Class Book fopyiigM . COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Songs From the Sandhills BY MEADE SEAWELL SAULSBURY PUBLISHING COMPANY BALTIMORE, MD. Copyright, 1919, By Meade Seawell OCI -7 / 9/3 J. F. TAPLEY CO, NEW YORK ©CI.A535188 DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER CONTENTS PAGE The Sandhills 7 Ole Life 9 A Sandhill Doctrine 11 Heaven 12 At the Slaughter 14 Consolation 15 That Ole Black Mare 16 There's Some Good 'Scuse fer Everything .... IT A Teachin' 18 That Yaller Pup o' Ourn 19 The Settin' Up 21 'Tain't Like It Uster Be 23 Revenge 25 Sleep Songs 26 That Cur'ous Feelin' 27 Moonlight 28 Cheer 29 Fools 30 The Plowman's Night 32 October Days 33 At Sunset 34 The Hunter 35 His Cabin 36 Jist er Settin' Still 37 Them's Pretty Words 39 Bill Johnny 42 Now 43 vi CONTENTS PAGE This Worl' Is Good Ernough 44 In 1916 45 Pour La France 46 The Overtones 47 My Friend 49 Little Things 51 To-day 52 A Hymn ' 53 A Tribute 54 There Ain't no Use 55 Human Nature 56 A Listenin' in the Still 57 America Awakes to Arms 58 A Prayer 60 A Wish 61 If 62 Miss Nancy's Flower Garden 63 You 64 Hers 65 Just a Missin' You 66 A Song 68 A Winter's Twilight 69 Contentment 70 I Love the World 71 To You 72 THE SANDHILLS God made these hills, these long leaf pines, These heavy gums, these oaks time-worn, These bottom lands, these fertile lines, These fields fer wheat, and these fer corn, These lowlands rich where pigs of ours Git fat frum off'n the swampy loam, These hillsides green fer lazy cows, These mellow grounds fer double plows, These sweet-briar blooms and wild-wood flow'rs God made these hills, a heav'n called home. God made these folks, these honest folks, These jolly hearts as good as gold, These women full o' fun and jokes, These men so darin', big, and bold, These homes each one er meetin' groun' "Ter balance all and back ergain," These barns jist stuffed ter bustin' out, These guineas fat and gobblers stout, These dev'lish yearlin's spry and brown : God made these folks, these honest men. God made the heav'n that's stretched above, The land beyond the sky and sun. God made the heav'n frum out His love, And thought His wond'rous work all done; But heav'n, His wond'rous love so grand, Frum out the sky, the clouded blue, Drops down to earth and makes anew A heav'n called home, a fertile place, With honest folks and hills of sand. OLE LIFE Ole life is jist one mixture shore! The more we live the more we learn ; An' more we take ter good, the more Ole hell itself will fiercer burn. We's mixed up so that bein' good Jist makes us worse along some lines, An' bein' worse, if worse we could, The better gits our good designs. I's lived right much these sixty year, An' farmin's been my only trade, I sees the things that's livin' here Jist like the way the Lord has made. The bad in part may be the best, An' all the good's jist mixed with bad; Fer look, with health there comes a pest : The more we've bloomed, more thorns we've had. An' too much good makes worser still Fer bad that's here an' meant ter grow, Jist like potash fer things we till, Too strong burns up the seeds we sow. Jist like the flow'rs an' stagnant pools, Ter take what's bad the other dies; An' if it weren't fer slime an' fools, There'd be less blooms an' none that's wise. So as fer me I takes this part, Fer bad's jist good that's gone astray, I never tries ter make a start Ter dodge the bad that comes my way; Fer dodgin' bad, we're dodgin' good, An' missin' pain we misses joy, An' I'd not dodge, if dodge I could, Fer dodgin' kills each good employ. 10 A SANDHILL DOCTRINE J 1ST all the worl's a field, my friend, A fertile spot of flow'rs an' weeds. All life's the ground that each raus' tend, Where we mus' plant an' till our seeds. All time's a season made ter sow, Ter till an' cultivate this earth, An opportunity ter grow The crops that yield the greatest, worth. An' all of livin's but the soil Wherein we plant ourselves an' die, Where Ave mus' sow our lives in toil Jist as we sow the grains of rye. Jist like the little grain of corn, "The mother to the full-grown ear," Mus' die that others may be born, So we give up our livin' here. An' what is meant fer you, my friend, Is jist ter start an' take each day, Ter plant an' cultivate an' spend Your time on seeds that bring you pay ; Fer as about the plants, the earth Prepares them fer their earthly span, So life, the ground that gives us birth, Is round about the soul of man. 11 HEAVEN There mus' be heaven fer everything, Or else this sinful worl' ain't fair, Fer crows they crow an' birds they sing An' frogs they croak an' give their share Ter make this place er pleasant one, An' shorely death don't end their fun. We had er yearlin' oncet las' year That wabbled with the staggers blind. An' didn't look like nothin' here Fer it was ever soft er kind; An' I jist think it's 'most er sin, If heaven don't take that heifer in. An' oncet we had a shepherd pup, A better dog you'd never find. He'd run an' fetch the yearlin's up, An' then o' nights the house he'd mind ; An' shore's you're born great heaven won't miss Ter take in dogs that's lived like this. An' cats, oh, yes, I know they say They bees jist back an' forth frum hell; But when you watch the kittens play An' hear 'em meow an' purr er spell. You can't but think in heaven's space The kittens shore mus' have er place. 