 Its hazy stillness, and soft far-heard sound — 
 And the sweet riot of abundant spring, 
 The greenness flaming out from everything, 
 
 The sense of coming gladness in the ground. 
 
 From this high peace and purity look down ; 
 Between you and the blueness lies the town. 
 Under those huddled roofs the heart of man 
 Beats warmer than this brooding day, 
 Spreads wider than the hill-rimmed bay. 
 And throbs to tenderer life, were it but seen. 
 Than all this new-born, all-enfolding green ! 
 
 Within that heart lives still 
 All that one guesses, dreams, and sees — 
 Sitting in sunlight, warm, at ease — 
 From this high island, — Russian Hill. 
 
 "AN UNUSUAL RAIN." 
 
 Again ! 
 
 Another day of rain ! 
 It has rained for years. 
 86 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 It never clears. 
 
 The clouds come down so low 
 
 Tiiey drag and drip 
 
 Across each hill-top's tip. 
 
 In progress slow 
 
 They blow in from the sea 
 
 Eternally ; 
 
 Hang heavily and black, 
 
 And then roll back ; 
 
 And rain and rain and rain, 
 
 Both drifting in and drifting out again. 
 
 They come down to the ground, 
 
 These clouds, where the ground is high ; 
 
 And, lest the weather fiend forget 
 
 And leave one hidden spot unwet. 
 
 The fog comes up to the sky ! 
 
 And all our pavement of planks and logs 
 
 Reeks with the rain and steeps in the fogs 
 
 Till the water rises and sinks and presses 
 
 Into your bonnets and shoes and dresses ; 
 
 And every outdoor-going dunce 
 
 Is wet in forty ways at once. 
 
 Wet? 
 
 It 's wetter than being drowned. 
 
 Dark? 
 
 Such darkness never was found 
 
 87 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Since the first liglit was made. And cold ? 
 O come to the land of grapes and gold, 
 Of fruit and flowers and sunshine gay, 
 When the rainy season 's under way ! 
 
 And they tell you calmly, evermore. 
 They never had such rain before ! 
 
 What 's that you say ? Come out ? 
 
 Why, see that sky ! 
 
 Oh, what a world ! so clear ! so high ! 
 
 So clean and lovely all about ; 
 
 The sunlight burning through and through, 
 
 And everything just blazing blue. 
 
 And look ! the whole world blossoms again 
 
 The minute the sunshine follows the ram. 
 
 Warm sky — earth basking under — 
 
 Did it ever rain, I wonder ? 
 
 THE HILLS. 
 
 The flowing waves of our warm sea 
 
 KoU to the beach and die. 
 But the soul of the waves forever fills 
 The curving crests of our restless hills 
 
 That climb so wantonly. 
 
 Up and up till you look to see 
 Along the cloud-kissed top 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 The great hill-breakers curve and comb 
 In crumbling lines of falling foam 
 Before they settle and drop. 
 
 Down and down, with the shuddering sweep 
 
 Of the sea-wave's glassy wall, 
 You sink with a plunge that takes your breath, 
 A thrill that stirreth and quickeneth, 
 
 Like the great line steamer's fall. 
 
 We have laid our streets by the square and line, 
 
 We have built by the line and square ; 
 But the strong hill-rises arch below 
 And force the houses to curve and flow 
 In lines of beauty there. 
 
 And off to the north and east and south, 
 
 With wildering mists between. 
 They ring us round with wavering hold, 
 With fold on fold of rose and gold, 
 
 Violet, azure, and green. 
 
 CITY'S BEAUTY. 
 
 Fair, oh, fair are the hills uncrowned, 
 Only wreathed and garlanded 
 With the soft clouds overhead, 
 
 With the waving streams of rain ; 
 
 Fair in golden sunlight drowned, 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Bathed and buried in the bright 
 AVarm luxuriance of light, — 
 Fair the hills without a stain. 
 
 Fairer far the hills should stand 
 Crowned with a city's halls, 
 With the glimmer of white walls, 
 
 With the climbing grace of towers ; 
 
 Fair with great fronts tall and grand, 
 Stately streets that meet the sky, 
 Lovely roof-lines, low and high, — 
 
 Fairer for the days and hours. 
 
 Woman's beauty fades and flies, 
 In the passing of the years. 
 With the falling of the tears, 
 
 With the lines of toil and stress ; 
 
 City's beauty never dies, — 
 Never while her people know 
 IIow to love and honor so 
 
 Her immortal loveliness. 
 
 TWO SKIES. 
 
 FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 They have a sky in Albion, 
 
 At least they tell me so ; 
 But she will wear a veil so thick, 
 
 90 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 And she does have the sulks so quick, 
 And weeps so long and slow, 
 That one can hardly know. 
 
 Yes, there 's a sky in Albion. 
 
 She 's shown herself of late. 
 
 And where it was not white or gray, 
 
 It was quite bluish — in a way ; 
 
 But near and full of weight, 
 
 Like an overhanging plate ! 
 
 Our sky in California ! 
 
 Such light the angels knew. 
 When the strong, tender smile of God 
 Kindled the spaces where they trod, 
 
 And made all life come true ! 
 
 Deep, soundless, burning blue ! 
 
 WINDS AND LEAVES. 
 
 FROM ENGLAND. 
 
 Wet winds that flap the sodden leaves ! 
 Wet leaves that drop and fall ! 
 Unhappy, leafless trees the wind bereaves ! 
 Poor trees and small ! 
 
 AU of a color, solemn in your green ; 
 All of a color, sombre in your brown ; 
 All of a color, dripping gray between 
 When leaves are down ! 
 
 91 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 O for the bronze-green eucalyptus spires 
 Far-flashing up against the endless blue ! 
 Shifting and glancing in the steady fires 
 Of sun and moonlight too. 
 
 Dark orange groves ! Pomegranate hedges bright, 
 And varnished fringes of the pepper trees ! 
 And O that wind of sunshine ! Wind of light ! 
 Wind of Pacific seas ! 
 
 ON THE PAWTUXET. 
 
 Broad and blue is the river, all bright in the sun ; 
 The little waves sparkle, the little waves run ; 
 The birds carol high, and the winds whisper low ; 
 The boats beckon temptingly, row upon row t 
 Her hand is in mine as I help her step in. 
 Please Heaven, this day I shall lose or shall win — 
 Broad and blue is the river. 
 
 Cool and gray is the river, the sun sinks apace, 
 And the rose-colored twilight glows soft in her face. 
 In the midst of the rose-color Yenus doth shine, 
 And the blossoming wild grapes are sweeter than 
 
 wine ; 
 Tall trees rise above us, four bridges are past. 
 And my stroke 's running slow as the current runs 
 
 fast — 
 
 Cool and gray is the river. 
 
 92 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Smooth and black is the river, no sound as we float 
 Save the soft-lapping water in under the boat. 
 The white mists are rising, the moon 's rising too, 
 And Venus, triumphant, rides high in the blue. 
 I hold the shawl round her, her hand is in mine, 
 And we drift under grape-blossoms sweeter than 
 wine — 
 
 Smooth and black is the river. 
 
 A MOONRISE. 
 
 The heavy mountains, lying huge and dim, 
 With uncouth outline breaking heaven's brim ; 
 And while I watched and waited, o'er them soon, 
 Cloudy, enormous, spectral, rose the moon. 
 
 THEIR GRASS! 
 
 A PROTEST FROM CALIFORNIA. 
 
 They say we have no grass ! 
 
 To hear them talk 
 
 You 'd think that grass could walk 
 
 And was their bosom friend, — no day to pass 
 
 Between them and their grass. 
 
 " No grass ! " they say who live 
 
 Where hot bricks give 
 
 The hot stones all their heat and back again, — 
 
 A baking hell for men. 
 
 93 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 "O, but," they haste to say, "we have our parks, 
 
 Where fat policemen check the children's larks ; 
 
 And sign to sign repeats as in a glass, 
 
 ' Keep off the grass ! ' 
 
 We have our cities' parks and grass, you see ! " 
 
 Well — so have we ! 
 
 But 't is the country that they sing of most. " Alas," 
 
 They sing, " for our wide acres of soft grass 1 — 
 
 To please us living and to hide us dead — " 
 
 You 'd think Walt Whitman's first was all they read ! 
 
 You 'd think they all went out upon the quiet 
 
 Nebuchadnezzar to outdo in diet 1 
 
 You 'd think they found no other green thing fair, 
 
 Even its seed an honor in their hair I 
 
 You 'd think they had this bliss the whole year 
 
 round, — 
 Evergreen grass ! — and we, ploughed ground ! 
 
 But come now, how does earth's pet plumage grow 
 
 Under your snow ? 
 
 Is your beloved grass as softly nice 
 
 When packed in ice ? 
 
 For six long months you live beneath a blight, — 
 
 No grass in sight. 
 
 You bear up bravely. And not only that. 
 
 But leave your grass and travel ; and thereat 
 
 We marvel deeply, with slow western mind. 
 
 Wondering within us what these people find 
 
 94 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Among our common ovaiiges and palms 
 
 To tear them from 11 lo woll-rcmombercd oharms 
 
 Of tlieir dear vegetable. But still they come, 
 
 Frost-bitten invalids ! to our bright fiome, 
 
 And chide our grasslessness ! Until we say, 
 
 " But if you hate it so, why come ? Why stay ? 
 
 Just go away I 
 
 Go to — your grass ! " 
 
 THE PROPHETS. 
 
 Time was we stoned the Prophets. 
 
 When men were strong to save, the world hath 
 
 slain them. 
 People are wiser now ; they waste no rage — 
 The Prophets entertain them ! 
 
 SIMILAR CASES. 
 
 There was once a little animal, 
 
 No bigger than a fox, 
 And on five toes he scampered 
 
 Over Tertiary rocks. 
 They called him Eohippus, 
 
 And they called him very small. 
 And they thought him of no value — 
 
 When they thought of him at all; 
 95 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 For the lumpish old Dinoceras 
 
 And Coryphodon so slow 
 Were the heavy aristocracy 
 
 In days of long ago. 
 
 Said the little Eohippus, 
 
 " I am going to be a horse ! 
 And on my middle finger-nails 
 
 To run my earthly course ! 
 I *m going to have a flowing tail I 
 
 I 'm going to have a mane ! 
 I 'm going to stand fourteen hands high 
 
 On the psychozoic plain ! " 
 
 The Coryphodon was horrified, 
 
 The Dinoceras was shocked ; 
 And they chased young Eohippus, 
 
 But he skipped away and mocked. 
 Then they laughed enormous laughter, 
 
 And they groaned enormous groans. 
 And they bade young Eohippus 
 
 Go view his father's bones. 
 Said they, " You always were as small 
 
 And mean as now we see, 
 And that *s conclusive evidence 
 
 That you 're always going to be. 
 What ! Be a great, tall, handsome beast. 
 
 With hoofs to gallop on ? 
 
 9G 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 WJiy f You '<i Jiave to change your nature ! 
 
 Said the Loxolophodon. 
 They considered him disposed of, 
 
 And retired with gait serene ; 
 That was the way they argued 
 
 In " the early Eocene." 
 
 There was once an Anthropoidal Ape, 
 
 Far smarter than the rest, 
 And everything that they could do 
 
 He always did the best ; 
 So they naturally disliked him, 
 
 And they gave him shoulders cool, 
 And when they had to mention him 
 
 They said he was a fool. 
 
 Cried this pretentious Ape one day, 
 
 " I 'm going to be a Man ! 
 And stand upright, and hunt, and fight. 
 
 And conquer all I can ! 
 I 'm going to cut down forest trees. 
 
 To make my houses higher ! 
 I 'm going to kill the Mastodon I 
 
 I 'm going to make a fire ! " 
 
 Loud screamed the Anthropoidal Apes 
 
 With laughter wild and gay ; 
 They tried to catch that boastful one. 
 
 But he always got away. 
 
 7 97 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 So they yellt^d at him in chorus, 
 
 Wh'u'h he iiiiiided not a whit ; 
 And they pelted him witli cocoanuts, 
 
 Which did n't seem to hit. 
 And then they gave him reasons 
 
 Which tliey thought of nuu^h avail, 
 To prove how his preposterous 
 
 Attempt was sure to fail. 
 Said the sages, " In the first place, 
 
 The thing cannot be done ! 
 And, second, if it could be, 
 
 It would not be any fun ! 
 And, third, and most conclusive. 
 
 And admitting no reply, 
 You icould have to change your nature ! 
 
 We should like to see you try 1 " 
 They chuckled then triumphantly. 
 
 These lean and hairy shapes, 
 For these things passed as arguments 
 
 With the Anthropoidal Apes. 
 
 There was once a Neolithic INIan, 
 
 An enterprising wight, 
 Who made his chopping implements 
 
 Unusually bright. 
 Unusually clever he. 
 
 Unusually brave, 
 And he drew deliolitful IMammoths 
 
THE WOULD. 
 
 On ilio borders of liis cavo. 
 To his Neoliiliio neighbors, 
 
 Wlio were startled and surprised, 
 Said he, " My friends, in course of time, 
 
 We shall be civilized ! 
 We are going to live in cities ! 
 
 We are going to light in w;i,rs ! 
 We are going to eat three times a day 
 
 Without the natural caus(; I 
 Wc arc going to turn life upside down 
 
 About a thing called gold 1 
 We are going to want the earth, and take 
 
 As much as we can hold 1 
 Wo are going to wear great piles of stuff 
 
 Outside our proper skins ! 
 We are going to have Diseases 1 
 
 And Accomplishments I ! And Sins I 1 1 
 
 Then they all ros(! u^) in fury 
 
 Against their boastful friend, 
 For prehistoric patience 
 
 Cometh quickly to an end. 
 Said one, " This is chimerical I 
 
 Utopian I Absurd 1 " 
 Said another, " What a stupid life I 
 
 Too dull, upon my word 1 " 
 Cried all, " liefore such things can come. 
 
 You idiotic child, 
 
IN THI^ OUR WORLD. 
 
 You must alter Human Nature ! " 
 And they all sat back and smiled. 
 
 Thought they, " An answer to that last 
 It will be hard to find ! " 
 
 It was a clinching argument 
 To the :N'eolithic Mind ! 
 
 A CONSERVATIVE. 
 
 The garden beds I wandered by 
 One bright and cheerful morn, 
 
 When I found a new-fledged butterfly 
 A-sitting on a thorn, 
 
 A black and crimson butterfly, 
 All doleful and forlorn. 
 
 I thought that life could have no sting 
 
 To infant butterflies. 
 So I gazed on this unhappy thing 
 
 With wonder and surprise, 
 While sadly with his waving wing 
 
 He wiped his weeping eyes. 
 
 Said I, " What can the matter be ? 
 
 Why weepest thou so sore ? 
 With garden fair and sunlight free 
 
 And flowers in goodly store — " 
 But he only turned away from me 
 
 And burst into a roar. 
 
 100 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Cried he, " My legs are thin and few 
 Where once I had a swarm ! 
 
 Soft fuzzy fur _ a joy to view — 
 Once kept my body warm, 
 
 Before these flapping wing-things grew, 
 To hamper and deform ! " 
 
 At that outrageous bug I shot 
 
 The fury of mine eye ; 
 Said I, in scorn all burning hot, 
 
 In rage and anger high, 
 *' You ignominious idiot ! 
 
 Those wings are made to fly ! " 
 
 « I do not want to fly," said he, 
 
 " I only want to squirm ! " 
 And he drooped his wings dejectedly, 
 
 But still his voice was firm ; 
 " I do not want to be a fly ! 
 
 I want to be a worm ! " 
 
 yesterday of unknown lack ! 
 To-day of unknown bliss ! 
 
 1 left my fool in red and black, 
 
 The last I saw was this, — 
 The creature madly climbing back 
 Into his chrysalis. 
 
 101 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 AN OBSTACLE. 
 
 I WAS climbing up a mountain-path 
 
 With many things to do, 
 Important business of my own, 
 
 And othor people's too, 
 When I ran against a Prejudice 
 
 That quite cut off the view. 
 
