Class 
 
 Book.'jfe2*££l^ 
 Copyright N" /^-^O 
 
 COPVRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 

 By 
 PAUL BAUMGARTNER 
 
 FORT WAYNE BOX COMPANY 
 
 FORT WAYNE, INDIANA 
 
 1915 
 

 Copj)rigKt 1915 
 
 By 
 
 Paul Baumgartner 
 
 JUL 15 1915 
 
 ►GU401768 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 1. Introduction Page 5 
 
 2. Fore-word 10 
 
 3. Oases 11 
 
 4. The Tide 15 
 
 5. "Woods of Indiana 18 
 
 6. The Dogs of War 22 
 
 7. The Corner in Wheat 32 
 
 8. Hope 40 
 
 9. To a Polyphemus Moth 42 
 
 10. Music 44 
 
 11. The Ironweed 46 
 
 12. Night-fall 48 
 
 13. "She Gave More Than They All" 51 
 
 14. Invitation to Poetical Thought 53 
 
 15. Star-voices 65 
 
 16. After Death 68 
 
 17. Epiphany 71 
 
 18. Aims and Needs 74 
 
 19. Wistfulness 76 
 
 20. The Seven Searchers 81 
 
 3 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is with some diffidence that I attempt to break 
 in on the good pleasure of the reading public in pre- 
 senting this volume of verse. Perhaps nothing has 
 induced me more, to take this step, than Carlyle's 
 exhortation when he says, ''Speak that which is in 
 you. ' ' This advice, if literally taken, could not well 
 be followed at all times, for it is an important lesson 
 of life to learn when to remain silent. Yet, does 
 not the tree, after absorbing the nutrition of the soil 
 and of the atmosphere, yield to us a largess of 
 sweet blossoms and rare fruit, so fine that it can not 
 be excelled, even in the imagination, by all the magic 
 of the genii of the Arabian Nights. Should, then, 
 the mind of man, reveling in the profusion of rich 
 growth-opportunities and soul-sustenance, not also 
 by proper assimilation, bring forth, or attempt to 
 bring forth, some flower or fruit, however modest? 
 If you permit me to follow up this comparison, I 
 wish to say that the food of the mind, like that of the 
 tree, is often received in a crude, jumbled sort of a 
 way. The important step comes after it has been 
 taken into the system, in the change it undergoes 
 
 5 
 
there. This process of change is accomplished in 
 the mind by classifying, generalizing and musing 
 on the things which the senses gathered. The ancients 
 ascribed this musing to the work of immortal beings, 
 called Muses. If, in the following verses, I shall ad- 
 dress these, I beg the reader to conceive that I merely 
 appeal to the workings of the mind for a clearer 
 apprehension. I have no acknowledgments to make 
 to any heathen divinity. But, right here, I wish to 
 make a higher acknowledgment. Even if the en- 
 vironments of the tree were perfect and the well 
 adapted soil, the deep roots, the graceful branches, 
 the dainty leaves, the well-channelled fibre, all con- 
 tributed to make a fruitful tree, and yet the God- 
 given rain and sunshine from above were withheld, 
 all would avail nothing. 
 
 It has been said that we, all, are poets and that 
 we, all, desire in our inmost nature to express some- 
 what of spiritual or intangible. This Ideal world of 
 the poet is often regarded as fanciful and visionary ; 
 yet it is more true than that which we call real, and 
 which we perceive with our outward senses and brush 
 up against in life. We could not say that the human 
 body, with which we have so much to do in life, is 
 more important than the soul which inhabits it. 
 
Thus the Ideal becomes the Real; and the 
 material part of the universe with which we have 
 so much traffic here, is only the curtain drawn by 
 solicitous mother-hands to shield her child from too 
 much light; or the toys and nursery things which 
 she has placed within our sight and within our reach, 
 that we may be fed and pacified : and the sound and 
 rhythm of nature is but the crooning of her lullaby 
 sOng in the gloaming, in order that we may learn to 
 know her voice and her image, and grow more to- 
 wards her love ; while behind and over it all stands 
 the Eternal. 
 
 Taking this view of it, poetry becomes impor- 
 tant, so that we can not well ignore it. The person 
 who brushes aside the claims of music and poetry, 
 as not being practical enough for this life, is like 
 one who disdains the pansy that grows at his feet, 
 or the song of the bird in the meadow, or the light 
 from the stars because they bring in no dollars and 
 cents. 
 
