?i,?l 
 
 '^-rP^^^'^^s^' ''C V^ 
 
SONGS 
 FROM THE WAYSIDE 
 
 BY 
 
 NINETTE M. LOWATER 
 
 A. BooK of Verse 
 
 j0^ 
 
 The royal sun, the beauty of the night, 
 
 The waters, moaning with mysterious fear, 
 The flitting wind, with touches soft and light. 
 The swaying trees, the blossoms fair and bright- 
 All have a message for the listening ear. 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two CoDies Received 
 
 JAN 8 1909 
 
 Copyrltfnt bntry 
 
 iWv. vT 
 
 CLASS Oy^' XXc, No, 
 
 Copyrig'Kt 190G, by tKe JHti^\\or 
 
 THE SUN PRESS, 
 SPRING VALLEY, WIS, 
 
achlnowledgi:ment 
 
 Nearly all the poems in this volume have ap- 
 peared previously in Leslie's Monthly, The Youth's 
 Companion, The New York Sun, The New York 
 Herald, Smart Set, The Churchman, Midland Month- 
 ly, and other magazines and periodicals. Their 
 kind permission to reprint is hereby acknowledged. 
 
THis booK is Dedicated 
 
 to 
 
 XHe Friends 
 
 ■wHose Love and SympatHy 
 
 Have inspired it 
 
MRS. ninhtte: m. lowatelr 
 
OCCASIONAL POEMS 
 
Memory 
 
 Memory, bind fast with many a coil 
 
 Tiie wealtii of years wliich I have given to you; 
 If to my faith and trust you prove untrue, 
 What have I left, of all a lifetime's spoil? 
 
 1 gave you pictures of the far-off sea, 
 
 Lashed by wild winds, or still as if asleep; 
 Of rivers poising for a downward leap. 
 Or winding through still valleys, calm and free. 
 
 I gave you pictures of great fields of grain, 
 
 Rippling like waves beneath the western 
 
 breeze; 
 Of forests yet unspoiled, whose giant trees 
 
 Have braved unharmed a century's wind and rain. 
 
 And more than these, I gave into your hold 
 
 Tones that were sweet and faces that were 
 
 dear. 
 The touch of hands that dried each childish 
 tear. 
 Now hidden deep beneath the churchyard's mould. 
 
 Dear words from tongues that speak, alas! no more, 
 Dear looks from eyes long closed upon earth's 
 
 strife; 
 Keep them, 1 pray, and guard them all my life; 
 
 Memory, hold fast my golden store. 
 
OCCASIONAL 
 
 XHe Song of Labor 
 
 I sing the song of the workman; 
 
 The joy of the man whose hand 
 Leaps to fulfil, with practised skill, 
 
 The keen, sure brain's demand; 
 Who knows the joy of creation, 
 
 Who stands with the Lord as one, 
 Sees what was wrought from hidden thought. 
 
 And can say of his work, "Well done!" 
 
 Others may seek for rank and wealth. 
 
 And search the wide world through; 
 He knows the deep where grand thoughts sleep, 
 
 Which Tubal Cain once knew. 
 Beauty may lie in a woman's eye, 
 
 And dwell on her lips so sweet — 
 It lives as well in the engine's swell, 
 
 And the piston's throbbing beat. 
 
 The arch which defies the river's flood 
 
 And holds its waves in check, 
 Is fair as the line where tresses twine, 
 
 Or the curve of a snowy neck. 
 And he who can feel such beauty's power, 
 
 And bid it live and move. 
 Knows a deeper bliss than a maiden's kiss 
 
 Can give to the heart of love. 
 
 Some must lie soft and feed daintily, 
 Or the soul of them makes moan; 
 
 But little he heeds who finds his needs 
 In the maker's joy alone. 
 
OCCASIONAL 
 
 Sorrow and pain may come to him — 
 Tiiey surely come to all — 
 
 But ever he feels a strength that steels 
 His heart to the shafts that fall. 
 
 He gladly greets the coming years; 
 
 They bring him added skill. 
 He feels no ruth for the loss of youth; 
 
 His goal is nearer still. 
 And only this he asks of fate — 
 
 That he may keep his dower 
 Of strength and will, and labor's skill 
 
 Unto his life's last hour. 
 
 XHe Place of My Desire 
 
 Through many weary years, 
 From dawn to sunset's fire, 
 
 I've sought, with pain and tears. 
 The Place of my Desire. 
 
 Perhaps they told me wrong, 
 Perhaps I missed the road; 
 
 Still with a purpose strong 
 I seek that fair abode. 
 
 I see it in my dreams — 
 
 How pleasant, and how fair! 
 
 Its towers, with golden gleams. 
 Shine through the cloudless air. 
 
 There is no hated task, 
 
 There only friendships stay; 
 
10 OCCASIONAL 
 
 There are the joys I ask, 
 
 The year is always May. 
 O, Place of my Desire! 
 
 Since but in dreams I take 
 The path that leads me nigher," 
 
 O, may I never wake! 
 
 THe World's Great Peace 
 
 I saw the navies of the allied world 
 
 Riding at ease within a sheltered bay; 
 
 In peace and quiet, side by side they lay, 
 For all the battle-flags at last were furled. 
 The angry cannon stood, all still and grim. 
 
 Like dogs in leash straining to find a foe; 
 
 Yet all the ports were closed, and to and fro 
 The ships swayed lightly on the ocean's rim. 
 Never again their thunder shall declare 
 
 Ruin and death for helpless shore and land; 
 
 They kept the peace of seas from strand to 
 strand. 
 And bandit cruisers feared to leave their lair. 
 Allied in peace, each nation claimed their aid 
 
 Only against the enemies of all; 
 
 No guardian fortress from their fire shall fall, 
 And only crime hides from them, sore afraid. 
 
 Alas! The dawning, with its golden gleam, 
 
 Awoke me to a world where wars increase; 
 The keepers of the allied world's great peace 
 
 Passed with my dream — ah, was it but a dream? 
 
OCCASIONAL 1 1 
 
 Contentment 
 
 My garden is a tiny plot, 
 
 Where winds have barely room to play, 
 A quiet, hidden little spot. 
 
 Wherein alone for hours 1 stay. 
 
 Few flowers are there — you who may pass 
 Where blossoms dream their life away 
 
 In rank on rank beneath the glass. 
 
 Would find them scarce one glance repay. 
 
 But for me each one hides the gold 
 
 Of summer in its chalice fair; 
 And when my one red rose I hold, 
 
 My June is crowned with rapture rare. 
 
 Son^ of a Bird 
 
 Just a little bit of feather 
 
 And life and song, all held together 
 
 By a heart almost too small to beat, 
 
 With cobweb wings and twinkling feet. 
 
 Where, in a body as small as this, 
 
 Does he store the passion of joy and bliss. 
 
 Of life in its utmost ecstasy. 
 
 Which his little throat pours out to me? 
 
 No shadow of fear his heart can know, 
 
 Or that perfect music could not flow 
 
 So sweet, so clear, so exultingly. 
 
 As light as the winds, as wild and free! 
 
 He is surely the heart of the summer weather. 
 
 Life, joy, and song, in a bit of feather! 
 
12 OCCASIONAL 
 
 THe Corn 
 
 A song of the corn, the sturdy corn, which bright- 
 ens this land of ours: 
 
 Its tender green in the early spring is fairer than 
 blossoming flowers; 
 
 It amber silk,, with its glossy sheen, is fit for a 
 fairy's loom, 
 
 And dearer its dimpled, golden ears than the rose 
 or lily's bloom. 
 
 For they bear the promise of happy hours to the 
 man who toils for bread. 
 
 When he need not fear that his little ones must go 
 to sleep unfed. 
 
 There are lovely flowers in this land of ours, wher- 
 ever the foot may fall, 
 
 The tongue and the ear alike would tire, should I 
 try to tell them all, 
 
 From the arbutus on Atlantic shores to the golden 
 poppy's gleams. 
 
 As bright as the metal which lies at its roots by 
 Californian streams; 
 
 But never a flower such gifts has gained from the 
 sun and dews of morn. 
 
 Or stands more fair in the summer air than the 
 blessed, golden corn! 
 
OCCASIONAL 13 
 
 Angels of tHe HouseKold 
 
 Not they who cluster round the hearth 
 
 With cheerful looks and smiles, 
 Who charm away our care and grief 
 
 With loving words and wiles; 
 Upon whose cheek the bloom of health 
 
 Has left the roseate glow — 
 No, these are not the angels sent 
 
 To guide our steps below. 
 
 For often we forget that life 
 
 Is but a passing day, 
 That all its bliss, its joys and hopes, 
 
 Like mist will fade away, 
 And strive to win for those we love 
 
 Pride's highest rank and name, 
 Forgetting that the silent grave 
 
 Knows not of earthly fame. 
 
 But when the twilight shadows fall 
 
 Upon the weary earth. 
 When e'en the children leave their play, 
 
 And hush their noisy mirth, 
 Then memory o'er our heartstrings sweeps 
 
 Her shadowy, mystic wand, 
 And those we loved in other days 
 
 Again beside us stand. 
 
 Again our mother's loving voice 
 With music cheers our way; 
 
 Once more we clasp the prattling babe 
 We lost but yesterday; 
 
OCCASIONAL 
 
 And every love that heaven has caught 
 From earth's unkindly shore, 
 
 Again to us in fancy comes, 
 To bless us, as of yore. 
 
 And when by earthly cares recalled 
 
 We put our dreams away, 
 How worthless seems the dross of earth 
 
 Which over us held sway. 
 Our hearts are purer than they were, 
 
 And free from passion's tides; 
 The dearly loved, but early lost — 
 
 They are our angel guides. 
 
 Nature's Miracle 
 
 He who loves not a noble tree 
 No fellowship may claim from me. 
 
 Deep in the earth its great roots spread, 
 But heaven's own blue surrounds its head. 
 
 It holds the joys of summer's morn, 
 The strength of winter's wildness born. 
 
 God's birds find shelter in its arms. 
 Secure from everything that harms. 
 
 It bows when south winds wander past, 
 But breasts unharmed the fiercest blast. 
 
 'Tis Nature's miracle to me, 
 Her fairest work — a noble tree. 
 
OCCASIONAL 15 
 
 XHe Blizzard 
 
 In the Polar night, with its snows eternal, 
 Of its cold and darkness 1 was born; 
 
 To me came the knowledge of meadows vernal. 
 And I left my lair accursed and forlorn. 
 
 Swift were the wings that southward bore me. 
 Far and wide spread my desolate track; 
 
 I found not the South, for it fled before me. 
 
 And death and destruction were close at my 
 back. 
 
 Oh, how 1 laughed, when the grass in the valley 
 Blackened and withered beneath my tread! 
 
 I laughed when I heard the south wind rally 
 His forces to hurl at my conquering head. 
 
 But my strong wings drooped, and fear assailed me. 
 My soul grew sick with the scent of flowers; 
 
 I fled to the North, which never failed me. 
 
 Away from the weakening southland bowers. 
 
 Here I crouch in my desolate eyrie. 
 
 Till strength shall come to my wings again. 
 
 Till the day when, no longer faint and weary, 
 I shall visit again the homes of men! 
 
16 OCCASIONAL 
 
 A Song of Nature 
 
 Two things are ever dear to me — 
 A river and a noble tree. 
 
 Two things are always sweet to know — 
 The sun, and south winds when they blow. 
 
 Two things the world with beauty fill — 
 The red rose and the whip-poor-will. 
 
 Two things are earth's supreme delight — 
 A rainbow and the stars at night. 
 
 An Invocation 
 
 0, spirit of the summer time, 
 
 Bring back the verdue to the hills, 
 
 And from the winter's frost and rime 
 Free the unhappy, captive rills. 
 
 Unbind the lances of the storm. 
 
 Set free the sweet, imprisoned rain. 
 
 Where now the snow's battalions form 
 Let bud and bloom appear again. 
 
OCCASIONAL 
 
 Circumstance 
 
 Say what we may, do what we will, 
 Circumstance is our master still; 
 
 Lord of us all, it sets the bounds 
 
 Through which we toil in weary rounds. 
 Who thinks to force its firm-set bars 
 As well might overleap the stars; 
 
 Who wins, however keen his wit, 
 
 May know he is its favorite. 
 
 Love 
 
 Love is the touchstone of the noble soul; 
 If e'er it harbored one dishonoring thought, 
 Or deed unworthy to completion wrought, 
 
 It shrinks abashed from clear-eyed Love's control. 
 
 The idols which it worshipped seem but clay, 
 The treasures which it cherished fairy gold. 
 Which vanishes from e'en the closest hold; 
 
 And like dim stars which pale before the day 
 
 Are all affections which it once held dear. 
 
 It counts no time but hours the loved one shares; 
 
 No themie but one deafname pervadesits prayers; 
 It fears no darkness so that love shines clear. 
 All which it once desired is now forgot; 
 
 Ambition, pnde, unto their master bow. 
 
 And heaven and hell have but one meaning 
 now — 
 The place where Love is, or where he is not! 
 
18 OCCASIONAL 
 
 TKe Call 
 
 ''Come," said a voice to tlie poet, as he sought an 
 
 elusive rhyme 
 One night v/hen the v/orld was sleeping, in the 
 
 heart of the sweet May-time; 
 "Oh, how can 1 come?" he answered, "let me 
 
 alone, 1 pray. 
 For the verse 1 now am weaving the hearts of men 
 
 will sway." 
 "Come," said the voice to the statesman, as he 
 
 stood in the Senate hall. 
 And men moved on at his bidding, as troops at a 
 
 bugle call; 
 "How can 1 come?" he answered, "my sun at its 
 
 zenith stands — 
 Ere it sets my name shall be spoken through all 
 
 the earth's wide lands." 
 "Come," said the voice to a mother with her chil- 
 dren at her knee, 
 Dreaming how safe and happy their life at her side 
 
 should be; 
 "Oh, 1 cannot come," she answered; "1 pray you, 
 
 let me stay — . 
 For how can I leave my darlings to wander far 
 
 away?" 
 No other word was spoken, but the poet dropped 
 
 his pen. 
 The statesman's name was heard no more upon 
 
 the lips of men. 
 The children found no mother, though they called 
 
OCCASIONAL 
 
 19 
 
 with sobbing breath — 
 For the voice which spoke all must obey — it was 
 the voice of Death. 
 