 My work was such as could not wait, 
 My path quite clearly showed. 
 
 My strength and time were limited, 
 I carried quite a load ; 
 
 And there that hulking Prejudice 
 Sat all across the road. 
 
 So I spoke to him politely. 
 For he was huge and high, 
 
 And begged that ho would move a bit 
 And let me travel by. 
 
 He smiled, but as for moving ! — 
 lie did n't even try. 
 
 And then I reasoned quietly 
 
 With that colossal nude : 
 My time was short — no other path — 
 
 The mountain winds were cool. 
 I argued like a Solomon ; 
 
 ITe sat tkere like a fool. 
 
 102 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Then T flew into .a passion, 
 
 I danced and howled and swore. 
 
 I pelted and belabored him 
 Till I was stiff and sore ; 
 
 lie got as mad as J did — 
 But he sat there as before. 
 
 And then I begged him on my knees ; 
 
 I might be kneeling still 
 If so I hoped to move that mass 
 
 Of obdurate ill-will — 
 As well invite the monument 
 
 To vacate Hunker Hill 1 
 
 So I sat before him helpless, 
 
 In an ecstasy of woe — 
 The mountain mists were rising fast, 
 
 The sun was sinking slow — 
 When a sudden inspiration came, 
 
 As sudden winds do blow. 
 
 I took my hat, I took my stick, 
 
 My load I settled fair, 
 I approached that awful incubus 
 
 With an absent-minded air — 
 And I walked directly through him, 
 
 As if he was n't there ! 
 
 103 
 
m THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 THE FOX WHO HAD LOST HIS TAIL. 
 
 The fox who had lost his tail found out 
 
 That now he could faster go ; 
 He had less to cover when hid for prey, 
 He had less to carry on hunting day, 
 He had less to guard when he stood at bay ; 
 
 He was really better so ! 
 
 Now he was a fine altruistical fox 
 
 With the good of his race at heart, 
 So he ran to his people with tailless speed, 
 To tell of the change they all must need, 
 And recommend as a righteous deed 
 That they and their tails should part ! 
 
 Plain was the gain as plain could be. 
 
 But Ms words did not avail ; 
 For they all replied, " We perceive your case ; 
 You do not speak for the good of the race. 
 But only to cover your own disgrace, 
 
 Because you have lost your tail ! " 
 
 Then another fox, of a liberal mind. 
 
 With a tail of splendid size, 
 Became convinced that the tailless state 
 Was better for all of them, soon or late. 
 Said he, " I will let my own tail wait, 
 
 And so I can open their eyes." 
 
 104 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 PLiin was the gain as x)laiii could be, 
 
 But his words did not avail, 
 For they all made answer, " My plausible friend, 
 You talk wisely and well, but you talk to no end. 
 We know you 're dishonest and only pretend, 
 
 For you have not lost yoiu' tail 1 " 
 
 THE SWEET USES OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 In Norway fiords, in summer-time. 
 
 The Norway birch is fair : 
 The white trunks shine, the green leaves twine. 
 The whole tree groweth tall and fine ; 
 
 For all it wants is there, — 
 
 Water and warmth and air, — 
 Full fed in all its nature needs, and showing 
 That nature in perfection by its growing. 
 
 But follow the persistent tree 
 To the limit of endless snow 
 
 There you may see what a birch can be ! 
 
 The product showeth plain and free 
 How nobly plants can grow 
 With nine months' winter slow. 
 
 'T is fitted to survive in that position. 
 
 Developed by the force of bad condition. 
 
 See now what life the tree doth keep, — 
 Branchless, three-leaved, and tough ; 
 
 105 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Ill Juno the leaf-buds peep, flowers in July dare creep 
 To bloom, the fruit in August, and then sleep. 
 
 Strong is the tree and rongli, 
 
 It lives, and that 's enougli. 
 " Dog's-ear " the name the peasants call it by — 
 A Norway birch — and less than one inch high ! 
 
 That silver monarch of the summer wood, 
 
 Tall, straight, and lovely, rich in all things good, 
 
 Knew not in his perversity 
 
 The sweeter uses of adversity ! 
 
 CONNOISSEURS. 
 
 " No," said the Cultured Critic, gazing haughtily 
 Whereon some untrained brush had wandered 
 naughtily. 
 
 From canons free ; 
 " Work such as this lacks value and perspective, 
 Has no real feeling, — inner or reflective, — 
 
 Docs not appeal to me." 
 
 Then quoth the vulgar, knowing art but meagrely, 
 Tlieir unbesought opinions airing eagerly, 
 
 "AVhy, ain't that flat?" 
 Voicing their ignorance all unconcernedly, 
 Saying of what the Critic scored so learnedly, 
 
 " I don't like that ! " 
 
 106 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Tlic Critic now voiichs.'if(Ml a]>prov;il pparingly 
 Of what some goiiius liad aitcniptotl daringly, 
 
 " This fellow tricis ; 
 IIo liandles his conception franldy, feelingly. 
 Such work as this, done strongly and appealingly, 
 
 I recognize." 
 
 Tlic vulgar, gazing widely and nnlcnowingly, 
 Still volunteered their cluia,]) impressions llowingly, 
 
 " Oh, come and see ! " 
 But all that they could say of art's reality 
 Was this i)oor voice of poorer personality, 
 
 " Now, that suits me I " 
 
 TECHNIQUE. 
 
 CoMETir to-day the very skilful man ; 
 
 Profoundly skiKul in his chosen art ; 
 All things that other men can do he can, 
 
 And do them better. lie is very smart. 
 
 Sayeth, " My work is here before you all ; 
 
 Come now with duly cultured mind to view it. 
 Here is great work, no part of it is small; 
 
 Perceive how well T do it 1 
 
 " T do it to perfection. Studious years 
 
 Were spent to reach the pinnacle T 've won ; 
 
 Labor and thought are in my work, and tears. 
 Behold how well 't is done I 
 
 107 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 " See with what power this great effect is shown; 
 
 See with what ease you get the main idea ; 
 A master in my art, I stand alone ; 
 
 Now you may praise, — I hear." 
 
 And T, " O master, I perceive your sway, 
 I note the years of study, toil, and strain 
 
 That brought the easy power you wield to-day, 
 The height you now attain. 
 
 " Freely your well-trained power I see you spend, 
 Such skill in all my life I never saw ; 
 
 You have done nobly ; but, my able friend, 
 What have you done it for ? 
 
 *' You have no doubt achieved your dearest end : 
 Your work is faultless to the cultured view. 
 
 You do it well, but, O my able friend, 
 What is it that you do ? " 
 
 THE PASTELLETTE. 
 
 " The pastelle is too strong," said he. 
 " Lo ! I will make it fainter yet 1 " 
 And he wrought with tepid ecstasy 
 A pastellette. 
 
 A touch — a word — a tone half caught — 
 
 He softly felt and handled them ; 
 Flavor of feeling — scent of thought — 
 Shimmer of gem — 
 108 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 That we may read, and feel as he 
 
 What vague, pale pleasure we can get 
 From this mild, witless mystery, — 
 The pastellette. 
 
 THE PIG AND THE PEARL. 
 
 Said the Pig to the Pearl, " Oh, fie 1 
 Tasteless, and hard, and dry — 
 
 Get out of my sty ! 
 Glittering, smooth, and clean, 
 You only seek to be seen 1 
 I am dirty and big ! 
 A virtuous, valuable pig. 
 For me all things are sweet 
 That I can possibly eat ; 
 But you — how can you be good 
 Without being fit for food ? 
 Not even food for me. 
 Who can eat all this you see, 
 No matter how foul and sour ; 
 I revel from hour to hour 
 In refuse of great and small ; 
 But you are no good at all, 
 And if I should gulp you, quick, 
 It would probably make me sick I " 
 Said the Pig to the Pearl, " Oh, fie I " 
 And she rooted her out of the sty. 
 
 109 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 A Philosopher chancing to pass 
 
 Saw the Pearl in the grass, 
 
 And laid hands on the same in a trice, 
 
 For the Pearl was a Pearl of Great Price. 
 
 Said he, " Madame Pig, if you knew 
 
 What a fool thing you do, 
 
 It would grieve even you 1 
 
 Grant that pearls are not just to your taste, 
 
 Must you let them run waste ? 
 
 You care only for hogwash, I know. 
 
 For your litter and you. Even so. 
 
 This tasteless hard thing which you scorn 
 
 Would buy acres of corn ; 
 
 And apples, and pumpkins, and pease, 
 
 By the ton, if you please I 
 
 By the wealth which this pearl represents. 
 
 You could grow so immense — 
 
 You, and every last one of your young — 
 
 That your fame would be sung 
 
 As the takers of every first prize, 
 
 For your flavor and size ! 
 
 From even a Pig's point of view 
 
 The Pearl was worth millions to you. 
 
 Be a Pig — and a fool — (you must be them) 
 
 But try to know Pearls when you see them 1 " 
 
 110 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 POOR HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 I SAW a meagre, melancholy cow, 
 Blessed with a starveling calf that sucked in vain; 
 
 Eftsoon lie died. I asked the mother how — ? 
 Quoth she, " Of every four there dieth twain 1 " 
 Poor bovine nature ! 
 
 I saw a sickly horse of shambling gait, 
 Ugly and wicked, weak in leg and back, 
 
 Useless in all ways, in a wretched state. 
 
 a ^Ye 'j.Q all poor creatures 1 " said the sorry hack. 
 Poor equine nature 1 
 
 I saw a slow cat crawling on the ground, 
 Weak, clumsy, inellicient, full of fears. 
 
 The mice escaping from her aimless bound. 
 Moaned she, " This truly is a vale of tears 1 '* 
 Poor feline nature I 
 
 Then did I glory in my noble race, 
 
 Healthful and beautiful, alert and strong, 
 
 Rejoicing that we held a higher place 
 And need not add to theirs our mournful song, — 
 Poor human nature 1 
 
 OUR SAN FRANCISCO CLIMATE. 
 
 Said I to my friend from the East, — 
 A tenderfoot he, — 
 111 
 
IN THIS OUR WOULD. 
 
 As 1 showed liiiii the greatest and least 
 
 Of our hills by the sea, 
 "How do you like our clinuite?" 
 
 And 1 smiled in my glee. 
 
 I showed him the blue of the hills, 
 
 And llie blue of (he sky, 
 And the blue of (he beautiful bay 
 
 Where (he ferry-boats ply ; 
 And " llow do you like our climate?" 
 
 Seeurely asked 1. 
 
 Then (he wind Mew over (he sand, 
 
 And (he fog eanie down. 
 And (he }>;ipers and dus(. were on hand 
 
 All oviM- (he (own. 
 **llow do you like our clinuite?'* 
 
 1 cried with a frown. 
 
 On the corner wc stood as we mot 
 
 Awaiting a car ; 
 Beneath us a vent-hole was set. 
 
 As our street corners are — 
 And street corners in our San Francisco 
 
 Are piM-ee]>(ible far. 
 
 lie nieanl (o have answered, of course, 
 I could see thai he tried ; 
 
TTTE WOIUJ). 
 
 Bul lie li:i«l iiol, Mic slrcii;;lli of :i horso, 
 
 And hcfniv li(. iv|.Ii..(l 
 Tlic diiiialc rose ii|> rioiii lliai coi'iicr in force), 
 
 And iKMlicd! 
 Han FuANi'iHcx), 181)5. 
 
 CRITICISM. 
 
 Tiiio ('lilicr eyed ilic .snn.scl. as Mki Mnihcr turned (,0 
 
 Slow fa-dill!^- in (lie sonicvvlial, foi^vy wchI. ; 
 To the color-cnK iii(m1 ('ri(-i(i '(, was ;i \ryy dull 
 
 dis|»la,y, 
 " "r is n't liair so ;.;'ood a. siinst't a,s was olTcu'cd yca- 
 
 icrday! 
 I wonder vvliy," lie innrniuicd, as \\r, sadly iiirned 
 a,way, 
 " The sniisel-s eaii't Ix' a,lwa,ys ai ilieir l»(\sl, ! " 
 
 ANOTHER CRIOI^^D. 
 
 Anoi'iikk creed! We'r(> ;ill so pleased! 
 A i^cnMe, tenlaJive new cvrrd. We 'r(! eased 
 or ail Miosis lliini^s we coidd noL <|ni(.e helic^vo, 
 Hiii, would not j^ive i\\r lie (,o. N(»vv percuiivo 
 How cliitnnin^ly iJiJH Hui(-H us ! ScicMice, ovinx 
 Has nauL^hr at^ainsl. our modern views of II(!!ivcii ; 
 And yel, the inosl eniolional of women 
 May lind Miis(;reed a, warm, deej) sen to swim in. 
 u 11a 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Here 's something now so loose and large of fit 
 That all the churches may come under it, 
 And we may see upon the earth once more 
 A church united, — as we had before ! 
 Before so much of precious blood was poured 
 That each in his own way might serve the Lord 1 
 All wide divergence in sweet union sunk, 
 Like branches growing up into a trunk ! 
 
 And in our intellectual delight 
 
 In this sweet formula that sets us right ; 
 
 And controversial exercises gay 
 
 With those who still prefer a differing way ; 
 
 And our glad effort to make known this wonder 
 
 And get all others to unite thereunder, — 
 
 We, joying in this newest, best of creeds, 
 
 Continue still to do our usual deeds 1 
 
 THE LITTLE LION. 
 
 It was a little lion lay — 
 In wait he lay — he lay in wait. 
 Came those who said, " Pray come my way ; 
 We joy to see a lion play, 
 And laud his gait 1 " 
 
 The little lion mildly came — 
 
 In wait for prey — for prey in wait. 
 
 114 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 The people all adored his name, 
 And those who led him saw the same 
 With hearts elate. 
 
 The little lion grew that day, — 
 In glee he went — he went in glee. 
 Said he, "I love to seek my prey, 
 But also love to see the way 
 My prey seek me ! " 
 
 A MISFIT. 
 
 O Lord, take me out of this ! 
 
 I do not fit ! 
 My body does not suit my mind, 
 My brain is weak in the knees and blind, 
 My clothes are not what I want to find — 
 
 Not one bit ! 
 
 My house is not the house I like — 
 
 Not one bit I 
 My church is built so loose and thin 
 That ten fall out where one falls in ; 
 My creed is buttoned with a pin — 
 
 It does not fit ! 
 
 The school I went to was n't right — 
 
 Not one bit ! 
 The education given me 
 115 
 
IN THIS OIJR WORLD. 
 
 AVas ineaut for the comimiiiity, 
 And my l)»H>r lu'ail works cUrtVrently 
 It (Iocs not iit! 
 
 I try to move untl iind 1 ean'l 
 
 Not one bit I 
 Things that were given me to stay 
 Are mostly lost and blown away, 
 And what 1 have to use to-day — 
 
 It does not fit 1 
 
 What I was tanght T cannot do — 
 
 Not one bit 1 
 And wliat I do I was not taught 
 And what I tind I have not sought; 
 I never say the thing I ought — 
 
 It does not iit I 
 
 I have not meant to be like this — 
 
 Not one bit 1 
 Hut in the puzzle and the strife 
 I fail my friend and pain my wife; 
 Oh, how it hurts to have a life 
 
 That does not fit ! 
 
 ON NEW YEAR'S DAY. 
 
 On New Year's Day he plans a cruise 
 
 To Heaven straight — no time to lose ! 
 
 no 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Vowinf? to live so virtuously 
 That ojich beselting siu sliall llee - 
 Good nisolntious wide lio strews 
 On New Year's Day. 
 
 A wliile lie niiuds liis p's aud (fs, 
 
 And all leni[)iatious doth refuse;, 
 
 llecalliiig his resolves so free 
 
 On New Year's Day. 
 
 But in the long year that ensues, 
 They fade away by thre(!s and twos 
 Tlie place we do not wish to see 
 Is paved witli all lit; meant to he. 
 When he next year his life reviews - 
 On New Year's Day. 
 