12 An' I jist think it's this erway, Jist all the worl' is meant fer jokes, An' all these things make night an' day Lots happier fer us human folks. An' shore's you're born, it ain't quite fair, If man takes all the room up there. 13 AT THE SLAUGHTER Oh, yes, I hurt you then, Jist like I got no sense ! Now git there in yer pen While I go steady on the fence. Oh, here, now, quit that squealin,' You pugnose rascal you, I alius had er feelin' That's what you's gonna do. You seems ter know er feller's heart Ain't made of stuff like brick, Fer everytime I makes er start Ter fire it seems ter turn me sick. But here, now, stop that wigglin', Jist fix yerself — it's time ter go; Them girls is up there gigglin' Jist cause I'm chicken-hearted so. But somehow they can't understand Jist how you've been my pard, Ner how you've et frum out'n my hand, Ner how ter kill you would go hard. You devil, standin' there so still, Here take these taters an' 'gin ter root; Them girls can say jist what they will, But one thing shore I jist can't shoot. 14 CONSOLATION Ole Handy Kid to prison went Because he'd eaten chicken pie, An' 'cause his coins he never meant That its ingredients should buy. He knew always jist how ter raise The tender pullets he could spy. The Judge decided 'twould be best, An' thought 'twould make Ole Handy wail To lock him hard an' steady lest He'd break the prison's iron rail ; But Handy smiled quite reconciled, "Aw, Paul an' Silas wuz in jail!" 15 THAT OLE BLACK MARE She hauls my wood, she plows my fields, She carries me ter meetin', An' she's the one that brings the yields That furnish all my eatin' ; An' shore's you're born in heav'n's a share Allotted to that ole black mare. I feeds her well on richest fares, I tells her all my feelings, Fer she's the one that alius shares My worst an' better dealings ; An' ever night I prays er pray'r, "God bless that faithful, ole black mare." 16 THERE'S SOME GOOD 'SCUSE FER EVERYTHING There's some good 'scuse fer everything; Er reason why er bird will sing ; Some reason why er fish will bite; Er reason why the brave will fight ; Er 'scuse fer fools, er cause fer schools ; Er purpose fer our common laws ; An' even briers here have some good cause. There's some good 'scuse fer rattlesnakes ; An' some good reason fer earthquakes ; Er 'scuse fer lice, er cause fer mice ; Er reason fer er hawk with claws. But tell me, please, if you can see, What good the skeeter's meant ter be? It seems to me 'twas jist er sin When Noah let that feller in. I's got no time fer pest like these, Whatever their good purpose bees. 17 A TEACHIN' I uster say that teachin' Was the durndest job of all! The salary weren't fer-reachin' 'Twas so goldarn small! The younguns they was bad ernough Ter run er sane man wild, An' pappys they sometimes got rough Ter make you spoil their child; An' oncet I told the clerk o' court, When fellers broke the county rules, "Don't make 'em swing the pick fer sport, But put 'em out ter teachin' schools." But now I say that callin' Is the grandest job of man; It keeps the worl' from stallin', An' it makes it do the best it can. Of course, the doctors all are great Who heal our sufferin' sick, An' lawyers too who guard the state An' free men frum the pick, An' ministers an' farmers each, The worl' on them seems laid; But greatest yet those fools who teach, Who've learnt 'em all their trade. 18 THAT YALLER PUP O' OURN I fetched him back one day frum town, The day I got my waggin tire; He's nothin' but er yaller houn'; But he shore got the eye o' fire. An' Abe, my little boy, done foun' Them other dogs er natchel sight, When yaller pup sets in his bite. He shore ain't much fer beauty built, Jist years, four legs, a yaller streak; But he can howl with head atilt. An' Abe has learnt him how ter speak. An' he's no dog ter hide his guilt, His tail jist drops an' 'f esses up, That dirty, little, }^aller pup ! An' when I's noddin' in the do', He'll lie erbout an' snap an' scratch, Then tote my shoe ter some fer row 'Way down ercrosst the tater patch; An' when I slips up on him slow, He'll sorter snort an' sneeze an' cough, Then drop his tail an' totter off. 19 But Abe has learnt him lots er tricks, Jist how ter be a man an' fight; An', when he gits his breakfast mix' He makes him speak an' stan' up right. An' then he'll run an' fetch you sticks You throwed him down ercrosst the lot, That yaller pup o' ourn we got. 20 THE SETTIN' UP Bear Creek bend, Who suffered long with heart's disease, Made ready for his weary end, And, stretchin' out his feeble knees Along 'bout day, give up and died, Ole Virgil of the Baptist pride. They sent for mournin' all erroun' And asked the niggers ter wear black, While Ike, his son, went off ter town Ter fetch a handsome coffin back. I watched the mourners come and go And heared their mournin' s loud and low. But 'way that night down through my fields The darndest fuss I ever heared, When all them niggers on their heels Frum out the settin' up had cleared; Fer Vergil, hoisted frum his bed, "The water pail," had faintly said. And Ike, who'd fetched the coffin back. Broke out slap through the window glass, With ropes a-trailin' in his track Tore up 'most all my grazin' grass, Until they caught some light'ood knot And all his racin' aims upsot. 