20 " OCCASIONAL 
 
 Life 
 
 They lived, they loved, they wrought 
 In fair domains of thought. 
 Or grim want's battlefield. 
 Where manhood is revealed; 
 Then passed; and few can say 
 Where once they stood, to-day; 
 And this is the epitome 
 Of all that has been, or shall be. 
 
 My Lady Spring 
 
 My Lady Spring came walking in, 
 
 Only the other day; 
 So long we looked, so late she staid. 
 
 We feared she'd missed the way. 
 
 "O Lady Spring, dear Lady Spring, 
 Why did you make us wait? 
 
 If you had come a month ago 
 You still had been too late." 
 
 But Lady Spring said not a word — 
 She only turned and smiled; 
 
 Ah! Well she knew no one could chide. 
 By such a look beguiled. 
 
OCCASIONAL 25 
 
 Cities may crumble 'neath the guns 
 Which guard our flag unfurled, 
 
 Yet all shall greet — at last — King Wheat, 
 For hunger rules the world. 
 
 My Song 
 
 Once in my early youth I knew a song, 
 
 I know not how I learned it now, or when; 
 But oh, it was so sweet! If I had sung 
 
 The world perforce must all have listened then. 
 But many a pathway lured my willing feet, 
 
 And oft I tarried long at pleasure's gate; 
 And when I heard a whisper, "You should sing," 
 
 I said "It will be sweeter if I wait." 
 
 But when the length'ning shadows eastward turned, 
 
 And heavier grew the burden I must bear, 
 I said "I shall forget it if I wait, 
 
 Now I must sing my song, so sweet and rare." 
 But ah, I had forgotten! And the world. 
 
 Restless and eager, would not turn aside; 
 None heard the faint, uncertain notes which rose, 
 
 Trembled and faltered, and in silence died. 
 
26 OCCASIONAL 
 
 XHe Passing of Summer 
 
 All garlanded with golden grain, 
 
 And bearing fruits and berries red, 
 
 The Summer followed those great streams 
 By which the gulf is fed. 
 
 With her the singing birds have gone, 
 And all the dainty woodland flowers; 
 
 There is a shadow on the noon, 
 A hush upon the bowers. 
 
 No more the yellow sun rides high 
 And calls on sluggards to arise; 
 
 We watch and wait to see him drive 
 The pale moon from the skies. 
 
 The trees are gay with painted leaves, 
 The crickets fiddle loud and shrill, 
 
 But the far path that summer took 
 Is lipne and lonely still. 
 
 E-artH, tHe Beaxitifvil 
 
 I think the time will never be 
 When earth will not seem fair to me. 
 If I may see the arching sky. 
 With fleecy cloud-wrack floating by; 
 A tree with green, uplifted head. 
 And clover in its shadow spread; 
 Or see a river's stately flight, 
 Its ripples dancing in the light; 
 Though keen my sorrow, 'deep my woe, 
 
OCCASIONAL 27 
 
 Yet happiness my heart must know. 
 
 Or if to sleepless eyes no ray 
 
 Should enter from the brighest day 
 
 If I might smell a violet 
 
 My darkened way I should forget, 
 
 And in my fancy see once more 
 
 The woodland aisles with boughs arched o'er, 
 
 And gathered thickly round my feet 
 
 The bending wild flowers, fair and sweet. 
 
 Or if my hand might hold a rose, 
 
 The garden gate would swift unclose, 
 
 And rank on rank would bloom for me 
 
 Far fairer flowers than now I see. . 
 
 The ocean waves would sing for me 
 
 Their mournful, vibrant symphony; 
 
 And when in organ tones arise 
 
 Storm voices grandly to the skies. 
 
 My puny woe, ashamed to stay. 
 
 With them would quickly pass away, 
 
 And in the deep succeeding calm, 
 
 My soul would join in nature's psalm. 
 
28 OCCASIONAL 
 
 After 
 
 The merry Christmas tide is past, 
 
 The chiming New Year bells are still; 
 
 And veiled by memory's circling mist, 
 The old year passes down the hill. 
 
 On to life's lotus-land he goes — 
 
 The time of youth, when all was fair; 
 
 Already seem his sorrows less, 
 
 His pleasures great beyond compare. 
 
 And often in the future days. 
 
 Remembrance of his sunny hours 
 
 Will make us sigh for gladness past. 
 
 As Autumn sighs for springtime flowers. 
 
 But now we turn from him away 
 
 And gaze adown the path that lies 
 
 Before us, bright with fancy gleams 
 
 Beneath hope's fair unclouded skies. 
 
 But ever through the songs of mirth 
 This minor, sad refrain we hear; 
 
 "Sometime a glad New Year will dawn. 
 And I, alas! shall not be here!" 
 
 TKe Storm 
 
 The storm is abroad in its wrath and might — 
 
 God pity the souls at sea; 
 Oh, ye who kneel down in your homes to-night. 
 
 Give thanks for your safe roof-tree. 
 
OCCASIONAL 21 
 
 THe Winds 
 
 The winds are up, the winds are out, 
 What is the use for men to strive? 
 
 See how they beat the waves about, 
 And toss the ships as though alive. 
 
 Here stood a city in their path, 
 
 Where oft they stopped to rest and play; 
 Last night they came in stress and wrath, 
 
 And not a soul was left to pray. 
 
 Who guides their courses fleet and free? 
 
 Who knows the ways by which they come? 
 And when they charge o'er land and sea, 
 
 Who turns them backward to their home? 
 
 THe Tempest 
 
 The war-ships of the tempest 
 
 Are sweeping through the sky; 
 
 We listen to their booming guns, 
 And see their pennons fly. 
 
 They are the sky's Armada, 
 
 Which nothing can withstand; 
 
 The only orders they obey 
 
 Are given by God's own hand. 
 
 And when His hand is lifted 
 
 To bid their fury cease, 
 The Bow of Promise lights the clouds- 
 
 The signal of His peace. 
 
22 OCCASIONAL 
 
 JKn Easter Son g 
 
 I lay awake at midnight before the Easter day, 
 I saw the stars shine brightly along the milky way. 
 The scent of tender blossms filled all the dewy air, 
 The world with reverent gladness was quiet, as in 
 
 prayer. 
 Earth's organ tones were silent, but through the 
 
 pine's dark crest 
 There ran an eager whisper of happiest unrest. 
 I thought of that dark evening long centuries ago, 
 When night closed down with horror upon the 
 
 world's great woe. 
 The black night saw the Saviour lie sleeping in 
 
 the grave, 
 And hearts grew faint with terror, for there was 
 
 none to save. 
 But joy came with the morning, light chased away 
 
 the gloom — 
 He was not dead, or sleeping, but risen from the 
 
 tomb. 
 Would I had heard the singing of birds upon that 
 
 day, 
 Had seen the happy blossoms, or known what 
 
 south winds say. 
 But while I waked and wondered the Easter 
 
 morning broke, 
 And all earth's myriad voices in sweetest music 
 
 woke. 
 "The Lord, the Lord has risen," the happy birds 
 
 proclaim. 
 
OCCASIONAL 23 
 
 "Fill all the world with singing, in glory to His 
 name." 
 
 O, heart of mine, awake from silence and from 
 sleep. 
 
 Join in the swelling chorus — your soul's glad 
 Easter keep. 
 
 Bind offerings of lilies upon His temple stairs, 
 
 And He who loves the blossoms will hearken to 
 your prayers. 
 
 And when unto your duties you tread the accus- 
 tomed way, 
 
 Keep in your heart His promise — be each an 
 Easter day. 
 
 Twilig'Kt 
 
 A golden glory in the sky. 
 
 Mirrored in waves which strive no more; 
 The cry of night-birds, flitting by, 
 
 And lo ! the day is o'er. 
 
 The crescent moon-disc, rising slow, 
 With one attendant, radiant sphere; 
 
 A cloud across the sunset's glow, 
 And lo! the night is here. 
 
24 OCCASIONAL 
 
 , I\ing' "WKeat 
 
 You may tell of your armored cruisers, 
 
 And your great ships of the line; 
 And swift or slow may steamers go 
 
 Across the billowy brine. 
 Like thunder may the cannons boom 
 
 To greet their flags unfurled, 
 And hour for hour, they may have power 
 
 To rule the frightened world. 
 
 From ocean shore to ocean shore 
 
 Lie lines of gleaming steel. 
 And night or day, we hear alway 
 
 The ring of rushing wheel; 
 Though buffalo have left the plain, ^ 
 
 And Indian tents are furled, 
 Nor steam nor hand at wealth's command 
 
 Can rule the busy world. 
 
 But where the hillside rises fair 
 
 In terraces of green. 
 And on the plain, where wind and rain 
 
 Sweep fields of golden sheen, 
 Where sturdy yellow stalks arise, 
 
 With bannered heads unfurled, 
 Here you may greet the great King Wheat, 
 
 The ruler of the world. 
 
 Oh, hills may shake and vales resound 
 
 Beneath the flying car, 
 And driven by steam and winds a-beam 
 
 Our ships ride fast and far; 
 
OCCASIONAL 29 
 
 My Little Maid -witH LavigHing Eyes 
 
 There's a new grave on the hill tonight 
 Where yester-morn the grass grew bright, 
 And snow-white waving daisies hid 
 The cricket and the katy-did; 
 Now deep within its shadows lies 
 My little maid with laughing eyes; 
 She sleeps beneath the mound so bare, 
 And oh, my heart lies buried there. 
 
 Oh, little maid with laughing eyes, 
 And sunshine in your silken hair. 
 
 You sweetly sleep, while long hours creep, 
 But oh, my heart lies buried there. 
 
 Her little feet will never tread 
 
 The thorny paths where mine have bled; 
 
 No shade of sorrow or of sin 
 
 Will hide those laughing eyes within; 
 
 No frost of years shall touch one tress. 
 
 Or dim its glorious loveliness; 
 
 Her sleep is sweet, with visions fair. 
 
 But oh, my heart lies buried there. 
 
 Oh, little maid with laughing eyes, 
 And sunshine in your silken hair, 
 
 So sweet your sleep I may not weep, 
 But oh, my heart lies buried there. 
 
30 OCCASIONAL 
 
 XKe Aurora Borealis 
 
 The rose of winter blossoms in the sky; 
 High o'er the cloudless arch its petals lie; 
 Such changing hues no earth-flower ever wore, 
 But in an hour it fades — to bloom no more. 
 
 Poetry 
 
 No word of all the languages can tell what it may 
 
 be; 
 They cannot make us understand its spirit fine and 
 
 free. 
 We only know it by the flame it kindles in the 
 
 heart, 
 Which consecrates us evermore its high priest, 
 
 set apart. 
 Elusive as the wandering wind, or as the wild 
 
 flower's breath, 
 Yet all things earthly it defies — it triumphs over 
 
 death! 
 
 After tHe Snow 
 
 A strange new world spreads out before my eyes, 
 A world of silence and of mystery; 
 
 Where'er I turn 1 meet some new surprise, 
 Some evanescent beauty waiting me; 
 
 What weird enchanter waved his magic wand, 
 
 And changed to marble all the living land? 
 
OCCASIONAL 31 
 
 The DeatH Song of tKe Trees 
 
 "We are doomed," sighed the trees, "for ever and 
 
 ever come nigher 
 The axe and the biting saw, and the all-devouring 
 
 fire. 
 We are strong to meet our fate, but woe for the 
 
 innocent things 
 Which have lived their happy lives in the peace 
 
 our shelter brings. 
 The deer will find no refuge from the hunter's 
 
 deadly gun. 
 The frail wild flowers will wither in the glare of the 
 
 noonday sun; 
 The streams will dry at their fountains, the nest- 
 ling birds must go. 
 The whole fair land will be stricken with loneliness 
 
 and woe. 
 No more to the parching southland will the winds 
 
 bring cooling balm; 
 They will pass an arid desert, with death in its 
 
 changeless calm. 
 
 "Alas," sighed the trees together — the wail swept 
 
 on and on — 
 "Alas for the beautiful land, when its guardian 
 
 trees are gone!" 
 
32 OCCASIONAL 
 
 One Day 
 
 Oh, day of days! If I had known 
 Before thy wondrous light had flown, 
 Or if I had but dimly guessed 
 With thee would pass all peace and rest. 
 Then had I set each hour of thine 
 In memory's most sacred shrine. 
 
 Swiftly the minutes sped away. 
 And brought the close of that fair day: 
 With tender words and clasping hands 
 We parted on the golden sands, 
 And love, alas, henceforth can be 
 Only a memory to me. 
 
 Through all that day, whose flying hours 
 Seemed shining links in chains of flowers, 
 Beside us walked the spectre. Death, 
 With pallid cheek and icy breath. 
 And yet no step, no shadow grim. 
 One moment turned our thoughts to him. 
 
 Oh, day of days! F'orevermore 
 I live in thought thy minutes o'er. 
 Striving to win some tone or look 
 From dim Oblivion's closing book. 
 And sighing, "Oh, that I had known 
 Before thy shining hours had flown!" 
 
OCCASIONAL 33 
 
 Spring Poetry 
 
 They say that poets never 
 
 Should sing of budding spring; 
 I wonder if they ever 
 
 Have heard the robins sing, 
 Or found the wind-flowers growing 
 
 Upon a hillside gray, 
 Where snows were lately blowing, 
 
 And spring seemed far away. 
 
 Let those talk on who never 
 
 Have seen the catkins start. 
 Fed from the tide that ever 
 
 Flows through the tree's green heart; 
 Who never saw earth brighten 
 
 When south winds come to stay, 
 Or felt their own heart lighten 
 
 When blue skies follow gray. 
 
 But we who know the glory 
 
 When earth awakes from sleep, 
 Who hear the new-old story 
 
 Told in the river's leap, 
 When first, its ice-bonds riven, 
 
 It moves, a sentient thing — 
 We to whom this is given 
 
 May surely sing of spring. 
 
34 OCCASIONAL 
 
 TKe City of No NigHt 
 
 The day passed through the twilight's open bars, 
 And in the darkenedsky the pale moon shone, 
 The stately Night claimed her imperial throne; 
 
 And from her shadow gleamed the waiting stars. 
 
 Yet knew the city nothing of the Night. — 
 
 A clear, white splendor burned above the way, 
 Nearer and softer than the orb of day. 
 
 And darkness fled before its radiant light. 
 