 OUR EAST. 
 
 Our East, long looking ])ackward over sea, 
 
 In loving sLudy of what us(hI to l)e, 
 
 lias gi'own to ticat oui" West with the same; scorn 
 
 England has had for us since we were; horn. 
 
 You 'd think to hear this Eastern judgment hard 
 The West was just New England's back yard! 
 That all the West was made; for, ]a,st and l(!ast. 
 Was to rais(} pork and wheat to feed the; T^ast ! 
 117 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 A place to travel in, for rest and health, 
 A place to struggle in and get the wealth, 
 The only normal end of which, of course, 
 Is to return to its historic source ! 
 
 Our AV^estern acres, curving to the sun, 
 
 The Western strength whereby our work is done. 
 
 All Western progress, they attribute fair 
 
 To Eastern Capital invested there 1 
 
 New England never liked old England's scorn. 
 Do they think theirs more easy to be borne V 
 Or that the East, Britain's rebellious child, 
 Will lind the grandson, AVest, more meek and 
 mild? 
 
 In union still our sovereignty has stood, 
 A union formed with prayer and sealed with blood. 
 We stand together. Patience, mighty West ! 
 Don't mind this scolding from your last year's 
 nest I 
 
 UNMENTIONABLE. 
 
 Theue is a thing of which T fain would speak. 
 
 Yet shun the deed ; 
 Lest hot disgust ilush the averted cheek 
 
 Of those who read. 
 118 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 And yet it is as common in our sight 
 
 As (lust or grass ; 
 Loathed by the lifted skirt, the tiptoe light, 
 
 Of those who pass. 
 
 We say no word, but the big placard rests 
 
 Frequent in view, 
 To sicken those who do not with requests 
 
 Of those who do. 
 
 " Gentlemen will not," the mild i)lacards say. 
 
 They read with scorn. 
 " Gentlemen must not " — they defile the way 
 
 Of those who warn. 
 
 On boat and car the careful lady lifts 
 
 Her dress aside ; 
 If careless — think, fair traveller, of the gifts 
 
 Of those who ride ! 
 
 On every hall and sidewalk, floor and stair, 
 
 Where man 's at home. 
 This loathsomeness is added to the care 
 
 Of those who come. 
 
 As some foul slug his trail of slime displays 
 
 On leaf and stalk, 
 These street-beasts make a horror in the ways 
 
 Of those who walk. 
 
 119 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 We cannot ask reform of those who do — 
 
 They can't or won't. 
 We can express the scorn, intense and true, 
 
 Of those who don't. 
 
 AN INVITATION FROM CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Aren't you th'ed of protection from the weather? 
 
 Of defences, guards, and shields ? 
 Are n't you tired of the worry as to whether 
 
 This year the farm land yields ? 
 
 Are n't you tired of the wetness and the dryness. 
 The dampness, and the hotness, and the cold V 
 
 Of waiting on the weather man with shyness 
 To see if the last plans hold ? 
 
 Are n't you tired of the doctoring and nursing, 
 Of the " sickly winters " and the pocket pills, — 
 
 Tired of sorrowing, and burying, and cursing 
 At Providence and undertakers' bills ? 
 
 Are n't you tired of all the threatening and doubt- 
 ing, 
 
 The " w^eather-breeder " with its lovely lie ; 
 The dubiety of any sort of outing ; 
 
 The chip upon the shoulder of the sky ? 
 
 120 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Like a beaten horse who dodges your caresses, 
 Like a child abused who ducks before your frown, 
 
 Is the northerner in our warm air that blesses — 
 O come and live and take your elbow down ! 
 
 Don't be afraid ; you do not need defences ; 
 
 This heavenly day breeds not a stormy end ; 
 I^ay down your arms ! cut off your war expenses ! 
 
 This weather is your friend 1 
 
 A friendliness from earth, a joy from heaven, 
 A peace that wins your frightened soul at length ; 
 
 A place where rest as well as work is given, — 
 Rest is the food of strength. 
 
 RESOLVE. 
 
 To keep my health 1 
 
 To do my work ! 
 
 To live ! 
 
 To see to it I grow and gain and give ! 
 
 Never to look behind me for an hour ! 
 
 To wait in weakness, and to walk in power ; 
 
 But always fronting onward to the light, 
 
 Always and always facing toward the right. 
 
 Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide astray- 
 
 On, with what strength I have 1 
 
 Back to the way 1 
 
 121 
 
WOMAN. 
 
SHE WALKETH VEILED AND 
 SLEEPING. 
 
 She walketh veiled and sleeping, 
 For she knowetli not her power ; 
 She obeyeth but the pleading 
 Of her heart, and the high leading 
 Of her soul, unto this hour. 
 Slow advancing, halting, creeping, 
 Comes the Woman to the hour ! — 
 She walketh veiled and sleeping. 
 For she knowetli not her power. 
 
 TO MAN. 
 
 In dark and early ages, through the primal forests 
 
 faring. 
 Ere the soul came shining into prehistoric night, 
 Two-fold man was equal ; they were comrades dear 
 
 and daring, 
 Living wild and free together in unreasoning delight. 
 
 Ere the soul was born and consciousness came 
 
 slowly. 
 Ere the soul was born, to man and woman too, 
 Ere he found the Tree of Knowledge, that awful 
 
 tree and holy. 
 Ere he knew he felt, and knew he kiiew. 
 
 125 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Then said he to Pain, " I am wise now, and I know 
 
 you! 
 No more will I suffer while power and wisdom 
 
 last ! " 
 Then said he to Pleasure, " I am strong, and I will 
 
 show you 
 That the will of man can seize you ; aye, and hold 
 
 you fast ! " 
 
 Food he ate for pleasure, and wine he drank for 
 
 gladness, 
 And woman ? Ah, the woman ! the crown of all 
 
 deUght ! — 
 His now — he knew it ! He was strong to madness 
 In that early dawning after prehistoric night. 
 
 His — his forever ! That glory sweet and tender ! 
 Ah, but he would love her ! And she should love 
 
 but him ! 
 He would work and struggle for her, he would 
 
 shelter and defend her ; 
 She should never leave him, never, till their eyes 
 
 in death were dim. 
 
 Close, close he bound her, that she should leave 
 
 him never ; 
 Weak still he kept her, lest she be strong to flee ; 
 And the fainting flame of passion he kept alive 
 
 forever 
 With all the arts and forces of earth and sky and sea. 
 
 126 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 And, ah, the long journey! The slow and awful 
 
 ages 
 They have labored up together, blind and crippled, 
 
 all astray ! 
 Through what a mighty volume, with a million 
 
 shameful pages, 
 From the freedom of the forest to the prisons of 
 
 to-day 1 
 
 Food he ate for pleasure, and it slew him with 
 diseases ! 
 
 Wine he drank for gladness, and it led the way to 
 crime ! 
 
 And woman? He will hold her — he will have 
 her when he pleases — 
 
 And he never once hath seen her since the pre- 
 historic time! 
 
 Gone the friend and comrade of the day when life 
 
 was younger. 
 She who rests and comforts, she who helps and 
 
 saves ; 
 Still he seeks her vainly, with a never-dying hunger; 
 Alone beneath his tyrants, alone above his slaves ! 
 
 Toiler, bent and weary with the load of thine own 
 
 making ! 
 Thou who art sad and lonely, though lonely all in 
 
 vain ! 
 
 127 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Who hast sought to conquer Pleasure and have her 
 
 for the taking, 
 And found that Pleasure only was another name 
 
 for Pain, — 
 
 Nature hath reclaimed thee, forgiving dispossession ! 
 
 God hath not forgotten, though man doth still for- 
 get! 
 
 The woman-soul is rising, in despite of thy trans- 
 gression ; 
 
 Loose her now — and trust her ! She will love thee 
 yet! 
 
 Love thee? She will love thee as only freedom 
 
 knoweth ; 
 Love thee ? She will love thee while Love itself 
 
 doth live ! 
 Fear not the heart of woman ! No bitterness it 
 
 showeth ! 
 The ages of her sorrow have but taught her to 
 
 forgive ! 
 
 WOMEN OF TO-DAY. 
 
 You women of to-day who fear so much 
 The women of the future, showing how 
 The dangers of her course are such and such — 
 What are you now ? 
 
 128 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Mothers and Wives and Housekeepers, forsooth I 
 Great names ! you cry, full scope to rule and please 1 
 Room for wise age and energetic youth ! — 
 But are you these ? 
 
 Housekeepers ? Do you then, like those of yore, 
 Keep house with power and pride, with grace and 
 
 ease? 
 No, you keep servants only ! What is more, 
 You don't keep these ! 
 
 Wives, say you ? Wives ! Blessed indeed are they 
 W^ho hold of love the everlasting keys, 
 Keeping their husbands' hearts ! Alas the day ! 
 You don't keep these ! 
 
 And mothers ? Pitying Heaven ! Mark the cry 
 From cradle death-beds I Mothers on their knees 1 
 Why, half the children born — as children die ! 
 You don't keep these I 
 
 And still the wailing babies come and go, 
 And homes are waste, and husbands' hearts fly far, 
 There is no hope until you dare to know 
 The thing you are ! 
 
 TO THE YOUNG WIFE. 
 
 Are you content, you pretty three-years' wife ? 
 Are you content and satisfied to live 
 On what your loving husband loves to give, 
 And give to him your life ? 
 
 9 129 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Are you content with work, — to toil alone, 
 To clean things dirty and to soil things clean ; 
 To be a kitchen-maid, be called a queen, — 
 Queen of a cook-stove throne ? 
 
 Are you content to reign in that small space — 
 A wooden palace and a yard-fenced land — 
 With other queens abundant on each hand, 
 Each fastened in her place ? 
 
 Are you content to rear your children so ? 
 
 Untaught yourself, untrained, perplexed, dis- 
 tressed, 
 Are you so sure your way is always best ? 
 That you can always know ? 
 
 Have you forgotten how you used to long 
 In days of ardent girlhood, to be great, 
 To help the groaning world, to serve the state, 
 To be so wise — so strong ? 
 
 And are you quite convinced this is the way, 
 The only way a woman's duty lies — 
 Knowing all women so have shut their eyes ? 
 Seeing the world to-day V 
 
 Have you no dream of life in fuller store ? 
 Of growing to be more than that you are ? 
 Doing the things you now do better far, 
 Yet doing others — more ? 
 
 130 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Losing no love, but finding as you grew 
 That as you entered upon nobler life 
 You so became a richer, sweeter wife, 
 A wiser mother too ? 
 
 What holds you ? Ah, my dear, it is your throne, 
 Your paltry queenship in that narrow place. 
 Your antique labors, your restricted space, 
 Your working all alone 1 
 
 Be not deceived ! 'T is not your wifely bond 
 That holds you, nor the mother's royal power, 
 But selfish, slavish service hour by hour — 
 A life with no beyond I 
 
 FALSE PLAY. 
 
 " Do you love me ? " asked the mother of her child, 
 And the baby answered, " No I " 
 
 Great Love listened and sadly smiled; 
 
 He knew the love in the heart of the child — 
 That you could not wake it so. 
 
 " Do not love mo ? " the foolish mother cried. 
 
 And the baby answered, " No ! " 
 He knew the worth of the trick she tried — 
 Great Love listened, and grieving, sighed 
 That the mother scorned him so. 
 
 131 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 " Oh, poor mama ! " and she played her part 
 
 Till the baby's strength gave way : 
 He knew it was false in his inmost heart, 
 But he could not bear that her tears should start, 
 So he joined in the lying play. 
 
 " Then love mama ! " and the soft lips crept 
 
 To the kiss that his love should show, — 
 
 The mouth to speak while the spirit slept ! 
 
 Great Love listened, and blushed, and wept 
 That they blasphemed him so. 
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 
 
 Motherhood : First mere laying of an egg. 
 With blind foreseeing of the wisest place. 
 And blind provision of the proper food 
 For unseen larva to grow fat upon 
 After the instinct-guided mother died, — 
 Posthumous motherhood, no love, no joy. 
 
 Motherhood : Brooding patient o'er the nest, 
 With gentle stirring of an unknown love ; 
 Defending eggs unhatched, feeding the young 
 For days of callow feebleness, and then 
 Driving the fledglings from the nest to fly. 
 
 Motherhood : When the kitten and the cub 
 Cried out alive, and first the mother knew 
 
 132 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 The fumbling of furry little paws, 
 The pressure of the hungry little mouths 
 Against the more than ready mother-breast, — 
 The love that comes of giving and of care. 
 
 Motherhood : Nursing with her heart-warm milk, 
 Fighting to death all danger to her young, 
 Hunting for food for little ones half-weaned. 
 Teaching them how to hunt and fight in turn, — 
 Then loving not till the new litter came. 
 
 Motherhood : When the little savage grew 
 Tall at his mother's side, and learned to feel 
 Some mother even in his father's heart. 
 Love coming to new babies while the first 
 Still needed mother's care, and therefore love, — 
 Love lasting longer because childhood did. 
 
 Motherhood : Semi-civilized, intense. 
 
 Fierce with brute passion, narrow with the range 
 
 Of slavish lives to meanest service bowed ; 
 
 Devoted — to the sacrifice of life ; 
 
 Jealous beyond belief, and ignorant 
 
 Even of what should keep the child alive. 
 
 Love spreading with the spread of human needs, 
 
 The child's new. changing, ever-growing wants, 
 
 Yet seeking like brute mothers of the past 
 
 To give all things to her own child herself. 
 
 Loving to the exclusion of all else ; 
 
 133 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 To the cliild's service bending a whole life ; 
 Yci stunting tlie young creature day by day 
 AVith lack of Justice, Liberty, and Peace. 
 
 IVIotherhood : Civilized. There stands at last, 
 Facing the heavens with as calm a smile. 
 The highest fruit of the long work of God ; 
 The highest type of this, the highest race ; 
 She from whose groping instinct grew all love — • 
 All love — in which is all the life of man. 
 
 Motherhood : Seeing witli her clear, kind eyes, 
 Luminous, tender eyes, wherein the smile 
 Is like the smile of sunlight on the sea, 
 That the new children of the newer day 
 Need more than any single heart can give, 
 ]\Iore than is known to any single mind, 
 More than is found in any single house. 
 And need it from the day they see the light. 
 Then, measuring her love by what they need, 
 Gives, from the heart of modern motherhood. 
 Gives first, as tree to bear God's highest fruit, 
 A clean, strong body, perfect and full grown, 
 Fair for the purpose of its womanhood, 
 Not for light fancy of a lower mind ; 
 Gives a clear mind, athletic, beautiful, 
 Dispassionate, unswerving from the truth ; 
 Gives a great heart that throbs with human love, 
 As she would wish her son to love the world. 
 
 134 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Tlien, when the child comes, lovely as a star, 
 
 She, hi the peace of primal motherhood, 
 
 Nurses her baby with unceasing joy, 
 
 With milk of human kindness, human health. 
 
 Bright human beauty, and immortal love. 
 
 And then ? Ah ! here is the Niiw Motherhood — 
 
 The motherhood of the fair new-made world — 
 
 O glorious New Mother of New Men ! 
 
 Iler child, with other children from its birth. 
 
 In the unstinted freedom of warm air, 
 
 Under the wisest eyes, the tenderest thought. 
 
 Surrounded by all beauty and all peace. 
 
 Led, playing, through the gardens of the world, 
 
 With the crowned heads of science and great love 
 
 Mapping safe paths for those small, rosy feet, — 
 
 Taught human love by feeling human love, 
 
 Taught justice by the laws that rul(^ his days, 
 
 Taught wisdom by the way in winch he lives. 
 
 Taught to love all mankind and serve them fair 
 
 By seeing, from his birth, all children served 
 
 With the same righteous, all-embracing care. 
 