21 The parson, lyin' on the groun' Too weak ter run, was prayin' loud, "O, Lawd, do sen' some angel down An' save dis sinful crowd; Fer dey'll go straight ter fiery hell, If dat ole nigger do git well." Then frum the place where Ikey fell, There was a mournful soundin' cry, While frum the field there come a yell, "Next time dat ole dead nigger die An' askes fer the water cup, He'll shorely do his settin' up." 22 'TAIN'T LIKE IT USTER BE 'Tain't like it uster be when I was comin' on, Them good ole days is done an' gone. Why Sundays now looks like court-week, The sort we uster have o'er town, When all the folks frum up the peak Come here ter swop their stock erroun\ Tain't still like Sunday uster be. When Church was done, you'd rest then some, An' set all day an' never see Nobody passin' to ner frum. An' uster I'd go callin' when I'd finished all my layin' by. We had ter walk ter see 'em then An' mine, she never lived so nigh. I'd hear her playin' some ole hymn Long 'fore I'd reached the short-cut through ; An' there was where I'd git in trim An' pearten up a step er two. But them ole times is shorely changed. It uster rain down here er sight; An' if you's callin' they'd er range Some way fer you ter spend the night. We all was farmers an' so pore We couldn't plant good crops nowhere, But we wus alius happy, shore, To give to others an' to share. 23 Our house where we then uster live You'd see slap through the ole plank floor, You couldn't tell what time 'twould give; An' cats could come in 'neath the door. But we was jolly folks, an' prayed An' sang o' nights when work was done ; An' me an' Johnnie alius played Our harps while Jimmy clogged fer fun. But them ole times is done an' gone, 'Tain't like it uster be when I was comin' on. 24 REVENGE That ole gray mule is sich a fool, He'll go ter sleep on level groun' ; An' beat, well wear yerself plum down An' he'll not move, not nary peg. Or twist his tail an' kick his leg He's gonna sleep his sleep slap through No matter what you try ter do. Then when he wakes, he starts an' shakes An' moves erlong so lazj^-like an' slow Yer think he's done fergot the way ter go. So now I says, though Jeremiah's his name, I'll call him PokeyhonteiS jist fer shame. 25 SLEEP SONGS O let me sleep beneath the trees, Beneath the silver littered sky, Where I can feel the cooling breeze An' hear the whippoorwill's lone cry ; An' let me sleep, sleep on till day, Till all old cares are smoothed away. O let me sleep when noontime comes Beneath the 'simmon's spreading shade, Where all the bees in dull an' drowsy hums Keep up their steady honey raid; An' let me sleep, sleep on, I pray, Until the sunshine slants across the way. O let me sleep up in the loft When rain upon the roof beats down ; Dull rain an' dreary too an' soft An' nothing but a raining sound; An' let me sleep, sleep on, I say, Till all the rain has pasesd away. O let me sleep beneath the pines On some sandhill near by, Where fragrant honeysuckle twines An' quiet stars shine in the sky; There let me sleep, sleep on beneath that groun' Above the racket of the little town. 26 THAT CUR'OUS FEELIN' When the sun gits back ter shinin' Like ter make this ole earth hot, An' the kittens 'gins ter whinin' As they pick er sunny spot ; When the birds gits back ter singin' Where the buds is bustin' out; When it's time fer carpet flingin' An' my wife's er dustin' 'bout; When the yearlin's gits ter kickin' Dust up in the pasture lane, An' the biddies 'gins ter pickin' Fer ter find the fresh sown grain; 'Tis then I moves my place of settin' Ter the open 'neath the trees ; Jist ter watch the earth er hettin' An' ter smell the flower breeze; Fer then like pigs that's alius squealin' Jist ter be jist where they ain't, There's 'round my heart that cur'ous feelin' Jist ter do jist what I cain't. 27 MOONLIGHT With nary soun' ter break the spell Except a whippo'will's faint song; While on the breeze the fragrant smell Of woodsy flow'rs blows erlong ; With nary soul erroun' ter hear Jist what you're tryin' hard ter say, When yer ole heart's jist twisted queer An' all yer words don't fit no way, With nary thing ter stop ner ditch Yer plans ter seal yer bargain tight, With her an' flow'rs an' all sich — Well then, that there's moonlight! 28 CHEER 'Tis hard ter fight an' keep jist right When all the world's agin yer force ; But's jist er sin ter give slap in An' let the devil have his course. An' brave's the man who holds his stan' An' fights his battle through, 'Tis holy shame ter stop the game Jist 'cause the world's the least bit blue. An' say, Ole Top, No use ter fret Ner whine an' stop, Yer'll git there yet! 