 Hidden and chained, the dynamos complain, 
 And murmur, yet the master's will obey; 
 Theirs is the task to steal the light of day, 
 
 And set men free from night's insiduous reign; 
 With this his servant, fettered to his will, 
 Man conquers darkness, and the day stands still. 
 
OCCASIONAL 35 
 
 TKe Old OaK Tree 
 
 The sweetest thing of earth to me 
 Is the south wind in the old oak tree. 
 
 It moves the branches to and fro; 
 
 The shadows dance on the grass below. 
 
 The leaves move lightly in the air — 
 Their rustle seems a whispered prayer. 
 
 Deep in the tangled grass 1 lie, 
 Seeing but glimpses of the sky. 
 
 So thick the green leaves are above, 
 So light, so soft, the breezes move, 
 
 I wonder not that men have stood 
 Before some giant of the wood, 
 
 And made it of their prayers a shrine, 
 Deeming it held a soul divine. 
 
36 OCCASIONAL 
 
 Morning 
 
 Over the clear, deep blue of the sky a film of silver 
 
 steals, 
 And lower in the star-gemmed west the radiant 
 
 moon-disc wheels. 
 
 No earth can I see around me, only an opal mist, 
 Which in the horizon's verge afar changes to 
 amethyst. 
 
 One by one the stars grow pale, and a blush like 
 
 the heart of a rose 
 Springs from the mist to the eastern sky, and 
 
 clings, and deepens, and grows. 
 
 Behold, a shaft of golden light, which pierces the 
 
 fog-wrack white. 
 The trees lift up their stately heads, and earth is 
 
 bathed in light. 
 
 I have seen the world created — it is pure, and fair 
 
 and new; 
 God said again "Let there be light," and lo, the 
 
 sun burst through. 
 
OCCASIONAL 37 
 
 THe DasKer CK\irr\ 
 
 Down by the spring in the shade of the trees, 
 I churn my cream in the cool of the day ; 
 
 Many and many a time I've seen 
 
 My grandmother churn in the selfsame way. 
 
 Since then, full many a patent churn 
 Has lived its life and had its day ; 
 
 But in spite of all that has come and gone, 
 I churn my cream in the old-time way. 
 
 The butter comes in a golden ball. 
 
 Fresh and sweet as the flowers in May; 
 
 Was it better in the days gone by? 
 Is it better in the newer way? 
 
 And so there is many an old time thing 
 
 Which you think is buried and gone for aye: 
 
 But you will find that it's living yet, 
 Like the dasher churn I use to-day. 
 
 Truth and honor arid noble lives — 
 
 They are out of fashion now, you say — 
 
 But the germ in every heart survives 
 And the world grows better day by day. 
 
38 OCCASIONAL 
 
 TWe Water 
 
 What is it that aileth the waters — the river, the 
 lake, the sea? 
 
 Forever a miserere they chant of a grief to be. 
 
 They have garnered the fear and terror from aeons 
 of pain and woe, 
 
 And from land to land go sobbing in minors weird 
 and low. 
 
 Only the heart sore-stricken by sorrow's heavy 
 • hand 
 
 Can hear below the rythm, interpret, and under- 
 stand; 
 
 Only the soul grown hopeless can hear again and 
 again 
 
 To earth's cry of baffled longing, the water's sad 
 "Amen." 
 
OCCASIONAL 39 
 
 Too Late 
 
 Too late! The words came sounding through the 
 ages, 
 
 Filled with the burdens of all human life; 
 Too late to turn Love's open, roseate pages, 
 
 Too late to quench the flames of cruel strife. 
 Too late for friendships slipped away forever. 
 
 For gracious deeds, by loving kindness sped; 
 Ah, happiest of all are they who never 
 
 Have cried 'loo late" above the unheeding dead. 
 
 Swift moves the hand of Time across the dial ! 
 
 This hour is thine — thy certain gift from fate ; 
 It has no space for respite or re-trial^ — 
 
 Be thine the boon to find it not too late. 
 
 Lilies 
 
 Lilies, lilies red and gold, lilies white as snow, 
 Which is fairest of them all — who can ever know? 
 Yet, methinks this creamy one with the waxen cup 
 Saw our Savior's loving glance when he took it up, 
 And has kept it in its heart through the Summer's 
 
 glow. 
 And has thought of that alone, underneath the snow ! 
 
40 OCCASIONAL 
 
 XHe Reapers 
 
 I will sing you a song of a reaper ; his tireless 
 scythe he swings, 
 
 With the clover blooms around him lying in broken 
 rings; 
 
 The air grows faint and heavy with the weight of 
 their perfumed breath, 
 
 And their rosy hues fade out beneath the unspar- 
 ing hand of death. 
 
 I will sing you a song of a reaper; he moves o'er 
 
 the uplands brown. 
 And wherever his sickle flashes the ranks of the 
 
 corn fall down; 
 Yesterday tall and stately it stood in its ripened 
 
 pride — 
 To-day it is lying helpless and bound on the bare 
 
 hillside. 
 
 I will sing you a song of a reaper; through the 
 
 forest his ax-stroke rings, 
 Where stand the oaks which braved the storms 
 
 through the reigns of a hundred kings; 
 Deep have the great roots clasped the earth, the 
 
 grand heads seek the sky. 
 But puny man has doomed them, and beneath his 
 
 hand they die. 
 
 I will sing you a song of a reaper; his sickle hath 
 
 no man seen, 
 We hear not his step on the upland, or down on 
 
 the meadows green; 
 
OCCASIONAL 
 
 But he ever moves among us, through the city and 
 
 forest deep, 
 And they whom his finger touches in silence his 
 
 secret keep. 
 
 But the corn which bowed down to the reaper, and 
 
 the fragrant grass laid low, 
 Fed the hungry kine and their master when the 
 
 north winds brought the snow. 
 And the trees which the wind and lightning had 
 
 spared thsse many years 
 Have made a dwelling-place for man, where he 
 
 rests, secure from fears. 
 
 And the Master hath sent forth the reaper who 
 
 gathers the fair and dear, 
 He will add them to His treasure, which He keeps 
 
 to His hand anear; 
 And no more than the corn or the clover, or the 
 
 stately forest tree. 
 Can we tell where He will use them — but the 
 
 Master holds the key. 
 
42 OCCASIONAL 
 
 XHe Cro'wclecl Hour 
 
 I do not love the city's roar, 
 
 Like hungry beasts unsatisfied; 
 Its canoned streets where evermore 
 
 Pours back and forth a human tide; 
 
 I do not love the way that lies 
 
 Along the shadowed, sunless street; 
 
 The stabbing stare of stranger eyes. 
 The ceaseless din of stranger feet; 
 
 I stifle in the lifeless air. 
 
 The arch above is strange to me; 
 I long to see the meadows fair, 
 
 Where heaven's own winds may wander free; 
 
 I long to see the fleckless skies 
 
 Bend o'er me, like a jeweled cup, 
 
 To see the unveiled sun arise, 
 
 And to the stars at night look up. 
 
 Give me the sweet companionship 
 
 Of bird, ^nd bee, and wayside flower; 
 
 Let me from Nature's chalice sip. 
 
 And with her live my crowded hour ! 
 
OCCASIONAL 43 
 
 TKanKsgiving 
 
 Thank God for Love. Though one kind heart alone 
 Respond with true affection to your own; 
 Though all beside unheeding pass you by, 
 Yet light divine illumes your earthly sky- 
 Thank God for Love! 
 Thank God for Life. Though rough the path you 
 
 know, 
 Though well acquaint with poverty and woe. 
 While you at morn the earth's fair face behold, 
 While night still spreads her pomp of rose and 
 
 gold- 
 Thank God for Life! 
 Thank God for Death. After the summer hours 
 Beneath the snow sleep all the weary flowers; 
 So, after all Life's pains and joys are past. 
 Shall Death bring kindly rest for all at last- 
 Thank God for Death! 
 
44 OCCASIONAL 
 
 In j\n Ancient Wood 
 
 I stood within a winding woodland aisle, 
 
 With trees like pillars wrought with wondrous wile; 
 
 Vines wreathed them, draped with curious droop 
 
 and turn, 
 And deep their bases sank amid the fern. 
 From pale flower-censers, slowly swinging there, 
 A fragrance filled the cool, illumined air; 
 Wandering through arches deep, mysterious, dim, 
 Tones echoed sweet as song of seraphim; 
 Low, penetrating, harmonies unordered, new, 
 With choruses triumphant breaking through; 
 They filled my heart, as waters fill the sea, 
 And from life's galling bonds my soul rose free. 
 
 In this undesecrated grove, alone, 
 
 1 found a temple unto man unknown, 
 
 With roof and buttress, column, architrave, 
 
 Nobler than human skill e'er planned or gave, 
 
 Filled with illusive fragrance of the leaf 
 
 And wood-flower, whose frail life is sweet as brief; 
 
 I heard the birds, to whom alone is given 
 
 To sing on earth the harmonies of heaven; 
 
 Thus near to nature, like our earlier race, 
 
 I lost the greed of gold and love of place; 
 
 A higher level my glad spirit found — 
 
 Then knew I that I stood on holy ground. 
 
OCCASIONAL 45 
 
 A Song' of Hope 
 
 Beyond the narrow limit which marks our mortal 
 
 marge 
 Dwell they once prisoned with us, whom death has 
 
 set at large. 
 Not in some walled-in city beyond our planet's ken 
 Bide they who once were with us, but in the homes 
 
 of men. 
 Unseen they move among us; we pass them on 
 
 the stair; 
 At eve they sit among us, in each accustomed 
 
 chair; 
 But to the words they utter our ears are deaf and 
 
 sealed; 
 Not unto eyes earth-shadowed is one dear face 
 
 revealed. 
 But in each soul's recesses they touch a chord 
 
 which thrills, 
 E'en as the rain-drop reaches the pulses of the hills. 
 
46 OCCASIONAL 
 
 THe NigHt CometH 
 
 Sometime a day shall dawn for thee 
 
 In which thine eyes no change may see; 
 
 The sun will shine, with wonted grace, 
 
 On every dear, familiar place; 
 
 No cloud will veil its skies with gloom, 
 
 Yet it shall be thy day of doom. 
 
 Thy life web shall unfinished stand 
 Where falls the shuttle from thy hand; 
 No loving deed can add its gold, 
 No kindly word, in silver told, 
 May broider its design for thee — 
 Once stopped, the loom shall idle be. 
 
 Then, since each morn may bring the day 
 When unseen hands thy work shall stay. 
 Let every act and word of thine 
 Fulfil the harmonious design; 
 Weave life's strange web with watchful care- 
 Each thread may be the last one there. 
 
OCCASIONAL 47 
 
 THe Coxirt of "War 
 
 Not all an evil is war, grim and stern, 
 
 It is the sword, swift, keen, which pierces through 
 
 The shell of wrong, the ancient or the new, 
 
 And brings to judgment lands that will not learn. 
 
 It is the mighty, unchained force, which draws 
 
 All hidden tyrany to fullest light. 
 
 The Court of Last Appeal to God and right, 
 
 Where each stakes life and freedom for his cause. 
 
 And he who offers this, when duty calls 
 To save his country's honor, serve her need. 
 Who meets death unafraid — whate'er befalls, 
 Has he not gained the heighth of human deed? 
 He has known all that life can hold to give, 
 And if he die, has felt what 'tis to live. 
 
48 OCCASIONAL 
 
 My Valentine 
 
 The sun comes shining up the slcy; 
 
 Its warmth gives promise of the spring: 
 Though cold and white the snowdrifts lie, 
 
 The happy birds begin to sing. 
 But in my heart no sweet chimes ring, 
 I feel no token of Love's spring; 
 
 Shine out, maiden, maiden mine, 
 
 Upon your lonely Valentine. 
 
 Through all the day, like silver bells. 
 The old rhyme in my heart has rung; 
 
 Like water in unfailing wells, 
 The love in it is ever young; 
 
 'The rose is red, the violet blue, 
 
 The pink is sweet, and so are you." 
 O listen, maiden, maiden mine. 
 So sings your loving Valentine. 
 
 Dispel the night that round me lies! 
 
 Shine out, sun that makes my spring ! 
 Look kindly with those lovely eyes. 
 
 Whence Cupid's arrows gain their sting ! 
 She comes — how balmy sweet the air ! 
 She smiles — the earth is passing fair ! 
 
 With loving glance and hand in mine, 
 
 I've won her for my Valentine. 
 
SONNETS 
 
SONNETS 51 
 
 XHe Tide of Years 
 
 Come back, Youth, with all your hopes and 
 fears ' 
 
 Across the years which thickly intervene; 
 
 I do not ask your hair of silken sheen, 
 Your rosy cheeks, or eyes that shine through tears; 
 Nay — though this mirrored visage strange appears. 
 
 Like some pale mask which rudely comes between 
 
 And hides the face so long and often seen, 
 For this I do not call across the years. 
 
 But give me back the joy and courage high. 
 The bounding pulse, the ardent soul of yore. 
 The hope 1 knew when long life spread before. 
 
 And all Life's gifts seemed in my path to lie. 
 
 Let Age pile frost on my devoted head, 
 
 So thou, Youth, reign in my heart instead. 
 
 A Vision of Life 
 
 I saw a mighty caravan with slow 
 
 Steps move across a bare and wind-swept plain; 
 
 As wave crowds wave upon the tossing main, 
 So each his brother drove with threat and blow. 
 Far in the west the mist hung thick and low. 
 
 Yet on they moved, and none turned back again. 
 
 Eastward, from purple shades swept on the 
 train — 
 Whether or whence no watching eye might know. 
 
 Long gazed I on the soft and shrouding mist 
 
52 SONNETS 
 
 Which wavered, thinned, and almost drew aside, 
 With hues that changed from gray to amethyst; 
 
 And portals which held fast the living tide. 
 Nor knew, until I felt its folds touch me. 
 
 That 1 was one of that strange company. 
 
 j\ S\immer Day 
 
 To lie in clover and watch the sky 
 
 As the sun nears the gateway of the west, 
 While like tall galleons seeking home and rest, 
 
 The bright clouds gather and roll swiftly by; 
 
 To see the bees in their luxurious quest 
 From bloom to bloom with busy ardor fly. 
 While mother-birds, with long-drawn, plaintive 
 cry. 
 
 Recall the little wanderers to the nest; 
 
 To hear the murmer of complaining trees, 
 The beat of far-off waves upon the shore. 
 