 O Mother ! Nol)le Mother, yet to come I 
 ITow shall thy child point to the bright career 
 Of hei" of whom he boasts to be the son — 
 Not for assiduous service spent on him. 
 But for the wisdom which has set him forth 
 A clear-brained, pure-souled, noble-hearted man, 
 
 135 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 With health and strength and beauty his by birth ; 
 
 And, more, for the wide record of her life, 
 
 Great work, well done, that makes him praise her 
 
 name 
 And long to make as great a one his own ! 
 And how shall all the children of the world. 
 Feeling all mothers love them, loving all, 
 Kise up and call her blessed ! 
 This shall be. 
 
 SIX HOURS A DAY. 
 
 Six hours a day the woman spends on food ! 
 Six mortal hours a day. .... 
 With fire and water toiling, heat and cold ; 
 Struggling with laws she does not understand 
 Of chemistry and physics, and the weight 
 Of poverty and ignorance besides. 
 Toiling for those she loves, the added strain 
 Of tense emotion on her humble skill, 
 The sensitiveness born of love and fear. 
 Making it harder to do even work. 
 Toiling without release, no hope ahead 
 Of taking up another business soon. 
 Of varying the task she finds too hard — 
 This, her career, so closely interknit 
 With holier demands as deep as life 
 That to refuse to cook is held the same 
 
 13o 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 As to refuse her wife and motherhood. 
 
 Six mortal hom*s a day to handle food, — 
 
 Prepare it, serve it, clean it all away, — 
 
 With allied labors of the stove and tub, 
 
 The pan, the dishcloth, and the scrubbing-brush. 
 
 Developing forever in her brain 
 
 The power to do this work in which she lives ; 
 
 While the slow finger of Heredity 
 
 Writes on the forehead of each living man, 
 
 Strive as he may, " His mother was a cook 1 " 
 
 AN OLD PROVERB. 
 
 " As much pity to see a woman weep as to see a goose go barefoot." 
 
 No escape, little creature ! The earth hath no place 
 For the woman who seeketh to fly from her race. 
 Poor, ignorant, timid, too helpless to roam. 
 The woman must bear what befalls her, at home. 
 Bear bravely, bear dumbly — it is but the same 
 That all others endure who live under the name. 
 No escape, little creature ! 
 
 No escape under heaven ! Can man treat you worse 
 After God has laid on you his infinite curse ? 
 The heaviest burden of sorrow you wiii 
 Cannot weigh with the load of original sin ; 
 No shame be too black for the cowering face 
 Of her who brought shame to the whole human race ! 
 No escape under heaven ! 
 
 137 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Yet you feel, being human. You shrink from the 
 
 pain 
 That each child, born a woman, must suffer again. 
 From the strongest of bonds heart can feel, man 
 
 can shape, 
 You cannot rebel, or appeal, or escape. 
 You must bear and endure. If the heart cannot 
 
 sleep. 
 And the pain groweth bitter, — too bitter, — then 
 
 weep! 
 
 For you feel, being human. 
 
 And she wept, being woman. The numberless 
 
 years 
 Have counted her burdens and counted her tears ; 
 The maid wept forsaken, the mother forlorn 
 For the child that was dead, and the child that was 
 
 born. 
 Wept for joy — as a miracle I — wept in her pain 1 
 Wept aloud, wept in secret, wept ever in vain ! 
 Still she weeps, being woman. 
 
 REASSURANCE. 
 
 Can you imagine nothing better, brother. 
 Than that which you have always had before ? 
 Have you been so content with " wife and mother," 
 You dare hope nothing more ? 
 
 138 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Have you forever prized her, praised her, sung her. 
 The happy queen of a most happy reign ? 
 Never dishonored her, despised her, flung her 
 Derision and disdain ? 
 
 Go ask the literature of all the ages ! 
 Books that were written before women read I 
 Pagan and Christian, satirists and sages, — 
 Read what the world has said ! 
 
 There was no power on earth to bid you slacken 
 The generous hand that painted her disgrace 1 
 There was no shame on earth too black to blacken 
 That much praised woman-face ! 
 
 Eve and Pandora ! — always you begin it — 
 The ancients called her Sin and Shame and Death I 
 " There is no evil without woman in it," 
 The modern proverb saith ! 
 
 She has been yours in uttermost possession, — 
 Your slave, your mother, your well-chosen bride, — 
 And you have owned, in million-fold confession, 
 You were not satisfied. 
 
 Peace, then ! Fear not the coming woman, brother ! 
 Owning herself, she giveth all the more ! 
 She shall be better woman, wife, and mother 
 Than man hath known before ! 
 
 139 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 MOTHER TO CHILD. 
 
 How best can T serve thee, my child ! My child 1 
 Flesh of my flesh and dear heart of my heart ! 
 Once thou wast within me — I held thee — I fed 
 
 thee — 
 By the force of my loving and longing I led thee — 
 Now we are apart ! 
 
 I may blind thee with kisses and crush with em- 
 bracing, 
 
 Thy warm mouth in my neck and our arms inter- 
 lacing ; 
 
 But here in my body my soul lives alone. 
 
 And thou answerest me from a house of thine own, — 
 That house w^hich 1 builded ! 
 
 Which we builded together, thy father and I ; 
 In which thou must live, O my darling, and die I 
 Not one stone can I alter, one atom relay, — 
 Not to save or defend thee or help thee to stay — 
 That gift is completed 1 
 
 How best can I serve thee ? O child, if they knew 
 How my heart aches with loving ! How deep and 
 
 how true, 
 How brave and enduring, how patient, how strong, 
 How longing for good and how fearful of wrong, 
 Is the love of thy mother ! 
 
 140 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Could T crown thee with riches I Surround, over- 
 flow thee 
 
 With fame and with power till the whole world 
 should know thee ; 
 
 With wisdom and genius to hold the world still, 
 
 To bring laughter and tears, joy and pain, at thy will, 
 Still — thou mightst not be happy I 
 
 Such have lived — and in sorrow. The greater the 
 
 mind. 
 The wider and deeper the grief it can find. 
 The richer, the gladder, the more thou canst feel 
 The keen stings that a lifetime is sure to reveal. 
 O my child 1 Must thou suffer ? 
 
 Is there no way my life can save thine from a pain ? 
 Is the love of a mother no possible gain ? 
 No labor of Hercules — search for the Grail — 
 No way for this wonderful love to avail V 
 God in Heaven — O teach me I 
 
 My prayer has been answered. The pain thou must 
 
 bear 
 Is the pain of the world's life which thy life must 
 
 share. 
 Thou art one with the world — though I love thee 
 
 the best ; 
 And to save thee from pain T must save all the rest — 
 Well — with God's help I '11 do it ! 
 
 141 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Thou art one with the rest. I must love thee in them, 
 Thou wilt sin with the rest ; and thy mother nmst 
 
 stem 
 The world's sin. Thou wilt weep ; and thy mother 
 
 must dry 
 The tears of the world lest her darling should cry. 
 I will do it — God helping ! 
 
 And I stand not alone. I will gather a band 
 Of all loving mothers from land unto land. 
 Our children are part of the world ! do ye hear ? 
 They are one with the world — we must hold them 
 all dear ! 
 
 Love all for the child's sake ! 
 
 For the sake of my child I must hasten to save 
 All the children on earth from the jail and the grave. 
 For so, and so only, I lighten the share 
 Of the pain of the world that my darling must bear — 
 Even so, and so only ! 
 
 SERVICES. 
 
 She was dead. Forth went the word, 
 
 And every creature heard. 
 
 To the last hamlet in the farthest lands, 
 
 To people countless as the sands 
 
 Of primal seas. 
 
 142 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 And with the word so sent 
 
 Her life's full record went, — 
 
 Of what fair line, how gifted, how endowed, 
 
 How educated ; and then, told aloud, 
 
 The splendid tale of what her life had done ; 
 
 And all the people heard and felt as one ; 
 
 Exulting all together in their dead, 
 
 And the grand story of the life she led. 
 
 But in the city where her body lay 
 Great services were held on that fair day : 
 People by thousands ; music to the sky ; 
 Flowers of a garnered season ; winding by, 
 Processions, glorious in rich array. 
 All massing in the temple where she lay. 
 
 Then, when the music rested, rose and stood 
 Those who could speak of her and count the good, 
 The measureless great good her life had spread. 
 That all might hear the praises of their dead. 
 And those who loved her sent from the world's end 
 Their tribute to the memory of their friend ; 
 While teachers to their children whispered low, 
 " See that you have as many when you go ! " 
 
 Then was recited how her life had part 
 In building up this science and that art, 
 Inventing here, administering there, 
 Helping to organize, create, prepare, 
 
 143 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 With fullest figures to expatiate 
 
 On her unmeasured value to the state. 
 
 And the child, listening, grew in noble pride, 
 
 And planned for greater praises when he died. 
 
 Then the Poet spoke of those long ripening years ; 
 And tenderer music brought the grateful tears ; 
 And then, lest grief upon their heartstrings hang, 
 Her children stood around the bier and sang : 
 
 In the name of the mother that bore us — 
 Bore us strong — bore us free — 
 
 We will strive in the labors before us, 
 Even as she ! Even as she ! 
 
 In the name of her wisdom and beauty, 
 
 Of her life full of light. 
 We will live in our national duty, 
 
 We will help on the right : 
 
 We will love as her heart loved before us, 
 Warm and wide — strong and high ! 
 
 In the name of the mother that bore us, 
 We will live I We will die ! 
 
 IN MOTHER-TIME. 
 
 When woman looks at woman with the glory in 
 
 her eyes, 
 When eternity lies open like a scroll, 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 When immortal life is being felt, — the life that 
 never dies, — 
 And the triumph of it ringeth 
 And the sweetness of it singeth 
 In the soul, 
 
 Then we come to California, the Garden of the 
 
 Lord, 
 Through all its leagues of endless blossoming ; 
 And we sing, we sing together, to the whole world's 
 deep accord — 
 And we feel each other praying 
 Over what the flowers are saying 
 As we sing. 
 
 We were waiting, we were growing, glad of heart 
 
 and strong of soul. 
 Like the peace and power of all these virgin lands ; 
 Through the years of holy maidenhood with mother- 
 hood for goal — 
 And soon we shall be holding 
 Fruit of all life's glad unfolding 
 In our hands. 
 
 White-robed mothers, flower-crowned mothers, in 
 
 the splendor of their youth, 
 In the grandeur of maturity and power ; 
 Feeling life has passed the telling in its joyousness 
 
 and truth, 
 
 10 145 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Feeling life will soon be giving 
 Tliem the golden key of living 
 In one hour. 
 
 We come to California for the sunshine and the 
 
 flowers ; 
 Our motherhood has brought us here as one ; 
 For the fruit of all the ages should share the shining 
 hours, 
 With the blossoms ever-springing 
 And the golden globes low swinging, 
 In the sun. 
 
 SHE WHO IS TO COME. 
 
 A WOMAN — in so far as she beholdeth 
 
 Her one Beloved's face ; 
 A mother — with a great heart that enfoldeth 
 
 The children of the Race ; 
 A body, free and strong, with that high beauty 
 
 That comes of perfect use, is built thereof ; 
 A mind where Reason ruleth over Duty, 
 
 And Justice reigns with Love ; 
 A self-poised, royal soul, brave, wise, and tender, 
 
 No longer blind and dumb ; 
 A Human Being, of an unknown splendor, 
 
 Is she who is to come 1 
 
 146 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 GIRLS OF TO-DAY. 
 
 Girls of to-day ! Give ear I 
 Never since time began 
 Has come to the race of man 
 A year, a day, an hour, 
 So full of promise and power 
 
 As the time that now is here ! 
 
 Never in all the lands 
 Was there a power so great, 
 To move the wheels of state, 
 To lift up body and mind, 
 To waken the deaf and blind. 
 
 As the power that is in your hands 1 
 
 Here at the gates of gold 
 You stand in the pride of youth. 
 Strong in courage and truth. 
 Stirred by a force kept back 
 Through centuries long and black, 
 
 Armed with a power tlireefold ! 
 
 First : You are makers of men 1 
 Then Be the things you preach ! 
 Let your own greatness teach ! 
 When mothers like this you see 
 Men will be strong and free — 
 
 Then, and not till then ! 
 
 147 
 
m THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Second : Since Adam fell, 
 Have you not heard it said 
 That men by women are led ? 
 True is the saying — true ! 
 See to it what you do ! 
 
 See that you lead them well I 
 
 Third ; You have work of your own ! 
 Maid and mother and wife, 
 Look in the face of life ! 
 There are duties you owe the race 1 
 Outside your dwelling-place 
 
 There is work for you alone I 
 
 Maid and mother and wife, 
 See your own work be done ! 
 Be worthy a noble son ! 
 Help man in the upward way I 
 Truly, a girl to-day 
 
 Is the strongest thing in life ! 
 
 "WE, AS WOMEN." 
 
 There 's a cry in the air about us — 
 We hear it before, behind — 
 
 Of tlie way in which " We, as women, 
 Are going to lift mankind ! 
 
 148 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 With our white frocks starched and ruffled. 
 And our soft hair brushed and curled — 
 
 Hats off ! for " we, as women," 
 Are coming to help the world ! 
 
 Fair sisters, listen one moment — 
 And perhaps you '11 pause for ten : 
 
 Tlie business of women as women 
 Ts only with men as men ! 
 
 What we do, " we, as women," 
 
 We have done all through our life ; 
 
 The work that is ours as women 
 Is the work of mother and wife I 
 
 But to elevate public opinion, 
 
 And to lift up erring man, 
 Is the work of the Human Being ; 
 
 Let us do it — if we can. 
 
 But wait, warm-hearted sisters — 
 
 Not quite so fast, so far. 
 Tell me how we are going to lift a thing 
 
 Any higher than we are I 
 
 We are going to " purify politics " 
 
 And to " elevate the press." 
 We enter the foul paths of the world 
 
 To sweeten and cleanse and bless. 
 
 149 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 To hear the high things we are going to do, 
 
 And the horrors of man we tell, 
 One would think " we, as women," were angels, 
 
 And our brothers were fiends of hell. 
 
 We, that were born of one mother. 
 And reared in the selfsame place, — 
 
 In the school and the church together, — 
 We, of one blood, one race ! 
 
 Now then, all forward together 1 
 
 But remember, every one, 
 That it is not by feminine innocence 
 
 The work of the world is done. 
 
 The world needs strength and courage. 
 
 And wisdom to help and feed — 
 When " we, as women," bring these to man, 
 
 We shall lift the world indeed I 
 
 IF MOTHER KNEW. 
 
 If mother knew the way I felt, — 
 And I 'm sure a mother should, — 
 
 She would n't make it quite so hard 
 For a person to be good I 
 
 I want to do the way she says ; 
 
 I try to all day long ; 
 And then she just skips all the right, 
 
 And pounces on the wrong ! 
 
 150 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 A dozen times I do a thing, 
 
 And one time I forget ; 
 And then she looks at me and asks 
 
 If I can't remember yet ? 
 
 She '11 tell me to do something, 
 And I '11 really start to go ; 
 
 But she '11 keep right on telling it 
 As if I did n't know. 
 
 Till it seems as if I could n't — 
 It makes me kind of wild ; 
 
 And then she says she never saw 
 Such a disobliging child. 
 
 I go to bed all sorry, 
 
 And say my prayers, and cry, 
 And mean next day to be so good 
 
 I just can't wait to try. 
 
 And I get up next morning, 
 And mean to do just right ; 
 
 But mother 's sure to scold me 
 About something, before night. 
 
 I wonder if she really thinks 
 
 A child could go so far, 
 As to be perfect all the time 
 
 As the gi'own up people are ! 
 
 151 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 If she only knew I tried to, — 
 
 And I 'm sure a mother should, — 
 
 She would n't make it quite so hard 
 For a person to be good ! 
 
 THE ANTI-SUFFRAGISTS. 
 