'Tis hard ter win an' sometimes grin When no one seems ter be yer friend. But ho! fer pluck that conquers luck, That keeps on fightin' till the end. The man is great who wars with fate, Success his destiny insures ; The greatest of all who swallows the gall, The man that alius endures ! An' say, Ole Sport, Don't be upset, Yer'll find yer fort, Yer'll git there yet! FOOLS There's some folks here that jist despise Er man that's got no sense ; Er man that never up an' tries An' makes no 'scuse, ner half pretense; But as fer me, I speaks his praise, An' may the Lord bless all his days. One time there was a man down here Whose stables helt the finest breed ; He told us folks he had no fear, "Ter trust folks" was his creed. Well some sharp thief got all his stock, So now we've learnt ter use the lock. An' oncet there was er travelin' man Who et too much, then up an' died, Jist why, he couldn't understan', He weren't er bigger man inside ; But, though he went frum here perplexed, Frum him we've learnt the temperance text. An' oncet there was er light-head sport Who stopped upon the railroad track; Well now he's reached some heav'nly port, Out where he never will come back; An' frum his silly act we find We sees the "Stop, Look, Listen" sign. 30 So now you see how much they teach, These foolish men what's got no sense; If 'tweren't fer them we'd never reach Success, ner have no self-defense. We'd have no farms, ner church, ner schools, What would we do without the fools? 31 THE PLOWMAN'S NIGHT The harvest moon is climbin' high, Is creepin' o'er the hill ; This distant dale sends back the cry Of one lone whippoorwill ; The night breeze sighs sweet lullabies, An' earth is soft an' still. I sit alone within my den, A-weary from the day; I watch the shadows in the glen An' see the fireflies play ; I hear faint sounds of restless hounds O'er hills across the way. I hear the rustlin' of the corn That sways within the breeze ; Where roses wild the vales adorn I sip the fragrance rare of these; An' here I pray at end of day In peace among the trees. 32 OCTOBER DAYS Oh, now, they're dear October days, And now the wooded sweet by-ways Are roofed with red and gold; A bob-white to his mate is calling Where the sweet-gum leaves are falling And a lazy lizard's sprawling In the light that's growing cold, Down in Carolina, Back in Carthage on the ridge. Oh, now, 'tis harvest of the year ; We stop to shuck the yellow ear; We fill our cribs up to the jam. With every wind the leaves go whirling While from the kitchen stoves unfurling Where a pale blue smoke is curling Comes the smell of frying ham, Down in Carolina, Back in Carthage on the ridge. And, oh, the dear October days And now the wooded sweet by-ways Are whispering soft their tale, "Come you, if 'chance you like it, And 'neath my autumn arbor hike it Where only gentle winds now strike it Before I'm whipped by winter's gale," Down in Carolina, Back in Carthage on the ridge. 33 AT SUNSET It's just my delight at the coming of night, When the work of the day is all done, To pull from the shed to the river's broad bed And there watch the last rays of the sun. The soft quiet gleam on the lazy stream, And the clouds that are fringed with blood ; 'Neath the pearl-gray haze the scarlet blaze And the glorious varying flood. The lavender sky and the cloud-banks high ; The deep shadows of distant trees ; The dancing spark that lights my barque; That is tossed on the stream by the breeze ! The earth tired and still as it's wrapped in the thrill And in weariness soothed by the calm to rest ; While the radiant glow, like a flaming bow, Dies slowly away in the west! Then ends too soon. The rising moon, Full-grown, descends a mellowy light. The sun-flame fades in deepening shades And is lost in the blue of the coming night. 34 THE HUNTER A restless body, moving quick, With towsled hair that's black and thick, With eyes that glisten, gleam like fire Reflected from some chapel spire, With shoulder broad and ruddy cheek, Comes passed you o'er the withered mead Upon his fiery snorting steed, That bounds the fence and strides the creek. Up hill, down dale, you see him ride, O'er plains you hear his clicking stride. The snow-clad forest far resounds His roaring gun and yelping hounds, When winter comes and autumn wanes. When howling north winds biting blow And earth is bleak and chill, you know Within the wood the hunter reigns. 35 HIS CABIN O little room with dingy walls, Where pots in dirty heaps are piled ; Your shelves defaced with penknife scrawls, Your door with horns of antlers wild; Your floor besplotched with stains of blood, And rags your windows illy groom; Where sacks fill in for missin' mud, O little room ! O little room ! But little room with penknife scrawls, A hunter trusts to you his best. A hunter's spoils bedeck your walls; You know his sighs, each joy, each jest. Your battered shelves, a holy shrine That would his lonely heart illume, That hold his prints, "The Mother Mine." O little room ! O little room ! 