 To feel the light touch of the south wind's kiss, 
 
 And look through Nature's eyes, until one sees 
 Her myriad timid lives, unknown before, — 
 
 Oh, what on earth can be so sweet as this? 
 
SONNETS 53 
 
 TKe EartK is Ov»r Own 
 
 The earth is ours? Nay, tenants are we all, 
 
 Tenants at will of unrelenting fate; 
 
 Even now, before life's opening outer gate 
 They stand, to whom the earth full soon will fall. 
 Theirs are the streams ye drain from fancied 
 needs, 
 
 The trees ye fell, and leave a place of death 
 
 Instead of forests with their healing breath, 
 The falls that vanish to exploit your deeds. 
 What will ye answer, when of you they ask 
 
 "Where is the beauty which you held in trust? 
 
 What use to us these heaps of golden dust, 
 With earth a prison where we do our task?" 
 
 TKe Silent Singers 
 
 Where are they now, dead singers of dear songs? 
 Where are the souls, vibrant with melody. 
 Whom sweet sounds sought as waters seek the 
 sea, 
 To whom great thoughts converged in shining 
 
 throngs? 
 From them seemed lifted Eden's primal curse — 
 They talked with angels, and were unafraid; 
 Can death destroy those thrilling chords which 
 made 
 Them harps y^olean of the universe ? 
 
 When some great star sends down its shining light, 
 
5 4 SONNETS 
 
 1 wonder if they, waiting, learn to know 
 The meaning of the planets, as they go 
 Singing together on their pathway bright, 
 And if they come, in visions of the night, 
 And chant those wondrous harmonies below. 
 
 Regret 
 
 When first from thy dear eyes the love-light fled, 
 And rigid grew those tender lips, and cold. 
 From out my heart arose the cry of old, 
 
 "Oh, would that thou had'st lived and I were dead." 
 
 But now 1 bend above thy hidden head 
 
 When night draws near with pomp of rose and 
 
 gold. 
 Or breath thy name when Dawn's white lids 
 unfold. 
 
 And gladness mingles with the tears I shed. 
 
 For since for evermore one of us twain 
 
 Must bear Grief's chrism upon an aching brow, 
 
 And evermore must listen, but in vain. 
 For tones sealed with eternal silence now. 
 
 And long for death as misers long for gain, — 
 'Tis well, beloved, thai 'tis I, not thou. 
 
SONNETS 55 
 
 Fifty Degrees Belo-NV Zero 
 
 We see the pale, reluctant day appear 
 Slowly above the hills that hem us round; 
 The small, cold sun is rainbow ringed and bound, 
 
 And on each side shines out a sister sphere. 
 
 From the deep wells white shafts of vapor rear 
 Their misty shapes, in frigid sunlight drowned, 
 And the awed ear is startled by the sound 
 
 Of bursting tree-trunks, in the forest near. 
 
 The brief day passes and gives place to night — 
 Night with dark skies, and stars that burn and 
 glow, 
 
 With triple moons o'f luminous, clear light, 
 Banded with all the hues the prism can show. 
 
 Fair lies the world, stilled by the winter s breath — 
 
 But 'tis the beauty and the calm of death. 
 
56 SONNETS 
 
 THe Empty Nest 
 
 To-day I found a little empty nest, 
 
 Fashioned with rarest and most patient skill; 
 
 A few soft, tiny feathers lingered still 
 Where once reposed the loving mother's breast. 
 But she will come no more from weary quest 
 
 With food for every tender, open bill; 
 
 No more her care their every want can fill — 
 They wander far, who once found here their nest. 
 
 Ah me, my nest is empty, too, to-day, 
 
 The birdlings whom I loved and reared have 
 flown; 
 The words now left unsaid I cannot say, 
 
 The lessons still unlearned will ne'er be known; 
 Once on each heart I wrote whate'er I willed. 
 But ere I knew, the snowy leaves were filled. 
 
 To Him >VHo HatH 
 
 Measure me not by what 1 may achieve. 
 
 Nor mark my progress by the heighth I gain; 
 
 How can you know with what sore heart and 
 pain 
 I strive for that which others but receive? 
 How can you know how 1 am weighted down. 
 
 What dead men's sins press heavy on my soul? 
 
 Or how I can but creep toward my goal, 
 While others pass me, reaching for their crown? 
 
 By this, I pray you, mark my onward way — 
 
SONNETS 57 
 
 The daily strife with bonds that hold me fast, 
 Like shadowy fingers, reaching from the past. 
 
 Holding a token which I must obey; 
 
 Pity the fettered feet that but mark time, 
 
 While others march and gain the hills sublime. 
 
 THe SympHony of Nature 
 
 In all the grand procession of the years. 
 
 The seasons with their changes, subtle, sweet. 
 The too-brief summer, and the winter's sleet. 
 
 My heart has found the chord of bliss and tears. 
 
 The brightest hours of all my life were set 
 In starry eves, or moonlit summer nights. 
 Or sunny days, all filled with dear delights, 
 
 Whose passage left me memory and regret. 
 
 So when the east is flushed with morning's rose, 
 
 Or in a golden glory dies the day. 
 The folded leaves of memory unclose. 
 
 And bear me with their magic far away. 
 With sighing wind and wave I wander free — 
 The beauty of the earth gives wings to me. 
 
58 SONNETS 
 
 "TKere's a Joy in tKe Heart of Pain" 
 
 Some day which at the farthest shall be near 
 The eyes which meet thy own shall close for aye, 
 The hands which clasp thine shall become but 
 clay, 
 
 And silent be the voices now so dear; 
 
 Then shalt thou be thrice blest if they who here 
 Walked close beside thee in Life's weary way 
 No angry, unkind word e'er heard thee say. 
 
 And shed for thee no bitter, hidden tear. 
 
 This is the secret of grief's wild unrest. 
 
 Which gives to loneliness its keenest sting — 
 
 To know that thou, whose life was crowned and blest 
 With that most rare and precious earthly thing, 
 
 A heart that loved thee with a true, pure flame. 
 
 Knew not its worth — until the angels came I 
 
SONNETS 59 
 
 THovi Hast a Noble Gviest, O FlesK 
 
 Put by thy weaknesses, O trembling flesh, 
 
 Summon thy will to grapple with thy foes; 
 
 Faint not with terror 'neath the stinging blows 
 Dealt by the cares which hold thee in their mesh. 
 Fear this, and only this — that thou should'st fail 
 
 To rise above the littleness of life, 
 
 To gather strength and courage from its strife, 
 And from its deepest meaning raise the veil. 
 
 Forget not that thou hast a noble guest, 
 
 Who from the watch-tower of thy inmost thought 
 
 With gladness sees thee in thy upward quest, 
 And sorrows when earth's dross thy heart hath 
 bought; 
 
 This guest, who lifts thee from thy brother clod, 
 
 Is co-eternal with Almighty God. 
 
 Ante Lxicem 
 
 If I could know that in some genial clime 
 This marred, imperfect life might e'er attain 
 The goal toward which 1 almost hopless strain, 
 
 With patience 1 should tread the paths of Time. 
 
 Now, tortoise-like, through winter's cheerless rime, 
 And summer days that seem too fair for pain, 
 I onward toil, the heighth afar to gain. 
 
 Which seems each day more distant and sublime. 
 
 My soul has deeps that never yet were stirred; 
 My heart has pulses which have never thrilled; 
 
60 SONNETS 
 
 They wait in vain some magic master-word,- 
 Some unknown purpose to be yet fulfilled. 
 Death, when I meet at last thy dread eclipse, 
 Be thou to me my soul's apocalypse. 
 
 To tHe Poet 
 
 Polish and carve, until thy words shall be 
 
 Like clearest crystal o'er the thought below; 
 
 Like some imprisoned ruby let it glow, 
 That he who readeth may its beauty see. 
 Tis not mere words, though chosen skilfully, 
 
 Which give to verse the witchery we know; 
 
 Like liquid music may sweet numbers flow. 
 Which pass and die as leaves fall from the tree. 
 
 Tis the strong thought, in fitting words enshrined. 
 Shining from out its setting like a star, 
 
 Which claims the lasting homage of the mind, 
 Recurring oft, through days and scenes afar. 
 
 Then, lest thy toil be wasted ere 'tis wrought, 
 
 Be sure thy verse reveals a noble thought. 
 
SONNETS 61 
 
 j\ "Winter Morning 
 
 The soft, blue sky leaned down toward the earth, 
 Veiled with white, fleecy clouds that moved 
 
 and stirred 
 Like the light pinions of some sleeping bird, 
 
 Poised in the ether where it had its birth. 
 
 An opal radiance shimmered in the east, 
 
 Mounted and widened, till, shot through its bars, 
 The arrows of the sun dispersed the stars, 
 
 Glad from their service to be thus released. 
 
 No sun which lights a perfect day in June 
 Has ever known a fairer sky than this; 
 
 It should be welcomed by the song-birds' tune, 
 Its rose and gold should greet the south-wind's 
 kiss; 
 
 Who could believe, did he not glance below, 
 
 This glory bends above a waste of snow ? 
 
 NigHt 
 
 Who has not felt the beauty of the night, 
 The solemn glory of its starlit space? 
 Who has not tried, with reverent awe, to trace 
 
 The stars which sang in the first morning's light? 
 
 Who has not looked, and trembling, felt His might 
 Who gives to worlds their own appointed place, 
 And yet who watches, with omniscient grace. 
 
 Each human atom on these planets bright? 
 
 And sometimes, picturing that fair world whose 
 bliss 
 
62 SONNETS 
 
 And grandeur far transcends our highest thought, 
 We seek with earth-held eyes a type in this, 
 And wonder what more glorious God hath wrought, 
 Since we are told that heaven's clear skies will 
 miss 
 The revelation which our evening brought. 
 
 Exploration 
 
 I need not seek the Pole's eternal snows 
 
 To learn their wondrous, silent mystery; 
 
 Each year the Arctic hither comes to me. 
 Bringing the weird Aurora's changing rose, 
 Dark skies, in which each planet burns and glows. 
 
 Gray dawns, which scarce reveal gray land and 
 sea. 
 
 And noons more drear than night itself can be. 
 With chilling winds, which beat with cruel blows. 
 
 Here, too, I know the ardent Tropic's zone; 
 
 Long days, which melt to nights of argent flame; 
 
 Lush grasses hiding life unseen, unknown. 
 And flying winds, too swift, too light, for name. 
 For me the winter wanes and summer dies, 
 
 A traveller whose anchors never rise. 
 
SONNETS 63 
 
 Alone 
 
 Alone each soul must journey o'er the way 
 
 Which leads to realms where silence reigns 
 
 supreme; 
 There is no speech of souls, save thoughts which 
 gleam 
 From the dear eyes whose lovelight makes our 
 
 day; 
 Words are so impotent, they oft betray 
 
 The heart which trusts them with its dearest 
 theme. 
 Lives touch our own, and we perhaps may dream 
 That love can see beyond the walls of clay, 
 
 But when God calls "Where art thou?" and we 
 
 stand 
 With souls uncovered, shrinking from the gaze 
 Of purity unveiled, would one whose hand 
 
 We clasped on earth, still know us in that blaze? 
 Alone we hither came — from what far strand? 
 Alone we shall depart, to death's strange land. 
 
64 SONNETS 
 
 XHe Sor»g "WHicH Lives 
 
 Of war and honor, love and death, they sang — 
 The bards, who lived in far, heroic times; 
 They sought no quaint conceits or sounding rymes. 
 But life's great passions through their measures 
 
 rang. 
 So Helen lives, and still we hear the clang 
 Of shield and spear beneath the walls of Troy; 
 We see Penelope her arts employ, 
 And feel poor Hero's utmost fear and pang. 
 But they who sing to-day — save he whose word 
 Measures our heartbeats, and whose pen is fire, 
 The "Friend of all the World" — what heart is 
 
 stirred 
 By their sweet strains, which gracefully expire ? 
 Singers arise and with their lays depart — 
 The song which lives is written with the heart. 
 
SONNETS 65 
 
 XHe Deserted FarmKovise 
 
 Set in green fields, far from the narrow way, 
 Stood an old farmhouse, with its windows bare; 
 No smoke rose curling on the morning air — 
 
 Chilly it looked, although the time was May. 
 
 It seemed to miss the children, who in play 
 Once sang and shouted, free from fear or care, 
 Around its high-silled doors; no life was there. 
 
 Even the pasture green and empty lay. 
 
 From the great barn no placid cows looked out. 
 Or drank from the clear brook that rippled by; 
 No bees hummed in the weather-beaten hive; 
 
 No lonelier is Pompeii, walled about 
 With drifts volcanic, shutting out the sky, 
 A tomb of those who filled it when alive. 
 
 On tHe AVestern Slope 
 
 The traveler where Life's rough pathways wind 
 Knows not when he has passed the mountain 
 
 crest, 
 Until he finds his road turned toward the West, 
 
 And looking back, he sees the height behind. 
 
 Yet for awhile, how gentle is the slope. 
 
 How light his burden — for he still must bear 
 His weight of sorrow, poverty,, or care — 
 
 And still he sees his gentle comrade, Hope. 
 
 But soon, ah, soon, the way grows rough and hard; 
 The sky grows dark, for night is drawing near; 
 
66 SONNETS 
 
 No, more sweet Hope is nigh, to whisper cheer, 
 His feet are bruised with stones and broken shard. 
 The pathway ends above a gulf unknown; 
 He can but leap — and he must go alone. 
 
 "WHat Freedom Cost 
 
 Ye silent men, who to your country gave 
 That last full measure of devotion — life — 
 Ye fell asleep while the tumultuous strife 
 
 Around you swelled in fury like the wave 
 
 Which breaks upon the rocks that prove its grave. 
 To-day, around you all the air is rife 
 With wailing cries from bugle and from fife, 
 
 The voice of that dear land you tried to save. 
 
 Nay, ye have never died ! Ye live to-day 
 In that fair flag with which the breezes play, 
 
 With every flashing star undimmed, unlost; 
 In every soul which joys that it is free, 
 In every heart, which clay like yours shall be. 
 
 Before our land forgets what freedom cost. 
 
SONNETS 67 
 
 THe Proof of Love 
 
 Not in the calm content of peaceful hours, 
 Is Love, the conqueror and master, proved; 
 Who knew, while evenly life's current moved, 
 
 How strong might be the bond of clasping flowers? 
 