 Fashionable women in luxurious homes, 
 With men to feed them, clothe them, pay their bills, 
 Bow, doff the hat, and fetch the handkerchief ; 
 Hostess or guest, and always so supplied 
 With graceful deference and courtesy ; 
 Surrounded by their servants, horses, dogs, — 
 These tell us they have all the rights they want. 
 
 Successful women who have won their way 
 
 Alone, with strength of their unaided arm. 
 
 Or helped by friends, or softly climbing up 
 
 By the sweet aid of " woman's influence ; " 
 
 Successful any way, and caring naught 
 
 For any other woman's unsuccess, — 
 
 These tell us they have all the rights they want. 
 
 Religious women of the feebler sort, — 
 
 Not the religion of a righteous world, 
 
 A free, enlightened, upward-reaching world, 
 
 But the religion that considers life 
 
 As something to back out of ! — whose ideal 
 
 152 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Is to renounce, submit, and sacrifice, 
 
 Counting on being patted on tlie head 
 
 And given a high chair when they get to heaven, — 
 
 These tell us they have all the rights they want. 
 
 Ignorant women — college-bred sometimes, 
 
 But ignorant of life's realities 
 
 And principles of righteous government, 
 
 And how the privileges they enjoy 
 
 Were won with blood and tears by those before — 
 
 Those they condemn, whose ways they now oppose ; 
 
 Saying, " Why not let well enough alone ? 
 
 Our world is very pleasant as it is," — 
 
 These tell us they have all the rights they want. 
 
 And selfish women, — pigs in petticoats, — 
 Itich, poor, wise, unwise, top or bottom round, 
 But all sublimely innocent of thought, 
 And guiltless of ambition, save the one 
 Deep, voiceless aspiration — to be fed 1 
 These have no use for rights or duties more. 
 Duties to-day are more than they can meet, 
 And law insures their right to clothes and food, — 
 These tell us they have all the rights they want. 
 
 And, more 's the pity, some good women, too ; 
 Good conscientious women, with ideas ; 
 Who think — or think they think — that woman's 
 cause 
 
 153 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Is best advanced by letting it alone ; 
 
 That she somehow is not a human thing, 
 
 And not to be helped on by human means, 
 
 Just added to humanity — an " L " — 
 
 A wing, a branch, an extra, not mankind, — 
 
 These tell us they have all the rights they want. 
 
 And out of these has come a monstrous thing, 
 
 A strange, down-sucking whirlpool of disgrace, 
 
 Women uniting against womanhood, 
 
 And using that great name to hide their sin ! 
 
 Vain are their words as that old king's command 
 
 Who set his will against the rising tide. 
 
 But who shall measure the historic shame 
 
 Of these poor traitors — traitors are they all — 
 
 To great Democracy and Womanhood 1 
 
 WOMEN DO NOT WANT IT. 
 
 When the woman suffrage argument first stood 
 
 upon its legs, 
 They answered it with cabbages, they answered it 
 
 with eggs, 
 They answered it with ridicule, they answered it 
 
 with scorn. 
 They thought it a monstrosity that should not have 
 
 been born. 
 
 154 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 When the woman suffrage argument grew vigorous 
 
 and wise, 
 And was not to be silenced by these apposite 
 
 replies, 
 They turned their opposition into reasoning severe 
 Upon the limitations of our God-appointed sphere. 
 
 We were told of disabilities, — a long array of these, 
 Till one would think that womanhood was merely 
 
 a disease ; 
 And " the maternal sacrifice " was added to the plan 
 Of the various sacrifices we have always made — 
 
 to man. 
 
 Religionists and scientists, in amity and bliss, 
 However else they disagreed, could all agree on this, 
 And the gist of all their discourse, when you got 
 
 down to it. 
 Was — we could not have the ballot because we 
 
 were not fit ! 
 
 They would not hear to reason, they would not 
 
 fairly yield. 
 They would not own their arguments were beaten 
 
 in the field ; 
 But time passed on, and someway, we need not ask 
 
 them how, 
 Whatever ails those arguments — we do not hear 
 
 them now ! > 
 
 155 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 You may talk of woman suffrage now with an 
 educated man, 
 
 And he agrees with all you say, as sweetly as he 
 can ; 
 
 'T would be better for us all, of course, if woman- 
 hood was free ; 
 
 But " the women do not want it " — and so it must 
 not be ! 
 
 'T is such a tender thoughtfulness ! So exquisite 
 
 a care ! 
 Not to pile on our fair shoulders what we do not 
 
 wish to bear ! 
 But, oh, most generous brother ! Let us look a little 
 
 more — 
 Have we women always wanted what you gave to 
 
 us before ? 
 
 Did we ask for veils and harems in the Oriental 
 
 races ? 
 Did we beseech to be "unclean," shut out of sacred 
 
 places ? 
 Did we beg for scolding bridles and ducking stools 
 
 to come ? 
 And clamor for the beating stick no thicker than 
 
 your thumb ? 
 
 156 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Did we seek to be forbidden from all the trades 
 
 that pay ? 
 Did we claim the lower wages for a man's full work 
 
 to-day ? 
 Have we petitioned for the laws wherein our shame 
 
 is shown : 
 That not a woman's child — nor her own body — 
 
 is her own ? 
 
 What women want has never been a strongly act- 
 ing cause 
 
 When woman has been wronged by man in churches, 
 customs, law^s ; 
 
 Why should he find this preference so largely in 
 his way 
 
 When he himself admits the right of what we ask 
 to-day ? 
 
 WEDDED BLISS. 
 
 " O COME and be my mate! " said the Eagle to the 
 Hen ; 
 
 " I love to soar, but then 
 
 I want my mate to rest 
 
 Forever in the nest ! " 
 
 Said the Hen, " I cannot fly, 
 
 I have no wdsh to try. 
 But I joy to see my mate careering through the sky ! " 
 They wed, and cried, " Ah, this is Love, my own ! " 
 And the Hen sat, the Eagle soared, alone. 
 
 157 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 " O come and be my mate ! " said the Lieu to the 
 Sheep ; 
 " My love for you is deep ! 
 I slay, a Lion should, 
 But you are mild and good ! " 
 Said the Sheep, " I do no ill — 
 Could not, had I the will — 
 But I joy to see my mate pursue, devour, and kill." 
 They wed, and cried, " Ah, this is Love, my own ! " 
 And the Sheep browsed, the Lion prowled, alone. 
 
 " O come and be my mate ! " said the Salmon to the 
 Clam; 
 " You are not wise, but I am. 
 I know sea and stream as well ; 
 You know nothing but your shell." 
 Said the Clam, " I 'm slow of motion, 
 But my love is all devotion, 
 
 And I joy to have my mate traverse lake and stream 
 and ocean ! " 
 
 They wed, and cried, " Ah, this is Love, my own ! " 
 
 And the Clam sucked, the Salmon swam, alone. 
 
 THE HOLY STOVE. 
 
 O THE soap-vat is a common thing I 
 
 The pickle-tub is low ! 
 The loom and wheel have lost their grace 
 158 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 In falling from the dwelling-place 
 To mills where all may go ! 
 
 The bread-tray needeth not your love ; 
 The wash-tub wide doth roam ; 
 
 Even the oven free may rove ; 
 
 But bow ye down to the Holy Stove, 
 The Altar of the Home ! 
 
 Before it bend the worshippers, 
 
 And wreaths of parsley twine ; 
 Above it still the incense curls, 
 And a passing train of hired girls 
 
 Do service at the shrine. 
 We toil to keep the altar crowned 
 
 With dishes new and nice, 
 And Art and Love, and Time and Truth, 
 We offer up, with Health and Youth, 
 
 In daily sacrifice. 
 
 Speak not to us of a fairer faith. 
 
 Of a lifetime free from pain. 
 Our fathers always worshipped here, 
 Om' mothers served this altar drear. 
 
 And still we serve amain. 
 Our earliest dreams around it cling. 
 
 Bright hopes that childhood sees. 
 And memory leaves a vista wide 
 Where Mother's Doughnuts rank beside 
 
 The thought of Mother's Knees. 
 
 159 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 The wood-box hath no sanctity ; 
 
 No glamour gilds the coal ; 
 But the Cook-Stove is a sacred thing 
 To which a reverent faith we bring 
 
 And serve with heart and soul. 
 The Home 's a temple all divine, 
 
 By the Poker and the Hod ! 
 The Holy Stove is the altar fine, 
 The wife the priestess at the shrine — 
 
 Now who can be the god ? 
 
 THE MOTHER'S CHARGE. 
 
 She raised her head. With hot and glittering eye, 
 " I know," she said, '' that I am going to die. 
 Come here, my daughter, while my mind is clear. 
 Let me make plain to you your duty here ; 
 My duty once — I never failed to try — 
 But for some reason I am going to die." 
 She raised her head, and, while her eyes rolled wild, 
 Poured these instructions on the gasping child : 
 
 ** Begin at once — don't iron sitting down — 
 Wash your potatoes when the fat is broM^n — 
 Monday, unless it rains — it always pays 
 To get fall sewing done on the right days — 
 A carpet-sweeper and a little broom — 
 Save dishes — wash the summer dining-room 
 
 160 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 With soda — keep the children out of doors — 
 Tlie starch is out — beeswax on all the floors — 
 If girls are treated like your friends they stay — 
 They stay, and treat you like their friends — the way 
 To make home happy is to keep a jar — 
 And save the prettiest pieces for the star 
 In the middle — blue 's too dark — all silk is best — 
 And don't forget the corners — when they 're dressed 
 Put them on ice — and always wash the chest 
 Three times a day, the windows every week — 
 We need more flour — the bedroom ceilings leak — 
 It 's better than onion — keep the boys at home — 
 Gardening is good — a load, three loads of loam — 
 They bloom in spring — and smile, smile always, 
 
 dear — 
 Be brave, keep on — I hope I 've made it clear." 
 
 She died, as all her mothers died before. 
 
 Her daughter died in turn, and made one more. 
 
 A BROOD MARE. 
 
 It is a significant fact that the phenomenal improvement in horses 
 during recent years is accompanied by the growing conviction that 
 good points and a good record are as desirable in the dam as in the 
 sire, if not more so. 
 
 I HAD a quarrel yesterday, 
 
 A violent dispute, 
 With a man who tried to sell to me 
 
 A strange amorphous brute ; 
 
 11 161 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 A creature disproportionate, 
 
 A beast to make you stare, 
 All undeveloped, overgrown. 
 
 Outrageous-looking mare. 
 
 Her fore legs they were weak and thin, 
 Her hind legs weak and fat ; 
 
 She was heavy in the quarters, 
 With a narrow chest and flat ; 
 
 And she had managed to combine — 
 I 'm sure I don't know how — 
 
 The barrel of a gTeyhound 
 With the belly of a cow. 
 
 She seemed exceeding feeble. 
 
 And he owned with manner bland 
 
 That she walked a little, easily. 
 But was n't fit to stand. 
 
 I tried to mount the animal 
 
 To test her on the track ; 
 But he cried in real anxiety, 
 
 " Get off ! You '11 strain her back ! " 
 
 And then I sought to harness her, 
 
 But he explained at length 
 That any draught or carriage work 
 
 >Vas quite beyond her strength. 
 
 162 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 " No use to carry or to pull 1 
 
 No use upon the course ! " 
 Said I, " How can you have the face 
 
 To call that thing a horse ? " 
 
 Said he, indignantly, " I don't ! 
 
 I 'm dealing on the square ; 
 I never said it was a horse, 
 
 I told you 't M^as a mare ! 
 
 " A mare was never meant to race, 
 
 To carry, or to pull ; 
 She is meant for breeding only, so 
 
 Her place in life is full," 
 
 Said I, " Do you pretend to breed 
 From such a beast as that ? 
 
 A mass of shapeless skin and bone. 
 Or shapeless skin and fat ? " 
 
 Said he, " Her sire was thoroughbred, 
 As fine as walked the earth. 
 
 And all her colts receive from him 
 The marks of noble birth ; 
 
 " And then I mate her carefully 
 
 With horses fine and fit ; 
 Mares do not need to have themselves 
 
 The points which they transmit ! '* 
 
 163 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Said I, " Do you pretend to say 
 
 You can raise colts as fair 
 From that fat cripple as yoa can 
 
 From an able-bodied mare?" 
 
 Quoth he, " I solemnly assert, 
 
 Just as I said before, 
 A mare that 's good for breeding 
 
 Can be good for nothing more 1 " 
 
 Cried I, " One thing is certain proof ; 
 
 One thing I want to see ; 
 Trot out the noble colts you raise 
 
 From your anomaly." 
 
 He looked a little dashed at this, 
 And the poor mare hung her head. 
 
 "Fact is," said he, "she 's had but one, 
 And that one — well, it 's dead ! " 
 
 FEMININE VANITY. 
 
 Feminine Vanity ! O ye Gods ! Hear to this man ! 
 As if silk and velvet and feathers and fur 
 And jewels and gold had been just for her. 
 Since the world began ! 
 
 Where is his memory ? Let him look back — all 
 of the way ! 
 Let him study the history of his race 
 From the first he-savage that painted his face 
 To the dude of to-day ! 
 
 164 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 Vanity I Oh ! Are the twists and curls, 
 
 The intricate patterns in red, black, and bkie, 
 The wearisome tortures of rich tattoo, 
 Just made for girls ? 
 
 Is it only the squaw who files the teeth, 
 And dangles the lip, and bores the ear, 
 And weais bracelet and necklet and anklet as 
 queer 
 
 As the bones beneath ? 
 
 Look at the soldier, the noble, the king I 
 Egypt or Greece or Rome discloses 
 The purples and perfumes and gems and roses 
 On a masculine thing I 
 
 Look at the men of our own dark ages 1 
 Heroes too, in their cloth of gold. 
 With jewels as thick as the cloth could hold, 
 On the knights and pages ! 
 
 We wear false hair ? Our man looks big ! 
 But it 's not so long, let me beg to state, 
 Since every gentleman shaved his pate 
 And w^ore a wig. 
 
 French heels ? Sharp toes ? See our feet defaced ? 
 But there was a day when the soldier free 
 Tied the toe of his shoe to the manly knee — 
 Yes, and even his waist I 
 165 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 We pad and stuff ? Our man looks bolder. 
 Don't speak of the time when a bran-filled bunch 
 Made an English gentleman look like Punch — 
 But feel of his shoulder ! 
 
 Feminine Vanity ! O ye Gods ! Hear to these men ! 
 Vanity 's wide as the world is wide ! 
 Look at the peacock in his pride — 
 Is it a hen ? 
 
 THE MODEST MAID. 
 
 I AM a modest San Francisco maid, 
 
 Fresh, fair, and young, 
 Such as the painters gladly have displayed, 
 
 The poets sung. 
 
 Modest ? — Oh, modest as a bud unblown, 
 
 A thought unspoken ; 
 Hidden and cherished, unbeheld, unknown, 
 
 In peace unbroken. 
 
 Far from the holy shades of this my home, 
 
 The coarse world raves, 
 And the New Woman cries to heaven's dome 
 
 For what she craves. 
 
 Loud, vulgar, public, screaming from the stage, 
 
 Her skirt divided, 
 Riding cross-saddled on the dying age, 
 
 Justly derided. 
 
 166 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 I blush for her, I blush for our sweet sex 
 
 By her disgraced. 
 My sphere is home. My soul I do not vex 
 
 With zeal misplaced. 
 
 Come then to me with happy heart, O man ! 
 
 I wait your visit. 
 To guide your footsteps I do all I can, 
 
 Am most explicit. 
 
 As veined flower-petals teach the passing bee 
 
 The way to honey, 
 So printer's ink displayed instructeth thee 
 
 Where lies my money. 
 
 Go see ! In type and cut across the page. 
 
 Before the nation. 
 There you may read about my eyes, my age, 
 
 My education. 
 
 My fluffy golden hair, my tiny feet. 
 
 My pet ambition, 
 My well-developed figure, and my sweet, 
 
 Retiring disposition. 
 
 All, all is there, and now I coyly wait. 
 
 Pray don't delay. 
 My address does the Blue Book plainly state, 
 
 And mamma's " day." 
 