3C JIST ER SETTIN' STILL I figures frum er farmer's p'int, That is the way they view ; There's some things here that's loose of j'int, Or else there's some that's lost er screw. I farms fer livin' an' I sees The things come up I till. I counts er things fer what it bees ; Yer 'an do er sight more reasonin' Jist er settin' still. The preachers go about er-rantin', An' they say the devil's like er lion, That prowls erroun' er-roarin', pantin' Jist ter glean the fields of Zion. Well that religion jist won't go; It contradicts the right of will. These here preachers best go slow, Yer 'an do er sight more mendin' Jist er settin' still. The doctors go er-doct'rin' 'round: We gotta wash, can't spit jist whar yer please, An' drinkin' frum another's .pail they found Is shore ter start er plague disease. Well that there teachin' may suit some That's feared of all the devil's ill ; But when the rheumatisms come, Yer git erlong er durn sight better Jist er settin' still. 37 Methuslah never went up young An' never knowed no doctor's way; But now they're picked when ain't nigh sprung An' hilled like taters in the clay. When them ole prophets calmly chewed their cud, They never had no rhumatiz ner fever's chill. This here modern mess stands 'gainst the reason, bud, Yer 'an do er sight more livin' Jist er settin' still. 38 THEM'S PRETTY WORDS "They did not die in vain." "They did not die in vain." Them's pretty words, Matilda, Them's pretty words. I recollect how mother Uster say 'em to us boys, When we'd be playin' 'round together, Settin' near with all our toys. I seems to see her now, Matilda, An' her soft face growin' pale ; While all us boys begin our beggin' Fer another story tale. I seems to see her eyes a-fillin' As she sets before the fire; Beginnin' then her story tellin' Of that man who oncet was Squire, Of my old Dad who went to battle When we had that Yankee fight. Of how she watched him go, a-wavin' Back till he was out o' sight. An' how it happened late one evenin', Fer the soldiers knowed it best To tell my Mother of that bullet That had rammed my Daddy's breast. 39 I seems to see her now, Matilda, Sobbin' as she stops a sigh, An' starts to tell us boys of Daddy, How they brung him home to die. "They did not die in vain," Matilda, "They did not die in vain." Them's pretty words. Them's pretty words. They come an' tuck him off, Matilda 9 Abe, my boy, my baby, Abe, my son. They tuck him off acrost the ocean, An' they've fixed him with a gun. They put him in a uniform An' learnt him how to fight ; An' his old Daddy stood a-watchin' When he went away that night. An' now it seems I am so lonely Since he's gone so far away ; But when I saw him bravely drillin' 'Peared I couldn't ask him stay. I hate a man that's feared o' fightin', An' a cow'rd I can't abide ; Though when he told me he was goin' My old heart jist broke inside. He is the last of all the family, Four there was a-countin' all. The girls is way off there an' married, An' his Mother died last fall. 40 So somehow now I'm sad, Matilda, An' my life's jist all undone; I sets here late o' nights a-prayin' God to keep him, Abe, my baby Abe, my son. "They did not die in vain." "They did not die in vain." Them's pretty words, Matilda, Them's pretty words. 41 BILL JOHNNY That Bill Johnny hails frum Dixie An' he's sprung frum fightin' stock; An' when he gits ter Germany, He'll shorely give them Huns er shock. They calls him Billie Yankee, But he comes frum Dixie jist the same; An' it don't make no difference Ter Johnny what they calls his name. He ain't no captain ner a officer, But where them Stars an' Stripes unfurl, He's proud ter be a real buck private In the grandest army of the worl'. 42 NOW They've gone an' tuck 'em frum here, The lazy an' the good as well, An' shore's you're born you feels plum queer When you can stop ter think er spell. Some will come back, that thing's dead shore, But some their end you'll never know; An' if you never loved afore, Your heart now breaks fer them that go. You're proud, but war's done rent your pride, You'll do fer him all that you can, Fer your ole heart's jist broke inside, You really loves your fellowman. You tricked him once, you trick no more, But in a humble pray'r you bow ; An' though you never had no faith afore, You're lookin' up to heaven now. 43 THIS WORL' IS GOOD ERNOUGH There's some folks here that ought not care Ter live upon this sinful earth ; They worry so the whole day long About the worl's infernal wrong, They miss how much the good is worth. Some fault they alius find, Plum deaf to what is kind, But alius they can hear the gruff, Oh, pshaw ! This worl' is good ernough. They live in town an' ride erroun' In easy-goin' motor cars. They preach at times ter cheerful folks About their bouts an' jolly jokes, They point out all infernal scars. They overlook the pretty places An' only see the dark disgraces, The mud-holes, ruts, an' rough. Ah, poohl This worl' is good ernough. This worl's all right ; of course 'tain't quite As good as heav'n would have it be ; But 'tain't as bad as lands below. It's mixed with some frum both, an' so It's made fer fun an' revelry. It's these here fertile lands that lie Between the devil an' the sky: It's cut frum off the genteel stuff. Oh, yes ! This worl' is good ernough. 44 IN 1916 Our fields are green with growing corn, Or yellow with the small grain crop ; Fair flow'rs our hills and yards adorn, While vines their luscious richness drop. Our orchards, bowed with fruitage rare, Give us their gracious, golden store ; And Life and Wealth are everywhere, America could wish no more. But far beyond Atlantic's flood, Somewhere in Europe's vast domain, The fields are red with human blood, Death feasts on every plain. The lands are torn with shot and shell And Wars advance; Wrecked homes, crushed hearts, a living Hell, "Somewhere in France." 