 Nor may the winds of circumstance, that sweep, 
 Like chaff, all power and garnered wealth away, 
 Alone prove Love, that in thy heart holds sway. 
 
 So thou shalt know if it be true and deep. 
 
 But by this test Love's purity is shown; 
 
 If in companionship's clear light, which bares 
 Each hidden weakness, to the world unknown, 
 Thou shalt forgive each, as thou dost thine own. 
 And feel the pity which a mother shares. 
 Then hast thou known the Love which lives and 
 dares. 
 
 A >^inter Sunset 
 
 Based on the dazzling whiteness of the snow 
 Arose fair towers, crimson and tipped with gold. 
 From which unrolled brave pennants, fold on 
 fold. 
 
 Waving defiance to an unseen foe. 
 
 The night crept on — the crescent moon rode high, 
 Attended by her lonely, faithful star; 
 The shadows deepened — but still stood afar 
 
 That pillared wonder in the glowing sky. 
 
 Long, long it lingered, till the last faint gleam 
 
68 SONNETS 
 
 Of day slipped softly down the western stair; 
 Then every cloud, awaking from its dream, 
 
 Gave up each picture it had prisoned there. 
 The banners drooped — down fell the lofty towers — 
 Night reigned unchallenged o'er this world of ours. 
 
 TKe L^and of Dream 
 
 Midnight is here, and earth is wrapped in sleep; 
 
 I only, of all near me, watch and wake; 
 
 All others to that land the pathway take, 
 Where dreams their tantalizing promise keep. 
 There are no hearts that ache, no eyes that weep; 
 
 The rose of health blooms brightly on each 
 cheek; 
 
 Voices long silent in sweet converse speak. 
 And long closed eyes meet ours with glances deep. 
 
 0, Land of Dreams ! O, pleasant Land of Dreams! 
 Where reason dwells not, with unpitying light. 
 Where time stands still, nor leaves its cruel blight, 
 
 Where hearts are true, and all is what it seems. 
 In your enchanted realm 1 live again — 
 Here, I but dream — ainid the haunts of men ! 
 
SONNETS 69 
 
 When first the hand of Spring unlocks the showers 
 And sets the prisoned buds and grasses free, 
 We say, "How beautiful the world will be 
 
 When June comes with her crown of royal flowers." 
 
 But when at last we see the rose-wreathed bowers, 
 And hear the bobolink's ecstatic glee, 
 We lightly hold the beauty which we see. 
 
 And dream of fairer and more perfect hours. 
 
 Until some day we hear with tender ruth 
 
 The crickets chirping in some creviced stone; 
 
 Ah, so we lightly spill the wine of youth, 
 And idly dream of roses still unblown, 
 
 But suddenly awake to know the truth — 
 The June of life, with all its flowers, has flown. 
 
 L^incoln 
 
 On history's white page he stands alone — 
 
 Our Lincoln, with his martyr's aureole crowned; 
 He sought not fame, and yet her plaudits drowned 
 
 Detraction's clamor and hate's undertone. 
 
 A noble soul from every feature shown. 
 Stern, rugged, in the mills of effort ground 
 To symmetry; his life-horizon's bound 
 
 Was faith in God, and trust for all unknown. 
 
 A man was he of nature's finest clay, 
 
 Born with the strength to climb, the power to rule; 
 Sad with the sadness great minds know alway, 
 
70 SONNETS 
 
 He played with mirth, and used it for a tool. 
 Through him we have a land made one and free- 
 After such toil, how welcome rest must be I 
 
 Opportxinity 
 
 This is the sharpest pang which failure brings, 
 To know that sweet success was near, so near, 
 We missed it only by a hairbreadth here; 
 Or, idly musing over meaner things, 
 Sought not occasion, till it used its wings. 
 Alas ! for though delusive hope may cheer 
 Our hearts awhile with songs both sweet and 
 clear, 
 
 Yet shall we learn that fate but one time flings 
 
 Open the door of opportunity. 
 That each may enter and his guerdon win. 
 
 None pass it ever with impunity — 
 Its triple bolts move only from within. 
 
 Nor prayer nor tear avails — we wander evermore 
 
 Like shipwrecked sailors on an alien shore. 
 
SONNETS 71 
 
 'ecemt>er 
 
 Again the great clock in the hall of Time 
 Proclaims the midnight of the waning year; 
 Again the frozen earth lies brown and sere, 
 
 Hidden beneath its winding-sheet of rime. 
 
 The budding beauty of the tender Spring, 
 The golden promise of the Summer days. 
 Autumn's fulfilment— all have gone their ways, 
 
 And Winter reigns — dread desolation's king. 
 
 He who first saw the passing of the year — 
 The trees all bare, the velvet grass all dead. 
 The soft earth changed to rock beneath his 
 tread — 
 
 How could he live through all those days of fear? 
 Even we who know, how gladly we shall see 
 The earth unchained, the rivers running free. 
 
72 SONNETS 
 
 "TTKe CervtMries Fall LiKe Grains of Sand" 
 
 Sometimes I watch the passing of the sun, 
 While rose and purple splendors veil his car, 
 Or see the moon with her attendant star 
 
 Rise o'er earth's rim, her nightly race begun. 
 
 Or see the storm clouds gather low and dun. 
 With vivid lightnings darting near and far. 
 While the white waves against the harbor bar 
 
 Leap up, like dogs upon the quarry won. 
 
 A cycle hence, across you azure arch 
 
 Sun, moon and stars will pass, and clouds shall be; 
 
 Deep unto deep will call its hosts to march 
 
 Agai-nst the land, whose borders mock the sea; 
 
 And I — Ah, 1 shall see it not — that day 
 
 I shall be dust beneath some mound of clay. 
 
 THe Da>vning Day 
 
 How slow the dawn comes to the eyes that wake; 
 How long her chariot lingers on the hills 
 Before she finds the little, hidden rills, 
 
 And glory flashes from the waiting lake. 
 
 How long, from every nest on bush and tree. 
 Impatient murmurs from each nestling rise. 
 Before day's flame lights up the morning skies, 
 
 And wings released flash upward, glad and free. 
 
 How long the pale moon lingers in the west. 
 
 Guarding the portals of the realm of night, 
 
 Before the eager sun begins his eager quest, 
 
SONNETS 73 
 
 And men awake to life, and life's delight, 
 And -they who sought sweet sleep and rest in vain, 
 May in day's busy hours forget their pain. 
 
 TKovigKt 
 
 Great thoughts are shy. Oft in some lonely hour. 
 Watching the solemn sky and glorious sun, 
 I feel a thrill through all my being run. 
 
 As one reveals to me its mighty power. 
 
 But ere slow speech can seize it, it has fled, 
 Like fantasies of sleep from morning's light. 
 And though I sorrowing search, and long invite. 
 
 It comes no more — my wondrous thought is dead. 
 
 Or if sometimes 1 warily am still. 
 
 Until soft plumage nestles on my heart, 
 
 And close I clasp it, with caressing art, 
 To find it mine, surrendered to my will, 
 
 Behold, the iridescent light is gone; 
 
 The glory vanished, though the thought lives on. 
 
74 SONNETS 
 
 THrenody 
 
 The saddest thing in all the world is this: 
 The emerald of the springing grass to see, 
 The tender leaves come forth on bush and tree, 
 
 And hear the birds pour out their hearts in bliss; 
 
 To find in dimpled dells which winters miss, 
 The violets blooming, fair and sweet and free, 
 To feel your whole soul thrill in ecstasy 
 
 Beneath the syren south wind's perfumed kiss; 
 
 And yet to know that when your loving eyes 
 Are closed beneath the low-arched roof of mould, 
 
 Sweet birds will sing, warm suns set and arise, 
 And soft, slow winds will wander, as of old, 
 
 Nor pause one moment by the mound where lies 
 The heart which loved them — hidden now and 
 cold! 
 
SONNETS 75 
 
 June 
 
 Here summer halts upon her Northward way, 
 And drops the flowery burden which she brought 
 From tropic lands, with fragile beauty wrought, 
 
 And dyed with hues like sunset clouds astray. 
 
 Now night glides softly into perfect day. 
 And waning day is merged in fairest night; 
 Soft smiles the sun through drifts of fleecy white, 
 
 And laughing Southern breezes hither stray. 
 
 This is the climax of the perfect year, 
 And if we had no other joy but this — 
 To feel the sunshine's soft, pervading bliss. 
 To see and know the beauty of the earth, 
 
 The calm, blue skies and waters deep and clear — 
 Oh, life were still a gift of heavenly birth. 
 
 New England 
 
 There is a land which the Atlantic laves, 
 
 A land of groves, and fields, and purling rills; 
 
 Fair are its storied vales and noble hills, 
 And grand the voices of wind-driven waves. 
 It is the land which holds our fathers' graves. 
 
 Although the fields they trod another tills; 
 
 Its beauty all our childhood's memory fills, 
 And oft the heart its peace and quiet craves. 
 
 It is the granary which held Freedom's seed 
 
 Secure through war, and more insidious peace. 
 Till, scattered far, when rose the time of need 
 
76 SONNETS 
 
 It wrought the land's redemption and release. 
 New England ! Mother of a nation free ! 
 The Occident gives greeting unto thee. 
 
 TKe SpKinx on tHe HeartH 
 
 No need have 1 to seek the sphinx afar — 
 
 She lies with bended elbows on my knee; 
 
 Her gleaming amber eyes are turned on me, 
 Remote and passionless as some fixed star. 
 Yet anger, love, devotion unto death, 
 
 And courage high, her timid spirit knows; 
 
 Though sleeping now, within her bosom glows 
 The same hot fires fanned by our human breath. 
 
 Gentle, yet tameless, all our life she shares, 
 Yet lives her own, with joys and fears apart; 
 
 Once worshipped, still a regal mien she wears, 
 And claims the homage of each tender heart. 
 
 Behind those eyes inscrutable if 1 might see. 
 
 Should I not find close kinship unto me ? 
 
SONNETS 77 
 
 THe Voice of the Deep 
 
 Sometimes I weary of the puny race 
 
 Which launches fragile craft upon my breast, 
 In which to sail upon some trifling quest, 
 
 And thinks me tamed when I but give it grace. 
 
 On every sea men dare my might and wrath; 
 Even my Arctic fastness they invade; 
 Ah, how their souls faint in them, sore afraid. 
 
 When I rise to sweep them from my path. 
 
 Not all the forces of the earth, unchained, 
 
 Can wreak the vengeance which I hold in store, 
 When from my fetters I am freed once more. 
 
 And find my ancient kingdom all regained; 
 Only His power, who holds me in His hand. 
 Saves from my fury, day by day, the land. 
 
 Beyond tKe Bar 
 
 Once all the winds that blew had calls for me, 
 And brought me messages from lands afar; 
 Once in the radiance of each brilliant star 
 
 I found companionship, not mystery. 
 
 But since she launched upon an unknown sea. 
 Where none may know where any harbors are 
 And each frail boat may wreck on unseen bar. 
 
 The universe is filled with awe for me. 
 
 For since 1, too, full soon must sail away 
 
 Upon that chartless and unharbored sea, 
 How shall I pass, through tides that swell and sway, 
 
78 SONNETS 
 
 To that far orb from whence she watches me? 
 For well I know that she is waiting there — 
 That sweet, white soul, who must make heaven 
 more fair. 
 
 THe Gods of Old 
 
 And Moses was a hundred and twenty years old when he died; his eye was not 
 dimmed, nor his natural force abated. 
 
 I know whence came the old, immortal tales 
 Of Gods who feared not age, nor time's decay; 
 It was life's protest, in that earlier day, 
 
 Against the coward flesh which shrinks and fails. 
 
 In vain the soul's command, the will's decree, 
 Some time the body will refuse its aid. 
 The purpose high by weakness be betrayed. 
 
 And night close down, while still the eyes can see. 
 
 Well might they call them gods, who knew not this, 
 Who felt not, while life's tide leaped full and high, 
 A foe within — insiduous, lurking nigh. 
 
 Waiting to taint the deepest draught of bliss. 
 Well might they call them gods, whom age 
 passed by, 
 
 Whose strength failed not, who only had to die. 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
Come GatKer Today 
 
 Come, gather to-day from the hill and the plain, 
 Leave your life's daily toil and planning for gain; 
 Come hither, with all that is fairest and best 
 To lay on the graves of our heroes at rest; 
 Our heroes — above whose low dwellings to-day 
 A nation has gathered, its tribute to pay. 
 Bring music, and song, and the fairest of flowers 
 From the garden and field, and the dim woodland 
 
 bowers, 
 For the graves that we garland the altar shall be 
 Where our vows we renew o'er the dust of the free. 
 All over our land they are lying asleep; 
 By the ocean, whose waves still their sad vigil keep. 
 By the lovely Potomac, whose blue, sunny wave 
 So often was red with the blood of the brave, 
 By the mountains, where Kenesaw guarded the glen 
 When Sherman marched by with his legions of men, 
 Or Lookout, whose cloud-enwreathed summit one 
 
 day 
 Saw a battle where blood ran like wine in the fray. 
 From the homes which they loved their graves 
 
 lie afar. 
 Who died that our banner might miss not one star. 
 Where the shadows of battle fell darkly and chill 
 Stand the cities of Silence, all mutely and still; 
 No sentinel guards the cold, white-gleaming stone; 
 The soldier, unarmed, lies there helpless and prone, 
 Still robed in the blue which he honored so well. 
 