 Ban Francisco, 1895. 
 
 167 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 UNSEXED 
 
 It was a wild rebellious drone 
 
 That loudly did complain ; 
 He wished he was a worker bee 
 
 With all his might and main. 
 
 " I want to work," the drone declared. 
 
 Quoth they, " The thing you mean 
 Is that you scorn to be a drone 
 
 And long to be a queen. 
 
 " You long to lay unnumbered eggs, 
 And rule the waiting throng ; 
 
 You long to lead our summer flight, 
 And this is rankly wrong." 
 
 Cried he, " My life is pitiful ! 
 
 I only eat and wed. 
 And in my marriage is the end — 
 
 Thereafter I am dead. 
 
 " I would I were the busy bee 
 That flits from flower to flower ; 
 
 I long to share in w^ork and care 
 And feel the worker's power." 
 
 Quoth they, " The life you dare to spurn 
 
 Is set before you here 
 As your one great, prescribed, ordained, 
 
 Divinely ordered sphere ! 
 
 168 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 " Without your services as drone, 
 
 We should not be alive ; 
 Your modest task, when well fulfilled, 
 
 Preserves the busy hive. 
 
 " Why underrate your blessed power ? 
 
 Why leave your rightful throne 
 To choose a field of life that 's made 
 
 For working bees alone ? " 
 
 Cried he, " But it is not enough, 
 
 My momentary task ! 
 Let me do that and more beside : 
 
 To work is all I ask ! " 
 
 Then fiercely rose the workers all. 
 
 For sorely were they vexed ; 
 "O wretch ! " they cried, " should this betide, 
 
 You would become unsexed ! " 
 
 And yet he had not sighed for eggs, 
 
 Nor yet for royal mien ; 
 He longed to be a worker bee. 
 
 But not to be a queen. 
 
 FEMALES. 
 
 The female fox she is a fox ; 
 
 The female whale a whale ; 
 The female eagle holds her place 
 As representative of race 
 
 As truly as the male. 
 
 1C9 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 The mother hen doth scratch for her chicks, 
 
 And scratch for herself beside ; 
 The mother cow doth nurse her calf, 
 Yet fares as well as her other half 
 In the pasture free and wide. 
 
 The female bird doth soar in air; 
 
 The female fish doth swim ; 
 The fleet-foot mare upon the course 
 Doth hold her own with the flying horse — 
 
 Yea, and she beateth him ! 
 
 One female in the world we find 
 
 Telling a different tale. 
 It is the female of our race, 
 Who holds a parasitic place 
 
 Dependent on the male. 
 
 Not so, saith she, ye slander me ! 
 
 No parasite am I ! 
 I earn my living as a wife ; 
 My children take my very life. 
 Why should I share in human strife. 
 
 To plant and build and buy ? 
 
 The human race holds highest place 
 
 In all the world so wide. 
 Yet these inferior females wive, 
 And raise their little ones alive, 
 
 And feed themselves beside. 
 
 170 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 The race is higher than the sex, 
 Though sex be fair and good ; 
 A Human Creature is your state, 
 And to be human is more great 
 Than even womanhood ! 
 
 The female fox she is a fox ; 
 
 The female whale a whale ; 
 The female eagle holds her place 
 As representative of race 
 
 As truly as the male. 
 
 A MOTHER'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 You soft, pink, moving thing ! 
 Young limbs that crave 
 Motion as free as zephyr-lifted wave ; 
 Uneasy with the push of unlearned powers ! 
 Exploring slowly through half-conscious hours; 
 With what rich new surprise and joy you feel 
 Your own will move yourself from head to heel ! 
 So, let me swaddle you in bandage tight, 
 Dress you in wide, confining folds of white. 
 Cover you warmly, hold you close, and so 
 A mother's instinct-guided love I '11 show ! 
 
 Mysterious little frame ! 
 
 Each organ new 
 
 And learning swiftly what it has to do ! 
 
 171 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Thy life's bright stream — as yet so newly thine — 
 Refreshed by heaven's sunlit air divine ; 
 With what delight you breathe in rosy ease 
 The strengthening, restful, blossom-scented breeze ! 
 So, let me wrap you in a blanket shawl, 
 And veil your face in woollen, when at all 
 You meet the air. Here in my arms is best 
 The curtained bedroom where your elders rest ; 
 So shall I guard you from a draught, and so 
 A mother's instinct-guided love I '11 show. 
 
 Young earnest mind at work ! 
 
 Each sense attends 
 
 To teach you life's approaching foes and friends ; 
 
 Eye, ear, nose, tongue, and ever ready hand, 
 
 Eager to help you learn and understand. 
 
 What floods of happiness the day insures. 
 
 While each new knowledge is becoming yours ! 
 
 So, let me firmly take away from you 
 
 The things you so persistently would view ; 
 
 And when you stretch the hand that tells so much, 
 
 Rap your soft knuckles and exclaim, " Don't touch ! " 
 
 I '11 tell you what you ought to learn, and so, 
 
 A mother's instinct-guided love I '11 show. 
 
 An ordinary child at best. 
 
 So neighbors tell ; 
 
 Not very large and strong, not very well ; 
 
 172 
 
WOMAN. 
 
 A victim to the measles and the croup, 
 
 Fevers that flush and chill, and coughs that whoop ; 
 
 To unknown naughtiness and well-known pain ; 
 
 No racial progress here — no special gain ! 
 
 But I, your mother, see with other eyes ; 
 
 I hold you second to none under skies, 
 
 This estimate, unbased on any fact. 
 
 Shall teach you how to feel and how to act, 
 
 Shall make you wise, and true, and strong, and so, 
 
 A mother's instinct-guided love I '11 show. 
 
 THEY WANDERED FORTH. 
 
 They wandered forth in springtime woods, 
 
 Three women, thickly hung 
 With yards and yards of woollen goods — 
 
 To play that they were young ! 
 
 The river raced with the racing air ; 
 
 The woods were wild with song ; 
 The glad birds darted everywhere — 
 
 And so they walked along ! 
 
 Stiff -bodied, fat, oppressed with cloth, 
 
 Dull-colored, sad to see. 
 Slow-moving over the bright grass. 
 Their shapeless shadows fall and pass, 
 And dreaming not — alas ! alas ! 
 
 Of what dear life might be ! 
 
 173 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 BABY LOVE. 
 
 Baby Love came prancing by, 
 Cap on head and sword on thigh, 
 Horse to ride and drum to beat, - 
 All the world beneath his feet. 
 
 Mother Life was sitting there, 
 Hard at work and full of care. 
 Set of mouth and sad of eye. 
 Baby Love came prancing by. 
 
 Baby Love was very proud. 
 Very lively, very loud ; 
 Mother Life arose in wrath. 
 Set an arm across his path. 
 
 Baby Love wept loud and long, 
 But his mother's arm was strong. 
 Mother had to work, she said. 
 Baby Love was put to bed. 
 
 174 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
THE WOLF AT THE DOOR. 
 
 There 's a haunting horror near us 
 
 That nothing drives away : 
 Fierce lamping eyes at nightfall, 
 
 A crouching shade by day ; 
 There 's a whining at the threshold, 
 
 There 's a scratching at the floor. 
 To work ! To work ! In Heaven's name ! 
 
 The wolf is at the door ! 
 
 The day was long, the night was short, 
 
 The bed was hard and cold ; 
 Still weary are the little ones. 
 
 Still weary are the old. 
 We are weary in our cradles 
 
 From our mother's toil untold ; 
 We are born to hoarded weariness 
 
 As some to hoarded gold. 
 
 We will not rise ! We will not work ! 
 
 Nothing the day can give 
 Is half so sweet as an hour of sleep ; 
 
 Better to sleep than live ! 
 What power can stir these heavy limbs ? 
 
 What hope these dull hearts swell ? 
 What fear more cold, what pain more sharp, 
 
 Than the life we know so well ? 
 
 12 177 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 To die like a man by lead or steel 
 
 Is nothing that we should fear ; 
 No human death would be worse to feel 
 
 Than the life that holds us here. 
 But this is a fear no heart can face — 
 
 A fate no man can dare — 
 To be run to earth and die by the teeth 
 
 Of the gnawing monster there ! 
 
 The slow, relentless, padding step 
 
 That never goes astray — 
 The rustle in the underbrush — 
 
 The shadow in the way — 
 The straining flight — the long pursuit — 
 
 The steady gain behind — 
 Death-wearied man and tireless brute, 
 
 And the struggle wild and blind 1 
 
 There 's a hot breath at the keyhole 
 
 And a tearing as of teeth ! 
 Well do I know the bloodshot eyes 
 
 And the dripping jaws beneath ! 
 There 's a whining at the threshold — 
 
 There 's a scratching at the floor — 
 To work ! To work ! In Heaven's name I 
 
 The wolf is at the door 1 
 
 178 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 THE LOST GAME. 
 
 Came the big children to the little ones, 
 And unto them full pleasantly did say, 
 " Lo 1 we have spread for you a merry game, 
 And ye shall all be winners at the same. 
 Come now and play 1 " 
 
 Great is the game they enter in, — 
 
 Rouge et Noir on a giant scale, — 
 Red with blood and black with sin, 
 Where many must lose and few may win, 
 And the players never fail! 
 
 Said the strong children to the weaker ones, 
 
 " See, ye are many, and we are but few 1 
 The mass of all the counters ye divide. 
 But few remain to share upon our side. 
 Play — as we do ! " 
 
 Strange is the game they enter in, — 
 Rouge et Noir on a field of pain ! 
 And the silver white and the yelloio gold 
 Pile and pile in the victor's hold, 
 While the many play in vain ! 
 
 Said the weak children to the stronger ones, 
 
 " See now, howe'er it fall, we lose our share ! 
 And play we well or ill we always lose ; 
 While ye gain always more than ye can use. 
 Bethink ye — is it fair ? " 
 179 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Strange is the game they enter in, — 
 
 Rouge et Noir, and the hank is strong! 
 Play they well or play they wide 
 The gold is still on the hanker'' s side, 
 A nd the game endureth long. 
 
 Said the strong children, each aside to each, 
 
 " The game is slow — our gains are all too small ! " 
 Play we together now, 'gainst them apart ; 
 So shall these dull ones lose it from the start. 
 And we shall gain it all ! " 
 
 Strange is the game that now they icin, — 
 
 Rouge et Noir with a new design ! 
 What can the many players do 
 Whose ivits are weak and counters few 
 When the Power and the Gold comhine f 
 
 Said the weak children to the stronger ones, 
 
 " We care not for the game ! 
 For play as we may our chance is small, 
 And play as ye may ye have it all. 
 The end 's the same 1 " 
 
 Strange is the game the world doth play, — 
 Rouge et Noir, ivit/i the counters gold, 
 
 Red loitli hlood and hlack loith sin ; 
 
 Few and fewer are they that win 
 As the ages pass iinlold. 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 Said the strong children to the weaker ones, 
 
 " Ye lose in laziness ! ye lose in sleep ! 
 riay faster now and make the counters spin I 
 riay well, as we, and ye in time shall win ! 
 Play fast ! Play deep ! " 
 
 Strange is the game of Rouge et Nob', — 
 
 Never a point have the little ones icon. 
 The winners are strong and Jlushed with gain, 
 The losers are loeaJc ivith want and pain, 
 And still the game goes on. 
 
 But those rich players grew so very few, 
 
 So many grew the poor ones, that one day 
 They rose up from that table, side by side. 
 Calm, countless, terrible — they rose and cried 
 In one great voice that shook the heavens wide, 
 " We will not play ! " 
 
 Where is the game of Rouge et Noir ? 
 
 Where is the wealth of yesterday'? 
 What availeth the poicer ye tell, 
 And the slill in the game ye play so loell ? 
 
 If the ])layej's ivill not jylay f 
 
 THE LOOKER-ON. 
 
 The world was full of the battle, 
 The whole world far and wide ; 
 
 Men and women and children 
 Were fighting on either side. 
 
 181 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 I was sent from the hottest combat 
 With a message of life and death, 
 
 Black with smoke and red with blood, 
 Weary and out of breath, 
 
 Forced to linger a moment, 
 And bind a stubborn wound, 
 
 Cursing the hurt that kept me back 
 From the fiery battle-ground. 
 
 When I found a cheerful stranger. 
 
 Calm, critical, serene, 
 Well sheltered from all danger, 
 
 Painting a battle-scene. 
 
 He was cordially glad to see me — 
 The coolly smiling wretch — 
 
 And inquired with admiration, 
 " Do you mind if I make a sketch ? " 
 
 So he had me down in a minute. 
 With murmurs of real delight ; 
 
 My " color " was " delicious," 
 My " action " was " just right ! " 
 
 And he prattled on with ardor 
 Of the moving scene below ; 
 
 Of the "values " of the smoke-wreaths, 
 And " the splendid rush and go " 
 
 182 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 Of the headlong desperate charges 
 Where a thousand lives were spent ; 
 
 Of the " masshig " in the foreground 
 With the " middle distance " blent. 
 
 Said I, " You speak serenely 
 
 Of the living death in view. 
 These are human creatures dying — 
 
 Are you not human too ? 
 
 " This is a present battle, 
 
 Where all men strive to-day. 
 How does it chance you sit apart? 
 
 Which is your banner — say ! " 
 
 His fresh cheek blanched a little, 
 But he answered with a smile 
 
 That he fought not on either side ; 
 He was watching a little while. 
 
 " Watching I " said T, " and neutral ! 
 
 Neutral in times like these ! " 
 And I plucked him off his sketching stool 
 
 And brought him to his knees. 
 
 I stripped him of his travelling cloak 
 
 And showed him to the sky : 
 By his uniform — a traitor ! 
 
 By his handiwork — a spy 1 
 
 183 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 I dragged him back to the field he left ; 
 
 To the fate he was fitted for. 
 We have no place for lookers on 
 
 When all the world 's at war I 
 
 THE OLD-TIME WAIL. 
 
 An Associated Press despatch describes the utterance of a 
 Farmers' Alliance meeting in Kansas as consisting mostly of " the 
 old-time wail of distress." 
 
 Still Dives hath no peace. Broken his slumber, 
 
 His feasts are troubled, and his pleasures fail ; I 
 For still he hears from voices without number 
 The same old wail. 
 
 They gather yet in field and town and city, — 
 
 The people, discontented, bitter, pale, — 
 And murmur of oppression, pain, and pity, — 
 The old-time wail. 
 
 And weary Dives, jaded in his pleasures. 
 
 Finding the endless clamor tiresome, stale — 
 Would gladly give a part of his wide treasures 
 To quiet that old wail. 
 
 Old ? Yes, as old as Egypt. Sounding lowly 
 
 From naked millions, in the desert hid, 
 Starving and bleeding while they builded, slowly, 
 The Pharaohs' pyramid. 
 184 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 As old as Rome. That endless empire's minions 
 
 Raised ever and again the same dull cry ; 
 And even Cassar's eagle bent his pinions 
 While it disturbed the sky. 
 
 As old as the Dark Ages. The lean peasant, 
 
 Numerous, patient, still as time went by 
 Made his lord's pastimes something less than 
 pleasant 
 
 With that unceasing cry. 
 
 It grew in volume down the crowding ages ; 
 
 Unheeded still, and unappeased, it swelled. 
 
 And now it pleads in vain, and now it rages — 
 
 The answer still withheld. 
 
 A century ago it shrieked and clamored 
 
 Till trembled emperors and kings gTew pale ; 
 At gates of palaces it roared and hammered, — 
 The same old wail. 
 
 It got no final answer, though its passion 
 
 Altered the face of Europe, monarchs slew ; 
 But ere it sank to silence, in some fashion 
 Others were wailing, too. 
 
 And now in broad America we hear it, — 
 
 From crowded street, from boundless hill and vale. 
 Hear, Dives ! Have ye not some cause to fear it, — 
 This old-time wail ? 
 185 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Louder, my brother ! Let us wail no longer 
 
 Like those past sufferers whose hearts did break. 
 We are a wiser race, a braver, stronger — 
 Let us not ask, but take ! 
 