45 POUR LA FRANCE 'Tis nightfall at his home, a dugout's cave, Beneath shell-furrowed grounds and war-strewn wrecks, That smells of mildew damp, and dreary save The joking hearts that sit at games of checks. He, bowed in corner far alone, reflects, Ungirded of his mask and mighty lance, And, bowing, prays for France. 'Tis day and war afresh. His fierce e}^es blurred, He battles in the fire and poisoned gas ; And from his lips the sacred pray'r is heard, "If it be possible, let this cup pass." But on relenting not amid the mass Of warring, smilingly he takes his chance, And, praying, fights for France. 'Tis awful night. Within a shell-hole's shade, Beyond the glare that spreads a deadly flood, "My God, Thy Will be done," a pray'r is prayed. His wire-torn coat is stained with blood, While life ebbs slowly out through furrowed mud. With tortured eyes befixed in death's cold trance, He, fighting, dies for France. 46 THE OVERTONES Above the beat, the restless beat, Of boist'rous drums heroic; Above the songs of voices sweet By gathered crowds inspiring; Above the might of bugle thrill, Awaking souls to love and doing; Above the trombone's silver trill With courage hearts infusing; Above the music grand and wild, There comes the tread, the even tread, Of marching soldiers fearless. There comes the mem'ry of the dead, A thought of heroes sacred, There comes the mother pray'r, the vows Of love by sweethearts parting; The cheer from home, and 'neath the boughs With golden ringlets blowing, The playful prattle of a child. Above the shriek of ringing shell, Of great explosives bursting; Above the roar of warring hell With deadly fire up-leaping; Above the wounded's anguish cry With dying thirst enduring; With blinded eyes and broken thigh In muddy shell-holes bleeding; 47 Above the battle's thund'ring blaze, There comes a smile, a gentle smile Of peace from sacrificing; There comes a balm of blessing while Some life for friends is given ; There comes the pentecostal pray'r Unchanged by world of slaughter, The Calvary upraised, laid bare, And clear from hearts arising A morning hymn of praise. 48 MY FRIEND Some wander through the wooded deep To quell their temper's storm, And some drown cares in drunken sleep To make the old cold world seem warm. And some take refuge in their work When bitter sorrow clouds outspread; And some in churchyards often lurk To draw their solace from the dead. And some, when in a nervous rage, Or weary of the binding, working hours, Seek comfort in the printed page, Or rest in music's soothing powers. But I, when made 'neath temper's sway, Or weary of the working trend, Or sad when sorrow comes my way, Find love and cheer in you, My Friend. And some there are that find the good, The true, their better selves they know, Among the trees in deepest wood, Or in the sunset's scarlet glow. And some there are through starlit skies, The gleams that beacon from above, See beauties of the Paradise And feel the power of heaven's love. And some have found a high ideal When spurred by music's rousing might, In church where solemn thoughts reveal The beautiful and just and right. But I, though much I love these powers, And much of time I often spend 'Neath stars, among the trees and flowers, Find God in your pure soul, My Friend. 50 LITTLE THINGS A little violet wild, Old nature's smallest child, That comes so soon in early spring, Makes beautiful the path where winter trod And speaks the love from out the heart of God, A violet, just a little thing. A little word unkind, The smallest of the mind, That stabs so deep and leaves a sting, Makes worse a world where violets dwell And shows the bitter deeps of hell, A word unkind, a little thing. 51 TO-DAY The day is fair outside. The earth is warm. The sun In splendor, lofty pride, Rolls o'er the gentle blue And melts the morning dew. The birds in laughter sing To greet each new-born thing. A million flow'rs have come, While bees in drowsy hum Their humble tribute pay; And earth anew's begun O'er winter's bleak decay. 52 A HYMN My Father, God, I see in each grass blade, In every hillside flower, In every sunshine and each shade Some providence, some force, some overruling care And there I know that Thou art Power. I see in openings blue, suffused with gold, In sunset, scarlet strands, Omnipotence and planets great controlled, And there I know that Justice lies In Thine almighty hands. I see within the souls of friends, In smiles that point the eyes above, The gentle spirit of the Christ that sends New hopes and joys to hearts And there I know that Thou art Love. I praise Thee, Father, for the sun and shade ; For judgments and for mercies sweet, for breath Of living that of pain and joy is made, And knowing Thou art Just and Love I praise Thee, Father, e'en for death. 