82 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 For he fell where he fought, and he rests where 
 
 he fell. 
 We know of the spirit so valiant and brave 
 Whose glory sank down in the gloom of the grave, 
 But never a mortal can measure or know 
 What joys of the living lie buried below. 
 Alas, for the hopes which had bloomed through 
 
 the years, 
 But faded and died in that tempest of tears. 
 There's many a mother who knows not what grave 
 Hides the face of her first born, his hair's sunny 
 
 wave, 
 And many a wife who knows not to-day 
 Where her hero is sleeping the glad years away. 
 Oh, the dreams they had dreamed of a future so fair. 
 Which they who are sleeping should bless and 
 
 should share; 
 But the sun of their joy set in darkness and tears, 
 And the shadows grow deeper, through all the 
 
 long years. 
 When the echoes of cannon from Sumpter were 
 
 heard. 
 Into line sprang our soldiers, nor waited a word; 
 Sad farewells were spoken, and prayers softly said, 
 When they left us to swell the long ranks of the dead. 
 Oh, little we knew, as they marched on their way, 
 Where their pathway would lead, or how long they 
 
 would stay. 
 Beside them marched spectres like demons 
 
 uncaged. 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 83 
 
 Grim famine, and fever, and murder enraged; 
 The red fields of battle lay thick in their way, 
 And the unbuilded prison awaited its prey; 
 But their eyes were holden — they knew not their 
 
 doom, 
 Nor knew that they marched toward a wide-open 
 
 tomb. 
 They dreamed of the time when with beat of the 
 
 drum 
 And clamor of fife, they should conquerors come; 
 When their names through the homes of their 
 
 childhood should ring. 
 And bards tell their deeds in the songs they should 
 
 sing; 
 When the country they rescued should greet them 
 
 with cheers, 
 And the eyes that they loved should brim over 
 
 with tears — 
 Tears of joy and of pride — alas, they were shed • 
 O'er names in the lists of the missing and dead. 
 silent Grand Army! Our pulses may thrill 
 When we tell of your deeds — yours are bloodless 
 
 and still; 
 Not even the garlands we bring you today 
 Can move the strong arms that are folded for aye; 
 The bugle's loud blare and the drum's muffled beat 
 Cannot pierce the sealed ear nor move the stilled 
 
 feet; 
 Not even the voice of our country could stir 
 
84 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 The heart which once throbbed with devotion 
 
 for her. 
 We honor not you, dead heroes, today. 
 But ourselves, when our laurels above you we lay, 
 For your names will grow brighter with luster untold 
 When the wreaths that we bring you are turned 
 
 into mould; 
 And we claim you and mourn you, soldiers, as ours, 
 And the voice of our love is these beautiful flowers. 
 Till the last roll is called, and we all answer ''Here, " 
 We will garland your graves in the morn of the year, 
 And each flower that we gather with reverent thought 
 Is an oath to remember the deeds you have wrought. 
 Deeds which will live till remembrance shall cease. 
 And bourgeon and bloom into ages of peace! 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 85 
 
 May 30 
 
 In a long past May the drums were beating, 
 
 And the notes of the fife grew shrill with ire, 
 Long grew the lines of soldiers meeting. 
 
 And the land was filled with battle fire. 
 Up from the south came the cannon's thunder. 
 
 And hearts at home grew faint with fear 
 Till the clouds of war were rent asunder. 
 
 And the sun of Peace shone bright and clear. 
 Oh, little we heeded the May-time splendor 
 
 As we watched the soldiers march away — 
 There was manhood stern and boyhood tender, 
 
 And each was eager for the fray. 
 Ah, many a foot went marching gaily 
 
 Which came not back when the war was done, 
 And our ears were filled with the moaning daily 
 
 Of the mother weeping for her son, 
 The stricken maid for her plighted lover, 
 
 The lonely wife for her husband slain. 
 And still the heavy cloud hung over, 
 
 And the whole land seemed a battle plain. 
 Back they came with the strong ranks broken — 
 
 Many tney went, but few they came — 
 And the tale of their daring deeds unspoken 
 
 Was traced on each brow in battle flame. 
 Stern were the lips that once smiled brightly, 
 
 Erect and firm was the measured tread. 
 Steady the eyes that once roved lightly, 
 
 Somber with thought of a comrade dead; 
 
86 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 Back they came with their banner flying, 
 
 With no star lost or its glory dim, 
 And the sound of the wives and mothers crying 
 
 Was drowned in a great triumphal hymn. 
 O land of our love, of our heart's devotion, 
 
 With a heavy price was your glory bought. 
 For from eastern sea to western ocean 
 
 Close lie the graves of men who fought. 
 Some lives went out on the field of glory, 
 
 Some in the prison pen alone, 
 But each name shall live in his country's story 
 
 Till the stars from her flag fade out unknown. 
 But the swift years gather and wait behind us. 
 
 And the blue-clad lines grow thin and slow, 
 And the Day of the Dead, as it comes to find us. 
 
 Sees gaps in the ranks it used to know. 
 Men of the line once full and steady, 
 
 Whose souls are strong and whose hears are true, 
 Whose lives were laid on the altar ready, 
 
 Till your country gave them back to you. 
 When you meet around your comrades sleeping, 
 
 Furloughed forever from pain and care. 
 What does it mean to you, when you are keeping 
 
 This tryst with the dead which we see and share? 
 Do the muffled drum with its voices hollow 
 
 And the drooping flag which you bear to-day 
 Speak to your hearts of their love who follow 
 
 Your steps to the tents where your comrades 
 stay? 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS ' 87 
 
 Do you know that the world still looks with wonder 
 
 At the fields you won, when your foes you met 
 In the wild, swift charge to the cannon's thunder, 
 
 With the unsheathed saber and bayonet? 
 Ah, it seems but a dream of the past — the marches 
 
 With the foe behind and the foe before. 
 Where the southern pine with its shade o'erarches, 
 
 And the river dips to the warm gulf shore. 
 No more shall the noon-day, fierce and burning, 
 
 With its sudden storms o'ercloud your sky; 
 You stand with your face to the sunset turning, 
 
 And shadows soft in your pathway lie. 
 March on — till you come to the shadowy valley 
 
 Where the sentry Death shall bid you stand. 
 Where the Great Commander your lines shall rally, 
 
 With your long lost comrades on either hand. 
 
 Memorial Day 
 
 Soldiers of the Silent Army ! You whose half- told 
 
 days shall shine 
 On the calendar of ages with a radiance divine. 
 You whose memory is the anchor of our country's 
 
 storm-tossed bark, 
 Binding her to truth and freedom when the skies 
 
 are veiled and dark, 
 You whose sightless eyes behold us, and whose 
 
 shadowy forms are near, 
 Rouse your spirits from their slumbers, and our 
 
88 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 heartfelt pledges hear ! 
 By the sky that arches o'er us, bright with Sum- 
 mer's loveliest blue, 
 By the garlands that we bring you, smiling through 
 
 their tears of dew. 
 By each fond remembrance clinging to the earthly 
 
 forms you wore, 
 By each heart that broke with anguish, when you 
 
 fell to rise no more, 
 By each hope that faded with you from love's 
 
 shining morning sky, 
 By each life whose joy departed when you laid you 
 
 down to die. 
 By the banner that you gave us, free from every 
 
 spot and stain, 
 Never, while the crimson life-blood courses swiftly 
 
 through each vein, 
 Shall the land which you enfranchised bear a tyrant 
 
 or a slave, 
 While its soil supports a footstep, or its depths 
 
 afford a grave. 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 89 
 
 Our Flag 
 
 Float out, O starry banner, to every wind that blows. 
 Earth's peerless flower of beauty, Freedom's con- 
 stellate rose ! 
 When first thy thirteen planets flamed out upon 
 
 the sky 
 How little dreamed this nation how far those folds 
 
 would fly; 
 Unknown upon the waters, despised upon the 
 
 strand. 
 No seer foretold thy glory, emblem of our land ! 
 How many men have perished, on mountain, shore 
 
 and sea, 
 How many women's hearts have bled, only for 
 
 love of thee ! 
 The stars upon thy azure field have gleamed 
 
 through battle years, 
 Thy stripes are red with precious blood, or white 
 
 with rain of te^rs; 
 And sheltered 'neath thy spreading folds, which 
 
 glow with heaven's own light. 
 Are all dear things that earth can give and all that 
 
 makes life bright; 
 Like him of old, we vow to-day, from ocean shore 
 
 to shore, 
 To serve thee with our fortunes, lives, and honor, 
 
 evermore! 
 
90 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 THe Price of Freedom \ 
 
 Freedom is never lightly won, 
 
 Her price is blood, and pain, and tears; 
 They by whose hands the work is done 
 
 Must leave its gains for happier years. 
 The height they saw, with upraised eyes, 
 
 Shall be the path their children tread; 
 And all they dared to win the prize. 
 
 Earth shall not know till they are dead. 
 
 But though death's flames leap high and roll 
 Across the path of Freedom's shore, 
 
 Earth shall not lack the patriot soul 
 Till tyranny shall be no more. 
 
 THe ReMnion of tKe G. A. R. 
 
 Close up ! The lines are lessening fast, 
 
 The blasts of death are sweeping past. 
 
 And he who missed us on the field. 
 
 Where shot and shell his track revealed, 
 
 With silent tread is stealing on; 
 
 Our ranks are thinned; our comrades gone; 
 
 No bugle call will sound retreat, 
 
 We onward move, our foes to greet. 
 
 Close up! Close up! Then — forward march! 
 
 Each year sees thousands lying low, 
 
 And we who stay have steps more slow; 
 
 The frosts of time have touched each head, 
 
 Our speech is grave, our jests all sped. 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 91 
 
 Still facing front, unconquered, brave, 
 We rally where our guidons wave, 
 Knowing that soon we all shall hear 
 The signal, sounding loud and clear, 
 Put out the lights ! Put out the lights ! 
 
 XHe Banner of Song' ancl of Story 
 
 What flower of the air above us is flying, 
 
 In the sunshine displaying each glorious hue? 
 Like the stars of the night are the stars on it lying, 
 
 Like the azure above is its beautiful blue. 
 ' Tis the emblem of freedom the ages have sighed for, 
 The freedom which patriots have fought and have 
 
 died for; 
 ' Tis the standard our forefathers bravely defended, 
 The flag without stain, which to us has descended; 
 'Tis the flag of our country, unmatched in its glory, 
 ' Tis the Star Spangled Banner of song and of story. 
 
 Closed are the eyes that first flashed at its glory. 
 
 Dust are the feet t hut first answered its calf, 
 The voices are silent that first sung its story. 
 
 And bade us defend it, whatever befall. 
 Only with death shall our faithful hands leave it, 
 Until death guard it well, ye who receive it! 
 Let shame and dishonor abide near tt never. 
 And no foe shall withstand it, unconquered forever; 
 And the Star Spangled Banner of song and of story 
 Shall float on through the ages, unmatched in its glory. 
 
92 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 Peace, or "War? 
 
 Tis well to keep the truce of Peace 
 And leave the sword undrawn, 
 
 For well we know that woe must come 
 When red War walks at dawn. 
 
 Tarry before ye sound the drum 
 
 To wake the call to arms, 
 For in War's train shall evil creep, 
 
 And work a thousand harms. 
 
 But mark ye this — till time shall cease. 
 
 The hand in mail shall be 
 The keeper of the Nation's rights 
 
 And hopes of liberty; 
 
 And when oppression stalks abroad 
 
 Earth's best-beloved is he 
 Who bares his sword and stakes his life 
 
 To keep his country free. 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 93 
 
 Gone into Oamp 
 
 Thin are the blue-clad ranks to-day, once half a 
 
 million strong, 
 And slow and feeble are the feet that once marched 
 
 far long; 
 Once more together they will march with slow, 
 
 uncertain tramp, 
 To see their comrades who have gone before them 
 
 into camp. 
 
 The tents are spread — the low, green tents, whose 
 
 curtains tightly close; 
 No reveille will waken those who sweetly here 
 
 repose; 
 No more their weary feet will toil o'er highways 
 
 rough and damp — 
 For them the long, hard march is done, for they've 
 
 gone into camp. 
 
 Their comrades come with songs and flowers; the 
 
 banner of their love 
 Floats proudly out upon the air, their low, close 
 
 tents above; 
 Ah, many a mile they followed it with strong and 
 
 steady tramp. 
 Before they heard the order given — "Break ranks 
 
 — go into camp." 
 
 Soon all the weary feet will halt, the last march 
 
 will be made. 
 For them the low, green tents be spread on hillside 
 
94 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 or in glade; 
 No more together vyill they march with slow and 
 
 broken tramp — 
 To all the order will be given — "Break ranks — go 
 
 into camp." 
 
 Memorial Day Remembrances 
 
 In the morning of my life-time, many long, long 
 
 years ago. 
 When within our country's borders brothers met 
 
 a brother foe, 
 When the earth was glad with sunshine and May 
 
 sweetness filled the air. 
 Once with others 1 stood waiting — waiting by the 
 
 roadside bare. 
 Soon the throbbing air was vibrant with the noise 
 
 of drum and fife. 
 And we saw the blue-clad soldiers marching to the 
 
 field of strife; 
 O, I see them still so plainly — see again each 
 
 white, set face — 
 Then the noise grew faint and distant, and they 
 
 left but empty space. 
 O, the many who went marching far away toward 
 
 the South, 
 O, the few who came back to us, each with grave 
 
 and firm-set mouth, 
 Each with eyes that told the story of the vision 
 
 they had seen — 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 95 
 
 Pale death riding on the whirlwind, hurling arrows 
 swift and keen; 
 
 Through the years whose ghosts pursue us from 
 the dim and shadowy past 
 
 They have lived and moved among us, with 
 whose lot their own is cast; 
 
 But whenever May comes to us, bringing flowers 
 and skies of blue, 
 
 Once again the spell is on them, and their youth- 
 time they renew. 
 
 Once again they march together to the sound of 
 fife and drum, 
 
 But they hear no bellowing cannon hoarsely call- 
 ing them to come; 
 
 Hosts in arms no more await them, bullets stop 
 no more the way, 
 
 But they march beneath their banner as they 
 marched that sweet May day. 
 
 Ah, for them no more forever shall the wine of 
 battle flow. 
 
 Never shall men hail them victor, while the clang- 
 ing trumpets blow. 
 
 Year by year they march together to the field 
 where each shall know 
 
 At the last — defeat and silence, when their con- 
 queror lays them low. 
 
 See, they seek their fallen comrades, sleeping with 
 untroubled breasts. 
 