 So Dives shall have no distress soever, 
 
 No sound of anguished voice by land or sea ; 
 The-old time wail shall so be stilled forever, 
 And Dives shall not be ! 
 
 FEEE LAND IS NOT ENOUGH. 
 
 Free land is not enough. In earliest days 
 When man, the baby, from the earth's bare breast 
 Drew for himself his simple sustenance, 
 Then freedom and his effort were enough. 
 The world to which a man is born to-day 
 Is a constructed, human, man-built world. 
 As the first savage needed the free wood, 
 We need the road, the ship, the bridge, the house, 
 The government, society, and church, — 
 These are the basis of our life to-day, 
 As much necessities to modern man 
 As was the forest to his ancestor. 
 To say to the new-born, " Take here your land ; 
 In primal freedom settle where you will. 
 And work yom' own salvation in the world," 
 Is but to put the last come upon earth 
 186 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 Back with the dim forerunners of his race 
 
 To climb the race's stairway in one life ! 
 
 Allied society owes to the young — 
 
 The new men come to carry on the world — 
 
 Account for all the past, the deeds, the keys, 
 
 Full access to the riches of the earth. 
 
 Why ? That these new ones may not be compelled, 
 
 Each for himself, to do our work again — 
 
 But reach their manhood even with to-day, 
 
 And gain to-morrow sooner. To go on — 
 
 To start from where we are and go ahead — 
 
 That is true progress, true humanity ! 
 
 WHO IS TO BLAME? 
 
 Who was to blame in that old time 
 
 Of the unnoticed groan. 
 When prisoners without proof of crime 
 Kotted in dungeons wet with slime, 
 
 And died unknown ? 
 
 When torture was a common thing. 
 
 When fire could speak, 
 When the flayed wretch hung quivering, 
 And rack-strained tendons, string by string. 
 
 Snapped with a shriek ? 
 
 Is it the Headsman, following still 
 The laws his masters give ? 
 
 187 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Is it the Church or King who kill ? 
 Or just the People, by whose will 
 
 Church, King, and Headsman live? 
 
 The People, bowing slavish knee 
 With tribute fruits of earth ; 
 The PeojDle, gathering to see 
 The stake, the axe, the gallows-tree, 
 In brutal mirth ! 
 
 The People, countenancing pain 
 
 By willing presence there ; 
 The People — you might shriek in vain. 
 Poor son of Abel or of Cain — 
 The People did not care ! 
 
 And now, in this fair age we 're in, 
 
 Who is to blame ? 
 When men go mad and women sin 
 Because the life they struggle in 
 
 Enforces shame ! 
 
 When torture is so deep, so wide — 
 
 The kind we give — 
 So long drawn out, so well supplied, 
 That men die now by suicide, 
 
 Rather than live ! 
 
 Is it the Rich Man, grinding still 
 The faces of the poor? 
 188 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 Is it our System which must kill ? 
 
 Or just the People, by whose will 
 
 That system can endure ? 
 
 The People, bowing slavish knee 
 
 With tribute fruits of earth; 
 
 The People, who can bear to see 
 
 In crime and death and poverty 
 
 Fair ground for mirth ! 
 
 The People, countenancing pain 
 
 By willing presence there ; 
 The People — you may shriek in vain - 
 Protest, rebel, beseech, complain — 
 The People do not care ! 
 
 Each man and woman feels the weight 
 
 Of their own private share ; 
 But for the suffering of the state, 
 That falls on all men soon or late, 
 The People do not care ! 
 
 IF A MAN MAY NOT EAT NEITHER 
 CAN HE WORK. 
 
 How can he work ? He never has been taught 
 The free use of what faculties he had. 
 
 Why should he work ? Who ever yet has thought 
 To give a love of working to the lad. 
 
 189 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 How can he work ? His life has felt the lack 
 Of all that makes us woi'k; the proud, the free, 
 
 Each saying to the world, " I give you back 
 Part of the glory you have given me ! " 
 
 Why should he work ? He has no honor high, 
 Born of great trust and wealth and sense of power ; 
 
 Honor, that makes us yearn before we die 
 To add our labor to the world's rich dower. 
 
 How can he work ? He has no inner strength 
 
 Urging him on to action, no desire 
 To strain and wrestle, to achieve at length, 
 
 Burning in all his veins, — a hidden fire. 
 
 Why should he work ? There is no debt behind 
 That man's nobility most longs to pay ; 
 
 No claim upon him, — only the one blind 
 Brute instinct that his dinner lies that way. 
 
 And that is not enough. Who may not eat 
 Freely at life's full table all his youth. 
 
 Can never work in power and joy complete. 
 In fulness, and in honor, and in truth. 
 
 HIS OWN LABOR. 
 
 Let every man be given what he earns ! 
 We cry, and call it justice. Let him have 
 The product of his labor — and no more I 
 190 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 Well, then, let us begin with life's first needs, 
 
 And give him of the earth what he can make ; 
 
 As much of air and light as he can make, 
 
 As much of ocean, and sweet wind and rain, 
 
 And flowers, and grass, and fruit, as he can make. 
 
 But no, we answer this is mockery : 
 
 No man makes these things. But of human wealth 
 
 Let every man be given what he makes, 
 
 The product of his labor, and no more. 
 
 Ah, well ! So to the farmer let us give 
 
 Corn, and still corn, and only corn at last. 
 
 So to the grazier, meat ; the fisher, fish ; 
 
 Cloth to the weaver ; to the mason, walls ; 
 
 And let the writer sit and read his books — 
 
 The product of his labor — and naught else ! 
 
 But no, we answer ! Still you laugh at us. 
 
 We mean not his own labor in that sense, 
 
 But his share in the work of other men. 
 
 As much of what they make as he can buy 
 
 In fair exchange for labor of his own. 
 
 So let it be. As much of life's rich fruit — 
 
 The product of the labor of the world — 
 
 As he can equal with his own two hands, 
 
 His own supply of energy and skill ! 
 
 As much of Shakespeare, Homer, Socrates, 
 
 As much of Wagner, Beethoven, and Bach, 
 
 As much of Franklin, Morse, and Edison, 
 
 As much of Watt, and Stephenson and Bell, 
 
 191 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Of Euclid, Aristotle, Angelo, 
 
 Columbus, Raleigh, and George Washington, 
 
 Of all the learning of our patient years, 
 
 Of all the peace and smootlmess we have won, 
 
 Of all the heaped up sciences and arts, 
 
 And luxuries that man has ever made, — 
 
 He is to have what his own toil can match ! 
 
 Or, passing even this, giving no thought 
 
 To this our heritage, our vast bequest. 
 
 Condemn him to no more of human help 
 
 From living men than he can give to them ! 
 
 Toil of the soldiers on the western plains. 
 
 Toil of the hardened sailors on the sea. 
 
 Toil of the sweating ploughman in the field, 
 
 The engine-driver, digger in the mine. 
 
 And weary weaver in the roaring mill. 
 
 Of all the hands and brains and hearts that toil 
 
 To fill the world with riches day by day. 
 
 Shall he have naught of this but what one man 
 
 Can give return for from his own supply ? 
 
 Brother — There is no payment in the world ! 
 
 We work and pour our labor at the feet 
 
 Of those who are around us and to come. 
 
 We live and take our living at the hands 
 
 Of those who are around us and have been. 
 
 No one is paid. No person can have more 
 
 Than he can hold. And none can do beyond 
 
 The power that 's in him. To each child that 's born 
 
 192 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 Belongs as much of all our human good 
 As he can take and use to make him strong. 
 And from each man, debtor to all the world, 
 Is due the fullest fruit of all his powers, 
 His whole life's labor, proudly rendered up, 
 Not as return — can moments pay an age ? 
 But as the simple duty of a man. 
 Can he do less — receiving everything? 
 
 AS FLEW THE CROSS. 
 
 As flew the fiery cross from hand to hand, 
 
 Kindling the scattered people to one flame, 
 
 Out-blazing fiercely to a sudden war ; 
 
 As beacon fires flamed up from hill to hill, 
 
 Crying afar to valleys hidden wide 
 
 To tell their many dwellers of a fear 
 
 That made them one — a danger shadowing all I 
 
 So flies to-day the torch of living fire, 
 
 From mouth to mouth, from distant ear to ear ; 
 
 And all the people of all nations hear ; 
 
 The printed word, the living word that tells 
 
 Of the great glory of the coming day, — 
 
 The joy that makes us one forevermore 1 
 
 13 193 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 TO LABOR. 
 
 Shall you complain who feed the world ? 
 Who clothe the world ? 
 Who house the world ? 
 Shall you complain who are the world, 
 Of what the world may do? 
 As from this hour 
 You use your power, 
 The world must follow you! 
 
 The world's life hangs on your right hand ! 
 Your strong right hand ! 
 Your skilled right hand ! 
 You hold the whole world in your hand. 
 See to it what you do ! 
 Or dark or light, 
 Or wrong or right, 
 The world is made by you ! 
 
 Then rise as you never rose before ! 
 Nor hoped before ! 
 Nor dared before ! 
 And show as was never shown before, 
 The power that lies in you ! 
 Stand all as one ! 
 See justice done ! 
 Believe, and Dare, and Dol 
 
 194 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 HARDLY A PLEASURE. 
 
 She had found it dull in her city ; 
 
 So had they, in a different mob. 
 She travelled to look for amusement ; 
 
 Tliey travelled to look for a job. 
 
 She was loaded with fruit and candy, 
 And her section piled with flowers, 
 
 With magazine, novels, and papers 
 To shorten the weary hours. 
 
 Her friends came down in a body 
 With farewells merry and sweet, 
 
 And left her with laughter and kisses, 
 On the broad plush-cushioned seat. 
 
 She was bored before she started, 
 And the journey was dull and far. 
 
 " Travelling 's hardly a pleasure ! " 
 Said the girl in the palace car. 
 
 Then they skulked out in the darkness 
 And crawled in under the cars. 
 
 To ride on the trucks as best they might. 
 To hang by the chains and bars. 
 
 None came to see their starting, 
 And their friendliest look that day 
 
 Was that of a green young brakeman, 
 Who looked the other way. 
 
 195 
 
m THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 They were hungry before they started, 
 With the hunger that turns to pain - 
 
 " Travelling 's hardly a pleasure," 
 Said the three men under the train. 
 
 She complained of the smoke and cinders, 
 She complained of the noise and heat. 
 
 She complained of the table service, 
 She complained of the things to eat. 
 
 She said it was so expensive. 
 
 In spite of one's utmost care ; 
 That feeing the porters and waiters 
 
 Cost as much as a third-class fare. 
 
 That the seats were dirty and stuffy, 
 That the berths were worse by far. 
 
 " Travelling 's hardly a pleasure 1 " 
 Said the girl in the palace car. 
 
 They hung on in desperate silence, 
 For a word was a tell-tale shout ; 
 
 Their foul hats low on their bloodshot eyes, 
 To keep the cinders out. 
 
 The dirt beat hard on their faces, 
 The noise beat hard on their ears, 
 
 And a moment's rest to a straining limb 
 Meant the worst of human fears. 
 196 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 They clutched and clung m the darkness 
 While the stiffness turned to pain. 
 
 " Travelling 's hardly a pleasure," 
 Said the three men under the train. 
 
 She stepped airily out in the morning, 
 When the porter had brushed her awhile. 
 
 She gave him a silver dollar ; 
 He gave her an ivory smile. 
 
 She complained to her friends that morning 
 
 Of a most distressing dream : 
 " I thought I heard in the darkness 
 
 A sort of a jolting scream ! 
 
 " I thought I felt in the darkness 
 The great wheels joggle and swing ; 
 
 Travelling 's hardly a pleasure 
 
 When you dream such a horrible thing ! " 
 
 They crept shuddering out in tlie morning, 
 Red spots with the coal's black stain. 
 
 " Travelling 's hardly a pleasure ! " 
 Said the two men under the train. 
 
 NATIONALISM. 
 
 The nation is a unit. That which makes 
 You an American of our to-day 
 197 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Requires the nation and its history, 
 Requires the sum of all our citizens, 
 Requires the product of our common toil, 
 Requires the freedom of our common laws, 
 The common heart of our humanity. 
 Decrease our population, check our growth, 
 Deprive us of our wealth, our liberty, 
 Lower the nation's conscience by a hair, 
 And you are less than that you were before ! 
 You stand here in the world the man you are 
 Because your country is America. 
 Our liberty belongs to each of us ; 
 The nation guarantees it ; in return 
 We serve the nation, serving so ourselves. 
 Our education is a common right ; 
 The state provides it, equally to all. 
 Each taking what he can, and in return 
 We serve the state, so serving best ourselves. 
 Food, clothing, all necessities of life, — 
 These are a right as much as liberty ! 
 The nation feeds its children. In return 
 We serve the nation, serving still ourselves — 
 Nay, not ourselves — ourself ! We are but parts. 
 The unit is the state, — America. 
 
 198 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 THE KING IS DEAD! LONG LIVE 
 THE KING! 
 
 "When man, the hunter, winning in the race, 
 Had conquered much, and, conquering, grown apace. 
 Till out of victory he found defeat. 
 And, having eaten all, had naught to eat, — 
 Then might some Jeremiah sad have said. 
 Seeing his hopeless case, " The King is dead ! " 
 
 But man is master most in power to change ; 
 
 He turned his forest to a cattle range ; 
 
 There was no foe to strive with — wherefore strive ? 
 
 No food to kill — he kept his food alive. 
 
 Herding his dinner, see him sit and sing 
 
 Serene, " The King is dead I Long live the King ! " 
 
 When man the shepherd, after years did pass, 
 
 By nature's increase grew, until the grass 
 
 Failed to support the requisite supply 
 
 Of cattle who must live lest he should die ; 
 
 Again a grieved observer might be led 
 
 To pitifully say, " The King is dead ! " 
 
 But man, who turned his prey into a pet, 
 
 To outwit hunger, was not baffled yet ; 
 
 He 'd searched for grass so long he 'd learned to 
 
 praise it. 
 And now that grass was short — why, he could 
 
 raise it ! 
 
 199 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 His dinner sprouted with the happy spring 
 Profuse, " The King is dead ! Long live the King! " 
 
 When man, the farmer, growing very gi-eat, 
 Out of his children built the busy State, 
 Those greedy children, to his loud alarm, 
 Pinched all the profits off the old man's farm, 
 Killing the golden goose, and while he bled, 
 Cried sage economists, " The King is dead ! " 
 
 But he, good sooth, was never more alive ; 
 
 He watched the pools and trusts around him 
 
 strive, 
 And when he 'd learned the trick — it was not 
 
 long — 
 He organized himself — a million strong ! 
 Cornered the food supply! A Farmer's Ring! 
 Hurrah! " The King is dead ! Long live the King ! " 
 
 "HOW MANY POOR!" 
 
 " Whene'er I take my walks abroad, how many 
 
 poor I see ! " 
 Said pious Watts, and thanked the Lord that not 
 
 so poor was he. 
 I see so many poor to-day I think I '11 walk no more, 
 And then the poor in long array come knocking at 
 
 my door. 
 
 200 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 The hungry poor ! The dirty poor ! The poor of 
 
 evil smell ! 
 Yet even these we could endure if they were only 
 
 well ! 
 But, O, this sick and crippled crew ! The lame, the 
 
 deaf, the blind ! 
 What can a Christian person do with these upon 
 
 his mind ! 
 They keep diseases growing still like plants on 
 
 greenhouse shelves. 
 And they 're so generous they will not keep them 
 
 to themselves ; 
 They propagate amazing crimes and vices scandal- 
 ous, 
 And then at most uncertain times they wreak the 
 
 same on us ! 
 With charity we would prevent this poverty and 
 
 woe, 
 But find the more we 've fondly spent, the more 
 
 the poor do grow ! 
 We 've tried by punishment full sore to mend the 
 
 case they 're in ; 
 The more we punish them the more they sin, and 
 
 sin, and sin ! 
 We make the punishment more kind, we give them 
 
 wise reform, 
 And they, with a contented mind, flock to our 
 
 prisons warm ! 
 