53 A TRIBUTE You talk about your roses 'side your garden wall, You talk about your pansy bed, An' of them yellow tiger lilies tall An' them geraniums bright an' red. Well, all of these, fer beauty meant, Are noted fer their fragrant scent; But shore's you're born out where I hoes, Though they fer smell ain't half so sweet, I find along them tiresome rows Them cotton blooms is hard ter beat. 54 THERE AIN'T NO USE There ain't no use in workin' so, There's nothin' new ter start, Fer what you do you're shore ter know Some other guy's done played that part. Now, see, I might 've been a Newton An' seen a' apple fall, Or else I might 've tuck ter flutin' An' been a Mozart fer you all. An' then, I tell you what is true, I might 've done far wors', I bet I'd been a Shakespeare too, If I'd 've got here firs'. 55 HUMAN NATURE Jim Brown has got a brandnew Ford ; He rides ter work both night an' day, An' passes by a-rattlin' like a gourd, But never sees nobody on the way. Now Jim an' me works side by side, An' does look like he'd let a feller ride. Very well, jist wait some day; I hope it's hot, An' his ole Ford is out o' fix, An' them two bunions what he's got Is 'pearin' like the same as six; I'll pass 'im by in my Packard car A-lookin' off, away off far ! 56 A-LISTENIN' IN THE STILL I sets alone o' nights a-listenin' Ter the music 'cross the way ; While stars above are softly glistenin' An' the light fades out o' day. The little church is lit an' glowin' Fer they're meetin' on the hill, An' where the pine-weighed breeze is blowin' I'm a-listenin' in the still. The mellow chords o' voices blendin' Ter the music of them good ole songs, An' then the parson's pray'r up-sendin' Ter the Lord fer all our sinful wrongs. An' next he settles down ter preachin' Till it's soft but fer the night bird's trill; An' I'm a-thinkin' of the Master's teachin' While a-listenin' in the still. 57 AMERICA AWAKES TO ARMS America awakes to arms ! To arms ! From out her luxury and treasure charms, From out her boundless wealth and pleasured ease Awakes to war; disrobing such as these Calls back her chivalry, her chasteness old, Which in their mighty words the past unfold And show her nation once a winding line With musket and knapsack to Brandywine, To Yorktown, marching, shouting as they went While Heaven to their spirits courage lent; Which in their mighty words her hearts bestir. The silver voices of her bugles spur Her sleeping souls to song and love and deed That sacrifice. And willingly to bleed She hears the even tramp of fearless feet That march on foreign soil to her drum-beat. She sees the flower of her manhood leave Her shores ; and hears the sobs of those that grieve The soldier's parting and the Mother pray'rs For son, the Mother, who is proud and bears The hardest part in cruelties of war, Makes home for him a place worth fighting for. She sees the father bend with tearful eyes Above the cradle where the baby lies. She sees the anxious wife with proud face white Watch, waving, till he turns beyond her sight. She sees the boist'rous gathered crowd that cheers The parting hearts of sadness mixed with fears. 58 Her nation heeds Humanity's war-call And she enlists her best, enlists her all. From out her luxury and treasure charms, America awakes to arms ! To arms ! 59 A PRAYER I would, My Father God, do more than others, More peaceable, more gentle be ; I would reflect the glories of Thy Nature More ably, that have come to me. I would more often sing the joy of living, More cheerful be in weary hours, More charitable, considerate, and friendly, A planter be of wayside flowers. I would more zealous look for good in all things, In man, in woodland, hill and glen; Oh make me, Father God, more faithful, patient, More useful to my fellowmen. 60 A WISH The purest gold and diamonds bright With rubies, pearls, and sapphires white, A necklace, ring, or pin ; The softest silk, a dainty waist, A coat of fur, kid-boots high-laced, A dress chiffon and thin — All this, of course, is fine, I wish it all were thine. But more, Sweetheart, my wish to-day, Still more for thee the pray'r I pray. May God in tend'rest love Give you from Heav'n the sweetest song And flowers your whole life long, Give you where'er you rove The love of friends, a great success With mirth, good health, and happiness. 61 IF If I were just a little star A-twinklin' in the night, I'd pick a place just where you are And there I'd shed my light. I'd shine so strong the whole night long! I'd love you, oh so tight ! If I were just a little breeze A-tossin' to and fro, O'er meadows green through woodland trees My little sail would blow; Around I'd wheel, a kiss I'd steal, And then I'd love you so ! If I were just a little cloud Up in the sky adrif, I wouldn't mind the teasin' crowd, I wouldn't care a riff ! I'd pull apart and drop my heart — Aw, if! Confound it, IF! 62 MISS NANCY'S FLOWER GARDEN In Miss Nancy's garden you'll find Flowers most of every kind, Some quite tiny, quaint, and small, Others graceful, slender, tall. Roses, pinks, and violets there, And narcissus white, a primrose fair, And jonquils bright as purest gold, A sunflower toppling, bent, and old. Some are strong and others frail; Some hold true while others fail ; But, if to any there should repose In either poppy, pansy, rose, Some unfathomed mystery, Some unheard-of history, In the flowers Miss Nancy tends, What you've complained Is here explained, Her garden represents her friends. 