 Keeping 'neath their green tents ever the unbroken 
 
96 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 truce of rest. 
 Let no tear-drop dim the glory of one aureole- 
 circled grave — 
 They have done with grief and weeping — bring 
 
 no sorrow to the brave; 
 Bring them evergreen and laurel, emblems of the; 
 
 matchless fame 
 Which they won while death pursued them, 
 
 wrapped in sheets of blinding flame; 
 Bring them pansies, for remembrance of their cour- 
 age true and high, 
 Roses for the love and gladness which beneath 
 
 their tombstones lie; 
 Lillies for the white souls offered on the altar of 
 
 our land. 
 Till their red blood quenched the bale-fire, by the 
 
 breath of warfare fanned. 
 Rest in peace, ye dead, forever! to the utmost 
 
 bounds of time 
 Shall your deeds be told in story, sung in poet's 
 
 proudest rhyme; 
 And whenever May-flowers blossom, like fair 
 
 jewels on earth's breast. 
 Shall the hands of freemen wreath them round the 
 
 green beds where ye rest. 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 97 
 
 XKe Oregon 
 
 Turn back thy prow, Oregon, 
 
 Toward thy western home; 
 No foeman's ship will bar thy way, 
 
 Or cross thy track of foam; 
 By day, by night, like hounds in leash, 
 
 No more thy engines strain 
 To reach the sepulcher where sleeps 
 
 Thy sister ship, the Maine. 
 O, nobly thou hast played thy part — 
 
 Though half the world away. 
 Like arrow to its mark ye sped, 
 - To join and win the fray. 
 Go back, O Oregon, in peace ! 
 
 'Mid wondrous deeds and bold 
 Thy rush of fourteen thousand miles 
 
 Shall ever more be told. 
 
 K.eenan's CHarge at CHancellorsville 
 
 Oh, tell not of Leonidas and the pass he guarded 
 well, 
 
 Where with his brave three hundred so long ago 
 he fell; 
 
 Why search through misty ages for deeds of dar- 
 ing high ? 
 
 The men who charged with Keenan have taught 
 us how to die. 
 
 Through every vein the life blood pulsed with 
 
98 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 rythmic ebb and flow, 
 Before them stretched the happy years, illumed 
 
 by hope's bright glow. 
 Yet with one breath life's noon-day sun was 
 
 stricken from their sky — 
 Think you they heard unmoved the word which 
 
 doomed them then to die ? 
 
 Theirs not the hope even valor craves — to win the 
 
 hard-fought fray; 
 Knowing their graves before them yawned, they 
 
 sped along the way; 
 No faltering hand a charger checked, although full 
 
 well they knew 
 With every step their life's short span of seconds 
 
 shorter grew. 
 
 Sleep sweetly, O ye heroes ! When English bards 
 
 shall tell 
 How Nolan and his soldiers at Balaklava fell, 
 We'll show them where you charged alone an 
 
 army on its way, 
 And say, ''Here died their brothers — as true, as 
 
 brave as they." 
 
 Memorial Day 
 
 Blossom, O flowers, in riotous splender ! 
 
 Open, lingering buds, to the light ! 
 I will gather you all, fresh, fragrant and tender, 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 99 
 
 And weave you in garlands, sweet, dewy and 
 bright. 
 Over the graves where our heroes are sleeping 
 I will lay all your beauty and innocent bloom, 
 That they o'er whose dust a proud nation is weeping 
 May know that we love them, though low in the 
 tomb. 
 
 What are our wreaths to the garlands they offered 
 
 On liberty's altars — the white flowers of life? 
 What are our tears to the red drops they proffered — 
 
 The warm blood that flowed o'er the hot flames 
 of strife ? 
 All we can give of remembrance most tender 
 
 Is but a leaf in the crown of the brave, 
 Or drops which, illumined by his glory's bright 
 splendor, 
 
 Will change to an aureole over his grave. 
 
 for the tones that are silent forever; 
 
 for the hearts that were true to the right; 
 O for the arms that knew weariness never, 
 
 But fought all the day till death's swift-falling 
 night. 
 Nothing but freedom is worth such devotion; 
 
 Only the land which our forefathers gave, 
 Redeemed and unbroken from ocean to ocean, 
 
 Is worth half the cost of one soldier's low grave. 
 
00 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 "War Voices 
 
 Hark, the drum calls "Follow, follow" 
 
 With reverberation hollow, 
 
 And the fife screams, "Hither, come, 
 
 I am brother of the drum; 
 
 And we call you, call you hither; 
 
 Follow us and ask not whither." 
 
 Then the bugle shrieks "Obey me, 
 Follow, follow, nor delay me, 
 Follow us the wide world over 
 Where the clouds of battle^ hover, 
 Leaving father, mother, lover; 
 Though at first your heart shall sicken. 
 When you see the red blood thicken, 
 You shall laugh to see it flowing. 
 On the trampled greensward growing. 
 War, hell's eldest, dearest daughter, 
 Bids you follow to the slaughter." 
 
 "Come," the bugle shrieks, "obey me, 
 Follow, follow, nor delay me;" 
 And the fife screams, "Hither, hither, 
 Follow, follow, ask not whither." 
 And the loud, compelling drum 
 Echoes, "Follow, follow, come." 
 
PATRIOTIC POEMS 10 
 
 XHe Sleeping Brave 
 
 Men from whose lifted hand 
 Once dropped the tool or pen 
 
 At Duty's stern command, 
 Oh, rouse ye once again. 
 
 Take ye these lovely flowers 
 From garden and from grove, 
 
 Children of sun and showers, 
 Full-freighted with our love. 
 
 For you we dare not weep, 
 Nor for your half-told days; 
 
 The bed where heroes sleep 
 Is warmed by Glory's blaze. 
 
 We count not freedom's cost 
 Of manhood or of youth. 
 
 But mourn that earth has lost 
 So much of strength and truth. 
 
LATER POEMS 
 
THe Lords of Life and Love ar\d DeatH 
 
 Three wanderers passed my humble dooj: 
 Stately, and strong and fair were they; 
 One moved untrammeled on his way, 
 
 And two a heavy burden bore. 
 
 Behind one, flowers sprang from the plain, 
 And song birds circled where he stood. 
 And when he looked at ms, the blood 
 
 Went singing, surging through each vein. 
 
 "Who art thou, lord?" To fear was vain. 
 For even his look with joy was fraught; 
 ''My name is Life, and I have brought 
 
 Thy heritage of bliss and pain." 
 
 Light seemed the burden which 1 felt; 
 
 Then to my side another drew. 
 
 Crowned with fair heartsease and with rue. 
 And silent at his feet I knelt. 
 
 "A heavy burden thou must bear, 
 For thou art woman, I am Love — 
 And Love and Life thy strength shall prove, 
 
 For Love shall all thy being share." 
 
 A great bliss swept me like a wave; 
 
 A great grief filled me, and I wept; 
 
 I bowed where his light feet had stept. 
 And said, "Have pity on thy slave. 
 
106 LATER POEMS 
 
 ''Lord of us all, I own thy reign — 
 
 But give me peace, and make me blest; 
 Take from my heart this wild unrest — 
 
 Give me thy joy, and still my pain." 
 
 "Nay," said the other, who drew near, 
 'That is my gift, and mine alone; 
 I lift the burdens thou hast known, 
 
 I give thee peace, and take thy fear, 
 
 "When Love and Life have lost their spell. 
 My love and peace shall comfort thee." 
 His noble face looked down on me 
 
 And a great calm upon me fell. 
 
 The lords of Life and Love and Death 
 Passed on and left me where I stood; 
 But now a strange, tumultuous flood 
 
 Beat in each pulse and moved each breath. 
 
 And evermore my doom shall be 
 This burden and unrest alway; 
 And when they pass from me, that day 
 
 Lord Death shall soothe and comfort me. 
 
LATER POEMS 107 
 
 Man, XHe Destroyer 
 
 By the work of His hand God made them, and he 
 
 pronounced them good — 
 Creatures of fen and forest, creatures of wold and 
 
 wood. 
 Each with his plane of living, the river, the land, 
 
 the sea, 
 And each with the breath in his nostrils which the 
 
 same God gave to thee. 
 Life and the joy of living — pain and the fear of 
 
 death — 
 This he gave them for birthright, this they drew in 
 
 with their breath; 
 Brothers are they — do you feel it when you shoot 
 
 the bird on her nest, 
 And the seal with the white milk oozing from out 
 
 her wounded breast ? 
 What thinks the kind Lord of you, striving to learn 
 
 His trade, 
 Wrenching and tearing asunder the nerves and 
 
 the threws He made ? 
 Will the thought of the lives you have taken and 
 
 the pain you have giyen oft 
 Brighten the gloom of your death-day, or make 
 
 your death-bed soft ? 
 They are heirs of the earth as you are, with 
 
 strength and courage, yet 
 What chance have they with the coward trap and 
 
 the lying lure you set ? 
 
108 LATER POEMS 
 
 Think you their Maker hears not the cry they raise 
 to Him 
 
 When you bind His helpless creatures and tear 
 them limb from limb? 
 
 You may prate of your skill and science, but be- 
 neath your fair white skin 
 
 You are the world's Apaches — to the savage alone 
 are you kin. 
 
 All Passes 
 
 Who Cometh from the mountains bare and brown? 
 
 Who rises from the somber-shadowed sea? 
 "I am the spirit of thy joy and hope — " 
 
 "And I bring woe to thee." 
 
 "Twin-born, for ages this has been our task — 
 To wait upon each year, until its close." 
 
 One in its hand held rue of pain and grief, 
 The other, joy's red rose. 
 
 Full oft their noiseless feet had crossed my path. 
 Full oft &ach tone and face had greeted me; 
 
 Oft had 1 fled from grief's dark-visaged face. 
 And turned his twin to see. 
 
 I thought I knew them well — that woe or joy 
 Must ever bear the look with which he came; 
 
 But as I gazed, alike they grew — they smiled — 
 Behold ! they were the same. 
 
LATER POEMS 109 
 
 TKe Days of OM 
 
 days of old, forever past, what is the charm you 
 
 hold 
 Which turns your sorrow into joy, your silver into 
 
 gold? 
 Oft times your sky was overcast, fierce storms 
 
 swept o'er your way, 
 But with a pang of keen regret we think of you 
 
 today. 
 Ah me! It was the promise of young life's morn- 
 ing hours, 
 The glamour of Hope's magic spell which paved 
 
 the way with flowers; 
 She showed us all the bliss of earth — it seemed 
 
 within our grasp — 
 Alas ! It turned to worthless dross when held 
 
 with eager clasp. 
 Life's path has wider, smoother grown, the winds 
 
 are soft and sweet 
 Which gently touch the fading cheek, as day and 
 
 twilight meet, 
 But oh, to know one hour again when all that life 
 
 can give 
 Seemed waiting for our hand to take, and it was 
 
 joy to live ! 
 
110 LATER POEMS 
 
 April 
 
 Ring out, O gladsome Easter bells, 
 
 Your tale of joy to men ! 
 From out the winter's grave of cold 
 
 Earth wakes to life again. 
 Each bird that from the southward comes 
 
 On pinions swift and strong, 
 Each flower that blooms from roots that slept 
 
 Where winter lingered long, 
 Renews a yearly miracle, 
 
 Greater than pen or paint 
 E'er told in book or pictured scene 
 
 Of wonder-working saint ! 
 
 A Fragment 
 
 When some sweet hope, whose light seemed pure 
 
 and holy, 
 Which long had blessed my pathway rough and 
 
 lowly, 
 Has sunk below my soul's horizon slowly, 
 I oft have said, in vain is all endeavor. 
 Since joy and peace elude my grasp forever. 
 While those obtain them who have sought them 
 
 never. 
 But when the years have made my vision clearer, 
 I oft have found some bliss which I held dearer, 
 Which my lost hope, expiring, brought me nearer. 
 
LATER POEMS 1 1 1 
 
 Svimmer 
 
 Velvet turf and turquoise sky, 
 Bird and bee and butterfly; 
 South wind with the trees at play- 
 Life is bliss alone today ! 
 While the katydid complains, 
 While the rainbow follows rains, 
 While the stars press one by one 
 On the pathway of the sun 
 And all night their radiance give, 
 It is only joy to live ! 
 
 "WHen NigKt Has Come 
 
 The day grows old, the night falls dark and dreary, 
 The stars are hid, the wind sounds chill and eerie; 
 The tired lids droop o'er eyes with slumber weary — 
 The Night has come. 
 
 Kind Night, which sets a bound to all endeavor, 
 Which brings us rest and peace and comfort ever. 
 And sleep, whose gentle benediction fails us never — 
 The Night has come. 
 
 Rest in her calm, O hearts grown faint with aching, 
 Take ye her comfort, souls with sorrow aching; 
 Some time you shall know peace without awaking — 
 When Night has come. 
 
12 LATER POEMS 
 
 XHe FatHers Have E-aten Sovir Grapes 
 
 There is a road, weary and long, 
 
 Treeless, windswept and bare; 
 No happy groups upon it throng — 
 
 Alone I travel there. 
 
 Paths wind beside, where grasses grow, 
 
 Whose travelers bear no load; 
 They are the fields I love and know — 
 
 I never leave the road. 
 
 Sometimes when stones have bruis-ed my feet, 
 
 And steep the hills 1 pass, 
 I look at the paths so cool, so sweet. 
 
 And long for the smooth, soft grass. 
 
 But though for fairer ways I yearn. 
 
 And none my steps would stay, 
 My very feet refuse to turn. 
 
 And keep the bare, hard way. 
 
 My fathers made this path my own — 
 
 They chose this road for me; 
 It must be mine, to keep alone. 
 
 Until Eternity. 
 
LATER POEMS 
 
 XHe Silent Harp 
 
 The great harp of the world in silence lies, 
 
 While years pass by, with swift, unhurrying wings; 
 Since he who sang The Idylls of the King, 
 
 No one has claimed it as a rightful prize. 
 
 Sometimes a hand has raised it, and has stirred 
 The silent strings with murmurs soft and sweet, 
 And with delight we heard the prelude fleet, 
 
 And waited for the magic master-word. 
 
 In vain we waited — once more silence fell. 
 Once more life swept its wonted way along; 
 No heroes' deeds are told in deathless song, 
 
 No more our hearts are lifted on its swell. 
 
 Why are ye silent, ye who well know 
 
 How thrilling rhyme and lofty thought should 
 
 blend? 
 Why fear ye Fame's high places to ascend, 
 
 And stand above Fate's idle ebb and flow? 
 
 Fear not the loneliness of heart that stings, 
 Pause not to rest until the height is gained; 
 Fear but to be the coward who remained 
 
 Content to grope, although his soul had wings. 
 
 Listen, Men in Yo-ur Graves 
 
 Listen, men under the grasses lying, 
 
 Who fought for the flag on the land and the sea; 
 Do you hear the bugles wailing and sighing? 
 
14 LATER POEMS 
 
 Do you hear the fife, insistent and crying? 
 Do you hear the drum calling, "follow me?" 
 
 0, ye who died where bullets were singing, 
 Do you hear the marching feet at your head? 
 