 201 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Then science comes with solemn air, and shows us 
 
 social laws, 
 Explaining how the poor are there from a purely 
 
 natural cause. 
 'T is natural for low and high to struggle and to 
 
 strive ; 
 'T is natural for the worse to die and the better to 
 
 survive. 
 We swallowed all this soothing stuff, and easily 
 
 were led 
 To think if we were stern enough, the poor would 
 
 soon be dead. 
 But, O ! in vain we squeeze, and grind, and drive 
 
 them to the wall — 
 For all our deadly work we find it does not kill 
 
 them all ! 
 The more we struggle they survive ! increase and 
 
 multiply ! 
 There seem to be more poor alive, in spite of all 
 
 that die ! 
 Whene'er I take my walks abroad how many poor 
 
 I see, 
 And eke at home ! How long, O Lord ! How long 
 
 must this thing be ! 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 THE DEAD LEVEL. 
 
 There is a fear among us as we strive, 
 
 As we succeed or fail, or starve or revel, 
 That there will be no pleasure left alive 
 When we in peace and joy at last arrive 
 At one dead level. 
 
 And still the strangest part of this strange fear 
 
 Is that it is not for ourselves we fear it. 
 We wish to rise and gain ; we look ahead 
 To pleasant years of peace ere we are dead ; 
 We wish that peace, but wish no other near it I 
 
 Say, does it spoil your pleasure in a town 
 
 To have your neighbors' gardens full of roses ? 
 Is your house dearer when its eye looks down 
 On evil-sraelling shanties rough and brown ? 
 Is your nose safer than your neighbor's nose is ? 
 
 Are you unhappy at some noble fete 
 
 To see the whole bright throng in radiant dresses? 
 Is your State safer when each other State 
 That borders it is full of want and hate ? 
 
 Peace must be peace to all before it blesses. 
 
 Is knowledge sweeter when it is hemmed in 
 By ignorance that does not know its master ? 
 
 Is goodness easier when plenteous sin 
 
 Surrounds it ? And can you not win 
 Joy for yourself without your friend's disaster? 
 203 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 O foolish children ! With more foolish fear, 
 Unworthy even of a well-trained devil ! 
 
 Good things are good for all men, — that is clear ; 
 
 To doubt it shows your heads are nowhere near 
 To that much-dreaded level 1 
 
 THE CART BEFORE THE HORSE. 
 
 Our business system has its base 
 
 On one small thought that 's out of place ; 
 
 The merest trifle — nothing much, of course. 
 The truth is there — w^ho says it 's not ? 
 Only — the trouble is — you 've got 
 The cart before the horse ! 
 
 You say unless a man shall work 
 Right earnestly, and never shirk, 
 
 He may not eat. Ko w look — the change is small, 
 And yet the truth is plain to see — 
 Unless man eats, and frequently. 
 He cannot work at all ! 
 
 And which comes first 1 Why, that is plain, 
 The man comes first. And, look again — 
 
 A baby ! with an appetite to fit ! 
 You have to feed him years and years, 
 And train him up with toil and tears, 
 Before he works a bit 1 
 
 204 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 So let us change our old ideas, 
 
 And learn with these advancing years 
 
 To give the oats before we ask for speed ; 
 Not set the hungry horse to run, 
 And tell him when the race is done 
 That he shall have his feed ! 
 
 THE AMCEBOID CELL. 
 
 Said the Specialized Cell to the Amoeboid Cell, 
 " Why don't you develop like me ? 
 Just combine with the others, 
 Unite with your brothers, 
 And grow to a thing you can see, — 
 An organized creature like me ! " 
 
 Said the Amosboid Cell to the Specialized Cell, 
 " But where would my liberty be ? 
 
 If 1 'm one with a class, 
 
 I should lose in the mass 
 All my Individualitee ! 
 And that is a horror to me ! " 
 
 Said the Specialized Cell to the Amoeboid Cell, 
 " What good does it do you to-day? 
 
 You 're amorphous and small, 
 
 You 've no organs at all. 
 You can't even get out of the way ! 
 You don't half understand what I say 1 " 
 
 205 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Said the Amoeboid Cell to the Specialized Cell, 
 " But I 'm independent and free ! 
 
 I can float as I please 
 
 In these populous seas, 
 I 'm not fastened to anybodee ! 
 I have personal freedom, you see I 
 
 "And when I want organs and members and such, 
 I project them, — an arm or a wing ; 
 I can change as I will, 
 But you have to keep still — 
 Just a part of the mass where you cling ! 
 You never can be but one thing ! " 
 
 Said the Specialized Cell to the Amoeboid Cell, 
 " What you say is undoubtedly true, 
 
 But I 'd rather be part 
 
 Of a thing with a heart 
 Than the whole of a creature like you I 
 A memberless morsel like you I 
 
 "You say you 're immortal and separate and free. 
 Yet you 've died by the billion before ; 
 
 Just a speck in the slime 
 
 At the birthday of time, 
 And you never can be any more ! 
 As you are, you 've no future in store 1 
 
 206 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 You say you Ctau be many things in yourself, 
 Yet you 're all just alike to the end ! 
 
 I am part of a whole — 
 
 Of a thing witli a soul — 
 And the whole is the unit, my friend ! 
 But that you can scarce comprehend ! 
 
 ■ You are only yourself, — just a series of ones ; 
 You can only say ' I ' — never ' we ' ; 
 
 All of us are combined 
 
 In a creature with mind, 
 And loe are the creature you see ! 
 And the creature feeds us — which is me I 
 
 And being combined in a body like that 
 It can wisely provide us with food ; 
 
 And we vary and change 
 
 In a limitless range ; 
 We are specialized now, for our good ! 
 And W'e each do our work — as we should ! 
 
 Wliat protection have you from the chances of 
 Fate? 
 
 What provision have you for the morrow ? 
 You get food when it drops, 
 And you die wdien it stops ! 
 You can't give or take, lend or borrow I 
 You helpless free-agent of sorrow ! " 
 
 207 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Just then came a frost, and the Amoeboid Cell 
 Died out by the billion again ; 
 
 But the Specialized Cell 
 
 In the body felt well 
 And rejoiced in his place in the brain 1 
 The dead level of life with a brain I 
 
 THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST. 
 
 In northern zones the ranging bear 
 
 Protects himself with fat and hair. 
 
 Where snow is deep, and ice is stark, 
 
 And half the year is cold and dark, 
 
 He still survives a clime like that 
 
 By growing fur, by growing fat. 
 
 These traits, O Bear, which thou transmittest. 
 
 Prove the survival of the fittest ! 
 
 To polar regions, waste and wan, 
 
 Comes the encroaching race of man ; 
 
 A puny, feeble little lubber, 
 
 He had no fur, he had no blubber. 
 
 The scornful bear sat down at ease 
 
 To see the stranger starve and freeze ; 
 
 But, lo ! the stranger slew the bear, 
 
 And ate his fat, and wore his hair I 
 
 These deeds, O Man, which thou committest, 
 
 Prove the survival of the fittest 1 
 
 208 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 In modern times the millionaire 
 Protects himself as did the bear. 
 Where Poverty and Hunger are, 
 He counts his bullion by the car. 
 Where thousands suffer, still he thrives, 
 And after death his will survives. 
 The wealth, O Croesus, thou transmittest 
 Proves the survival of the fittest ! 
 
 But, lo ! some people, odd and funny, 
 Some men without a cent of money, 
 The simple common Human Race, 
 Chose to improve their dwelling-place. 
 They had no use for millionaires ; 
 They calmly said the world was theirs ; 
 They were so wise, so strong, so many — 
 The millionaire ? There was n't any ! 
 These deeds, O Man, which thou committest, 
 Prove the survival of the fittest ! 
 
 DIVISION OF PROPERTY. 
 
 Some sailors were starving at sea 
 On a raft where they happened to be, 
 When one of the crew 
 Who was hidden from view 
 Was found to be feasting most free. 
 
 14 209 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 Then they cursed him in language profane, 
 Because there on the pitiless main 
 
 While the others did starve, 
 
 He could ladle and carve, 
 Eating food which they could not obtain. 
 
 " But," said he, " 't is my own little store ! 
 
 To feed all of you would take more ! 
 If I shared, 't would be found 
 That it would not go round ; 
 
 And you all would starve on as before ! 
 
 " It would only prolong your distress 
 To distribute this one little mess ! 
 
 The supply is so small 
 
 I had best eat it all, 
 For me it wiU comfort and bless I " 
 
 This reasoning sounded most fair. 
 But the men had large appetites there, 
 
 And while he explained 
 
 They ate all that remained, 
 Forgetting to leave out his share ! 
 
 CHRISTIAN VIRTUES. 
 
 On, dear ! 
 
 The Christian virtues will disappear 1 
 
 Nowhere on land or sea 
 
 210 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 Will be room for charity ! 
 Nowhere, in field or city, 
 A person to help or pity 1 
 Better for them, no doubt, 
 Not to need helping out 
 Of their old miry ditch. 
 But, alas for us, the rich ! 
 For we shall lose, you see, 
 Our boasted charity ! — 
 Lose all the pride and joy 
 Of giving the poor employ. 
 And money, and food, and love 
 (And making stock thereof ! ). 
 Our Christian virtues are gone, 
 With nothing to practise on 1 
 
 It don't hurt them a bit, 
 For they can't practise it ; 
 But it 's our great joy and pride — 
 What virtue have we beside ? 
 We believe, as sure as we live, 
 That it is more blessed to give 
 Than to want, and waste, and grieve, 
 And occasionally receive ! 
 And here are the people pressing 
 To rob us of our pet blessing 1 
 No chance to endow or bedizen 
 A hospital, school, or prison, 
 211 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 And leave our own proud name 
 
 To Gratitude and Fame ! 
 
 No chance to do one good deed, 
 
 To give what we do not need, 
 
 To leave what we cannot use 
 
 To those whom we deign to choose 1 
 
 When none want broken meat, 
 
 How shall our cake be sweet ? 
 
 When none want flannels and coals. 
 
 How shall we save our souls ? 
 
 Oh, dear I Oh, dear I 
 
 The Christian virtues will disappear ! 
 
 The poor have their virtues rude, — 
 Meekness and gratitude, 
 Endurance, and respect 
 For us, the world's elect ; 
 Economy, self-denial, 
 Patience in every trial. 
 Self-sacrifice, self-restraint, — 
 Virtues enough for a saint ! 
 Virtues enough to bear 
 All this life's sorrow and care ! 
 Virtues by which to rise 
 To a front seat in the skies ! 
 How can they turn from this 
 To common earthly bliss, — 
 Mere clothes, and food, and drink, 
 
 212 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 And leisure to read and think, 
 And art, and beauty, and ease, — 
 There is no crown for these ! 
 True, if their gratitude 
 Were not for fire and food, 
 They might still learn to bless 
 The Lord for their happiness ! 
 And, instead of respect for wealth. 
 Might learn from beauty, and health. 
 And freedom in power and pelf. 
 Each man to respect himself ! 
 And, instead of scraping and saving. 
 Might learn from using and having 
 That man's life should be spent 
 In a grand development I 
 But this is petty and small ; 
 These are not virtues at all ; 
 They do not look as they should ; 
 They don't do us any good ! 
 Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! 
 The Christian virtues will disappear ! 
 
 WHAT'S THAT? 
 
 I MET a little person on my land, 
 
 A-fishing in the waters of my stream ; 
 
 He seemed a man, yet could not understand 
 Things that to most men very simple seem. 
 
 213 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 " Get off! " said I; "this land is mine, my friend! 
 
 Get out ! " said I ; " this brook belongs to me 1 
 I own the land, and you must make an end 
 
 Of fishing here so free. 
 
 " I own this place, the land and water too I 
 You have no right to be here, that is flat I 
 
 Get off it ! That is all I ask of you ! — " 
 " Own it ? " said he ; " what 's that ? » 
 
 " What 's that ? " said I, " why, that is common sense I 
 I own the water and the fishing right ; 
 
 I own the land from here to yonder fence ; 
 Get off, my friend, or fight ! " 
 
 He looked at the clear stream so neatly kept ; 
 
 He looked at teeming vine and laden tree, 
 And wealthy fields of grain that stirred and slept; 
 
 " I see ! " he cried, " I see ! 
 
 " You mean you cut the wood and plowed the field. 
 From your hard labor all this beauty grew, 
 
 To you is due the richness of the yield ; 
 You have some claim, 't is true." 
 
 " Not so," said I, with manner very cool. 
 
 And tossed my purse into the air and caught it ; 
 
 " Do I look like a laborer, you fool ? 
 It *s mine because I bought it 1 " 
 
 214 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 Again he looked as if I talked in Greek, 
 
 Again he scratched his head and twirled his hat, 
 
 Before he mustered wit enough to speak. 
 " Bought it ? " said he, " what 's that ? " 
 
 And then he said again, " I see ! I see ! 
 
 You mean that some men toiled with plows and 
 hoes, 
 And while those worked for you, you toiled with glee 
 
 At other work for those." 
 
 "Not so ! " said I, getting a little hot, 
 
 Thinking the man a fool as well as funny ; 
 
 " I 'm not a working-man, you idiot ; 
 I bought it with my money ! " 
 
 And still that creature stared and dropped his jaw. 
 Till I could have destroyed him where he sat. 
 
 " Money," said I, " money, and moneyed law ! " 
 " Money ? " said he, " what 's that ? " 
 
 AN ECONOMIST. 
 
 The serene savage sitting in his tree 
 
 Saw empires rise and fall, 
 And moralized on their uncertainty. 
 
 (He never rose at all ! ) 
 He was full fat from god-sent droves of prey ; 
 
 Pie was full calm from satisfied desire ; 
 He was full wise in that he chose to stay 
 Free from ambition's fire. 
 
 215 
 
IN THIS OUR WORLD. 
 
 " See," quoth the savage, " how they toil and strive 
 
 To make things better, — vain and idle wish 1 
 Here is good store of what keeps man alive. 
 Of fruit, and flesh, and fish. 
 
 " Poor discontented wretches, fed on air, 
 
 Seeking to change the normal lot of man, 
 To lure him from this natural strife and care, 
 With vague Utopian plan ! 
 
 " Here 's wealth and joy — why seek for any change ? 
 
 Why labor for a more elaborate life V 
 As if God could not his own world arrange 
 Without our fretful strife ! 
 
 " Those who complain of savagery as low 
 
 Are merely proven lazy, and too weak 
 To live by skilful hunt and deadly blow ; 
 It is their needs that speak. 
 
 " Complain of warfare ! Cry that peace is sweet ! 
 Complain of hunting ! Prate of toil and trade ! 
 It only proves that they cannot compete 
 In the free life we 've made." 
 
 Another empire reeled into its grave ; 
 
 The savage sat serenely as before, 
 As calm and wise, as cunning and as brave — 
 Never an atom more. 
 
 216 
 
THE MARCH. 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 Came two young children to their mother's shelf 
 
 (One was quite little, and the other big), 
 And each in freedom calmly helped himself. 
 (One was a pig.) 
 
 The food was free and plenty for them both, 
 
 But one was rather dull and very small ; 
 So the big smarter brother, nothing loath, 
 He took it all. 
 
 At which the little fellow raised a yell 
 
 Which tired the other's more aesthetic ears ; 
 He gave him here a crust, and there a shell 
 To stop his tears. 
 
 He gave with pride, in manner calm and bland, 
 
 Finding the other's hunger a delight ; 
 He gave with piety — his full left hand 
 Hid from his right. 
 
 He gave and gave — O blessed Charity ! 
 How sweet and beautiful a thing it is ! 
 How fine to see that big boy giving free 
 What is not his ! 
 
 217 
 
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