63 YOU Sometimes you seem almost divine, Your soul's so big, so deep, so wide ; Your heart's so gentle, true, and fine That when with you I sit beside, It almost seems to be That heav'n o'erran its chosen span And dropped you down to me. Sometimes you seem so human, girl, You know just how I feel and see, Just how I meet and treat the world And how in turn the world treats me. And yet it seems not true, That earth so gruff is big enough To hold a girl like you. But all the time, my Blue-Eyed Dear, My little soul's admiring love Would reach afar to bring you near, Would cage high heaven's fairest dove, Would seize your love so true ; And then in praise a heart upraise To thank Great God for you. 64 HERS Beneath the April's tender green, where Little Creek with singing, frolics through, And Easter lilies faintly pink give fragrance to a morning world; They played at games that children play and hum- med the songs their grammar-school days knew, While dreams, like fireflies of a country summer night, about them whirled; And in the woodland's quiet heart she called him Hers. Somewhere in "Flanders Fields" beneath the quiet stars of April's gentle skies, A broken cross of wood now marks the mound of that heroic sacred sod; A fighter's body, youthful, fearless, shrouded in its last long sleep, there lies, While far beyond the April's pink of worlds anew, a soul awaits with God Till soon its mate, more beautiful, again shall call it Hers. 65 JUST A-MISSIN' YOU When wind and rain of springtime days Make all the world a dampy blue, And when the mist of morning haze Takes on a sort of blackened hue, And drippy weather makes the flow'rs To droop and bend and die And sends the birds to other bow'rs Where sunny pleasant pastures lie; 'Tis then I miss your winsome smile That tells me all within is clear, That counts to set me singing, while The day outside is bleak and drear. 'Tis then I miss a blue-eyed girl, Whose heart just laughs and loves and sings In spite of all the outside worl' That chills and kills the flow'ring things; Whose soul in cheering seems to say: "Within, my dear, the hearthfires glow! Just look the beauty of the day! Within the heart the flowers blow! The birds make music there for you, In jolly rhythmic laughter sing, And there with all the flowers too Just say, 'Be glad 'tis spring ! 'Tis spring !' " 66 So then you see, Miss Lady Dear, I'm just a-missin' awful much Your smile, your love, your cheer, Your very self — perhaps your touch; For when outside it's windy bleak And cold and wet and dreary too, 'Tis then, in fashion surely meek, I'm just a-missin', missin' you. C7 A SONG Our Father God our hearts upraise To Thee in grateful song, For all Thy blessings, Lord, we praise Thee in our humble throng. For Christ and country go we forth To war, humanity to save; And 'neath the Banner of the Cross Our service flag would ever wave. Accept, O Father God, we pray, Thy praise we humbly sing ; Receive the offerings made each day, The service now we bring. Defend the church, protect the land, Give strength humanity to save; And 'neath the Banner of the Cross Let e'er our flag of service wave. 68 A WINTER'S TWILIGHT I see the blowing hair of shining pines Sleek and black against the heaven's naked breast, Where the tree-walled roadway still and lonely winds In a smiling comfort toward the gray-pink west, And the winter moon that flickers in between The dark and fragile net-work screen. I hear the rumbling teams, the hoofs that beat In a brisky travel as they homeward go ; And I see through thrown-back curtains 'cross the street Homes alight with burning logs aglow, While sweet coffee scents the chilly breeze That tosses in the shining trees ; For 'tis twilight and December Down in Carolina now. 69 CONTENTMENT It's not to win the game I wish, Nor yet to grasp the golden prize ; It's not high favor from brave men, Nor yet great honor from the wise. Some others here at this may strike, It's just the playing that I like. It's not to win the race I wish, Nor yet the victor's cup to gain ; It's not approval from the crowd, Nor yet loud praises for my pain. All this some others here may dike, It's just the racing that I like. So let me play the game again And keep on playing still, And let me run the race again And keep on running till I'm weary of the ceaseless hike; It's just the doing that I like. 70 I LOVE THE WORLD I love the world, the jolly world, that loves and hates, that laughs and wars, I love the world, the restless world, in spite of all its sin and scars; For every year it buds again when spring slips back, And fragrantly it flowers each of life's most weary ways; While during seasons drear through snows we trace the track The wild-game makes, and booty loads our happy hunting days. Oh, yes, I love the world, the jolly, restless world! 71 TO YOU There is a friendly fairy, So the story goes, That dwells within the heart Of every Sandhill rose; And this friendly fairy Holds within her sway A band of little elves Who readily obey. I ask the friendly fairy Bid a little elf Take love and cheer to you, my dear, As I cannot go myself. THE END 72