 Do you smell the flowers, their incense bringing ? 
 
 Do you see the banners slowly swinging ? 
 Do you live today, though we call you dead? 
 
 Listen, O men in your graves attended 
 
 By Love and Honor wherever you lie; 
 Because you have lived life has grown more 
 
 splendid 
 And we mark where you stood when your brief 
 lives ended 
 That our country may measure its heroes thereby. 
 
 Rest, ye dead who shall live on for ages, 
 
 Live anew in each breast which valor has known; 
 Your deeds shall shine out upon earth's whitest 
 
 pages. 
 Shall be sung by the poets and taught by the 
 sages 
 Till the world-heart is raised to the height of your 
 own. 
 
 THe Mis&in^ SHip 
 
 The ships they come and the ships they go 
 
 Far over the shining sea. 
 But though soft and sweet the south winds blow, 
 
LATER POEMS 
 
 There comes no ship for me. 
 And though when the harbor bar grows white 
 
 The sails come swiftly in, 
 To lie where the waves are calm and bright, 
 
 Away from the thunderous din. 
 The bark which carried my hopes and fear 
 
 Turns not her prow to the shore; 
 She has sailed the sea for many years, 
 
 Yet she comes to land no more. 
 
 Did she touch at the isles of Might-have-been, 
 
 Far out to the rosy west ? 
 And before the storm, was she safely in 
 
 The port of Peace and Rest? 
 I only know I am growing old 
 
 With the years that lapse away, 
 And the hopes I thought always to hold 
 
 Have left my heart for aye. 
 But when I reach the Port of Rest, 
 
 And look o'er the sea once more, 
 I think that the ship that I loved best 
 
 Will lie by the shining shore. 
 
 THe Joy of Jvane 
 
 Color and life and scent 
 
 All in one glory blent; 
 
 Earth, air and heaven in tune — 
 
 This is the joy of June. 
 
 Night only veils her skies; 
 
LATER POEMS 
 
 When Dawn uplifts her eyes 
 Out from the drowsy flowers 
 Rise all the scented hours. 
 Happy and warm and blest, 
 This is the whole year's best; 
 Summer is fair and young, 
 With sweet songs still unsung. 
 
 SHall We Find TKem So? 
 
 I watched alone the wonder of the night — 
 The frozen moon, shining with borrowed light, 
 Trailing upon the lake her silvery bars; 
 The varying radiance of the distant stars, 
 Set jewel-like in the great azure arch, 
 Yet ever moving, with majestic march, 
 To great Arcturus, throned upon the sky, 
 Watching processions of the worlds wheel by, 
 And wondered if with equal, far-seen grace, 
 Our planet in these mighty ranks keeps place. 
 1 heard the voices of the brooding night — 
 The hum of creatures whom the days affright; 
 The querulous katydid's incessant note. 
 The flute-like call from the shy Hylas' throat; 
 From the far ponds a faint, unchanging drone. 
 To other sounds a cadenced undertone; 
 My heart grew faint, and 1 felt tears arise, 
 So great the beauty of the earth and skies; 
 If there are fairer worlds than this to know, 
 If we forget not, shall we find them so ? 
 
LATER POEMS 
 
 TKe Beautifxil Old ElartK 
 
 They may tell us of earth's ages— she is very old, 
 
 in truth — 
 But she bears the charm forever of a fair, perpet- 
 ual youth. 
 Year by year I hold her dearer, with a deep, 
 
 admiring love. 
 And with fresh delight each morning see her fair 
 
 processions move. 
 Tender spring time, fervid summer, royal autumn, 
 
 winter stern, 
 Each has many a hidden beauty, which a lifetime 
 
 cannot learn. 
 O the secrets of the forest, which it whispers in 
 
 the ear 
 When its stately aisles are trodden, with no other 
 
 mortal near ! 
 the beauty of the sunset, when the day-god goes 
 
 to rest 
 On a bed of glory, curtained with the splendor of 
 
 the west ! 
 the silence and the marvel of the strange, en- 
 chanting night. 
 With the silver lamps of heaven burning with their 
 
 solemn light ! 
 O the wild, lamenting waters, moving on from 
 
 shore to shore, 
 Seeking rest and peace forever — finding it, ah, 
 nevermore ! 
 
118 LATER POEMS 
 
 Who can learn the tale they tell us through their 
 
 billows, o'er and o'er, 
 Or give voice unto the meaning of Niagara's 
 
 ceaseless roar? 
 And the ever haunting wonder of the winds that 
 
 sweep and swell — 
 Will they always be forbidden all their mysteries 
 
 to tell ? 
 And the rainbow, curving softly o'er the mountains 
 
 and the glen. 
 Like a shining bridge to heaven for the feet of 
 
 weary men ! 
 Who that sees the changing streamers of the 
 
 Borealis' flame 
 But must bow in awe and wonder to a force he 
 
 cannot name ? 
 Or what mortal, though he study for a lifetime, 
 
 ever knows 
 Even the secret of the color that is hidden in the 
 
 rose ? 
 Though she cares not for our homage, knows not 
 
 of our praise or love, 
 But goes on her way unheeding with the shining 
 
 orbs above, 
 1 shall love the earth forever, till they lay me down 
 
 to rest 
 Hidden by the emerald mantle, folded closely to 
 
 her breast ! 
 
LATER POEMS 119 
 
 Dreams 
 
 dreams, sad dreams that come with sleep and 
 night, 
 Of lights which shone upon youth's flower- decked 
 
 shore. 
 Of dear, dead days, of faces seen no more, 
 And tones which waken all the old delight ' 
 We knew when hours were fleet and days were 
 bright; 
 Sweet as sweet Love, with all his lying lore; 
 Sad as the lonely life which waits before, 
 Memory's handmaiden, with her sword of might — 
 
 Which are ye, curse or blessing ? Who can tell 
 Who longs for night through all the lonely day — 
 
 Who hears in dreams alone sweet voices swell 
 Which made the music of life's earlier day? 
 
 And, ah ! What matter ? for we near a home 
 
 Where waits a bed to which dreams never come. 
 
 Easter Lilies 
 
 I saw the gracefull lily-bells a-swinging in the light, 
 1 heard the snowy lily-bells a-singing in the night; 
 "Break out in bloom, O lagging buds," 'twas this I 
 
 heard them say — 
 "Tomorrow's dawn will bring to us the blessed 
 
 Easter day. 
 "Because we are most beautiful, with chalices that 
 
 bear 
 
20 LATER POEMS 
 
 A message from the heavenly world to this of grief 
 
 and care, 
 Men choose us for their messenger, to breath their 
 
 prayers to him 
 Who rose from death to give them hope, and light 
 
 where all was dim." 
 
 happy, happy lilies, who bear, your cups within, 
 The hopes and prayers of hearts that break with 
 
 sorrow and with sin. 
 Before His feet who stands among the asphodels 
 of heaven, 
 
 1 pray you lay my burning tears, which plead for 
 
 sins forgiven. 
 
 ^ Midsummer 
 
 Now has the year come into its glory, 
 Tis the high tide of its beauty and bliss; 
 
 Every day tells a wonderful story 
 
 And promises hours sweeter than this. 
 
 The hum of bees and children's laughter. 
 The song of birds and rippling streams, — 
 
 How we shall miss and long for them after, — 
 How they will echoe through all our 'dreams. 
 
 Think not now of the white snows falling, 
 Of days grown short and nights grown chill; 
 
 Summer is Queen and her voice is calling — 
 Listen, and love her, and do her will. 
 
LATER POEMS 12 
 
 In tHe Garden 
 
 "And they heard the voice of the Lord God 
 walking in the garden in the cool of the day." (Gen- 
 esis 3:8.) 
 
 The Lord walked in the garden; 
 Though spreading far, from east to west 
 
 The universe upheld his throne, 
 Creation offered of its best, 
 
 And heaven was all his own. 
 The Lord walked in the garden. 
 
 The Lord walked in the garden; 
 The brooding silence of the night 
 
 Descended on the dewy flowers, 
 And he whose word created light 
 
 Found pleasure in the bowers — 
 The Lord walked in the garden. 
 
 The Lord walked in the garden; 
 O, holy comfort of the stars 
 
 And wonderous mystery of night; 
 For, passing through the ether's bars 
 And leaving heaven's own light, 
 The Lord walked in the garden. 
 
INDEX 
 
Angels of the Household 
 
 13 
 
 Days of Old 
 
 109 
 
 After 
 
 28 
 
 Dreams 
 
 119 
 
 Aurora Borealis 
 After the Snow 
 
 30 
 30 
 
 Easter Song, An 
 
 22 
 
 Ancient Wood, An 
 
 44 
 
 Earth the Beautiful 
 
 26 
 
 Ante Lucem 
 
 59 
 
 Earth is our Own 
 
 53 
 
 Alone 
 
 63 
 
 Empty Nest 
 
 56 
 
 Autumn 
 
 69 
 
 Exploration 
 
 62 
 
 Z &UCVAAAJ&X 
 
 April 
 
 no 
 
 Easter Lilies 
 
 119 
 
 A Fragment 
 
 no 
 
 Fifty Degrees below Zero 
 
 55 
 
 All Passes 
 
 108 
 
 Freedom's Cost 
 
 66 
 
 Blizzard, the 
 
 15 
 
 Freedom, Price of 
 
 90 
 
 Bird, Song of 1 I 
 Banner of Song and of Story 9 1 
 
 Fathers Have Eaten 
 Sour Grapes 
 
 112 
 
 Beyond the Bar 
 
 11 
 
 Gone into Camp 
 
 93 
 
 Beautiful Old Earth, The 
 
 117 
 
 Gods of Old 
 
 78 
 
 Contentment 
 
 n 
 
 Hope, Song of 
 
 45 
 
 Corn, the 
 
 12 
 
 Him who Hath 
 
 56 
 
 Circumstance 
 
 17 
 
 Hour, the Crowded 
 
 42 
 
 Call, the 
 
 18 
 
 Harp, The Silent 
 
 113 
 
 City of no Night 
 
 34 
 
 
 
 Crowded Hour 
 
 42 
 
 Inovation, An 
 
 16 
 
 Court of War 
 
 47 
 
 In the Garden 
 
 121 
 
 Centuries fall like Grains 
 of Sand 
 
 72 
 
 Joy in Heart of Pain 
 
 June 
 
 Joy of June 
 
 58 
 
 75 
 
 115 
 
 Come Gather Today 
 Churn, The Dasher 
 
 81 
 37 
 
 Death Song of the Trees 
 Dasher Churn 
 Dawning Day 
 
 31 
 37 
 
 72 
 
 King Wheat 
 Keenan's Charge at 
 Chancellorsville 
 
 24 
 97 
 
 December 
 
 71 
 
 Love 
 
 17 
 
 Deserted Farmhouse 
 
 65 
 
 Life 
 
 20 
 
Lady Spring, My 20 
 
 Labor, Song of 8 
 Little Maid with Laughing 
 
 Eyes 29 
 
 Lilies 39 
 
 Life, Vision of 5 1 
 
 Lincoln 69 
 
 Land of Dream 68 
 
 Love, Proof of 67 
 Lords of Life and Love 
 
 and Death 105 
 Listen, Men in Your 
 
 Graves 1 I 3 
 
 Memory 7 
 Miracle, Nature's 14 
 My Lady Spring 20 
 My Song 25 
 Morning 36 
 My Valentine 48 
 Morning, a Winter 6 1 
 Memorial Day Remem- 
 brances 94 
 May 30 85 
 Memorial Day 87 98 
 Man, the Destroyer 107 
 Men in Your Graves 
 
 Listen 1 1 3 
 
 Missing Ship 1 1 4 
 
 Midsummer 120 
 
 Nature's Miracle 1 4 
 
 Nature, Song of 1 6 
 
 Night Cometh 46 
 
 Nest, the Empty 56 
 
 Nature, Symphony of 57 
 
 Night 61 
 
 New England 75 
 
 Night, City of No 34 
 
 One Day 
 
 32 
 
 Old Oak Tree 
 
 35 
 
 Opportunity 
 
 70 
 
 On the Western Slope 
 
 65 
 
 Our Flag 
 
 89 
 
 Oregon, The 
 
 97 
 
 Place of My Desire, the 9 
 
 Passing of Summer 26 
 
 Poetry 30 
 
 Poet, To the 60 
 
 Proof of Love 67 
 
 Peace, or War 92 
 
 Price of Freedom 90 
 
 Reapers, the 40 
 
 Regret 54 
 Reunion of the G. A. R. 90 
 
 Song of Labor 8 
 Song of a Bird ' 1 1 
 
 Song of Nature 1 6 
 
 Spring, My Lady 20 
 
 Song, An Easter 22 
 
 Summer, Passing of 26 
 
 Storm 28 
 
 Spring Poetry 33 
 
 Song of Hope 45 
 
 Summer Day 52 
 
 Silent Singers 53 
 
 Symphony of Nature 57 
 
 Song which Lives 64 
 
 Sphinx on the Hearth 76 
 
 Summer 1 1 1 
 
 Sleeping Brave 101 
 
 Silent Harp 1 1 3 
 
 Ship, the Missing 1 1 4 
 Shall We Find Them So 116 
 
Tempest, the 2 1 
 
 Twilight 23 
 
 Trees, Death Song of 3 1 
 
 Too Late 39 
 
 Thanksgiving 43 
 
 The Night Cometh 46 
 
 Tide of Years 5 1 
 
 The Earth is our Own 53 
 
 To Him Who Hath 56 
 There's a Joy in the Heart 
 
 of Pain 58 
 Thou Hast a Noble 
 
 Guest, Oh Flesh 59 
 
 To the Poet 60 
 
 Thought 73 
 
 Threnody 74 
 
 Valentine, My 48 
 
 Vision of Life 5 1 
 
 Voice of the Deep 77 
 
 World's Great Peace 1 
 
 Winds, the 2 I 
 
 Wheat, King 24 
 
 Waters, the 38 
 
 Wood, An Ancient 44 
 
 War, the Court of 47 
 
 Winter Morning 61 
 
 Winter Sunset 67 
 
 What Freedom Cost 66 
 
 Western Slope 65 
 When Night Has Come 1 I I 
 
 War Voices 100 
 
 Years, the Tide of 5 1 
 
 Zero, Fifty Degrees Below 55 
 
[y% 
 
 / 
 
 w^ 
 
 
. ^ L 
 
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