 Poetry should elicit as much attention from the 
 mind and heart of man as music. They are sisters, 
 that, hand in hand, have come down through the 
 haze of the ages to meet us of the modern day. And 
 
the perfume of God's atmosphere is still clinging to 
 their airy raiment, and from their lips come snatches 
 of the child-song that He sang at the cradle of the 
 human race. As the reel of life runs quickly we can 
 dimly see that the pansy is not earth-made, the star- 
 light is not star-made ; the eternal threnody of Job 
 came not from Job's heart, although he was swayed 
 by it; the up-reaching psalms of David are not the 
 deep heart-yearnings of David alone ; the apostle did 
 not construct the mooring-lines of faith and fasten 
 them to the foundation of heaven, although he 
 grasped them with strong hands ; but these are all 
 fragmentary strains of eternity's oratorio, which He 
 who said, ''Consider the lilies", fain would have us 
 understand. 
 
 I will say just one word regarding the subject- 
 matter of the book. The change, or we may call it 
 transformation, that took place in the lives of the 
 Seven Searchers may seem to the reader as being too 
 abrupt and unwarranted, in view of the variable 
 and sporadic light that came to them from the in- 
 structions of Rally. But only a few of Rally 's visions 
 and adventures are here recorded. If they were all 
 brought to paper they would make another book as 
 
large as this. For the present, they lie in cleavage, 
 unquarried. At some future time, at the instance of 
 my kind readers or at the call of leisure, perhaps 
 they might be dug up. 
 
 PAUL BAUMGARTNER. 
 
 Decatur, Indiana. March 27, 1915. 
 
FORE-WORD 
 
 Love is not dead. Though all the world goes 
 grieving 
 
 For fondest treasures that have slipped away; 
 Though fast approaching, bribeless night is weaving 
 
 A silent shroud to cover up the day ; 
 Though sadly, all, they seek their lowly bed, 
 Love is not dead. 
 
 Love is not dead. Though valiant youth is dying ; 
 
 Though war mows down a thousand in one place; 
 And where the deadly missiles still are flying 
 
 A woman gropes to find her lover 's face ; 
 Though hundred fields with blood run reeking red; 
 Love is not dead. 
 
 Love is not dead. Though servile Pilates flourish 
 And envious Herods still usurp the Light ; 
 
 And though the meek, eternal faith you cherish 
 Seems swallowed up in scoffing and in night ; 
 
 Break away and boldly calvary's mountain tread, 
 
 Love is not dead. 
 
 10 
 
OASES 
 
 Somewhere veiled in life's blue morning, 
 Somewhere on that golden shore 
 Lies a spot, so sweet, enchanted, 
 Memory turns to o'er and o'er. 
 Often when the heart is sinking 
 Or when filled with bliss most rare, 
 Fancy on retreating pinions 
 Makes a flight and lodges there. 
 
 Somewhere in love's sacred memory. 
 Somewhere on that dreamy shore 
 There's a face so rare and radiant 
 Memory turns to evermore. 
 Sometimes when the heart is stricken 
 Or for higher joys does yearn. 
 To this face of love-crowned glory 
 Fancy ever will return. 
 11 
 
Somewhere in life's hoarded treasury 
 Glints a gem of priceless worth, 
 And to learn to know its value 
 Above all the things of earth ; 
 And to purchase this one jewel 
 With your lifework as its price 
 Will exalt your soul forever 
 To the realms of paradise. 
 
 Somewhere in life's storied gallery 
 Hangs a painting where the heart 
 Feasts away its homesick hunger, 
 Lingering o 'er the god-like art ; 
 And the votary whose exalted 
 Spirit yields to its impress 
 Ever after carries with him 
 Floods of long, long happiness, 
 
 12 
 
Somewhere in the mind's dominion, 
 
 Somewhere on the glorious shore 
 
 Stands, undaunted by time's changes, 
 
 Life 's ideal, evermore ; 
 
 No iconoclast can ravage 
 
 And no sacrilege can scathe, 
 
 It defies the fitful spirit 
 
 Of man's ever- varying faith. 
 
 Somewhere on the shores eternal 
 Gleams a strand that does excel 
 All the far-famed ancient, classic 
 Fragrant fields of asphodel ; 
 Past the new, and past the old, and 
 Past the stars man strains his eyes, 
 If perhaps those realms elysian 
 To his wistful vision rise. 
 
 13 
 
Somewhere in the shadowy future 
 Beckons the long sought for goal 
 Towards which goes out the cherished, 
 Pleading silence of the soul. 
 And in patience man will labor , 
 
 And through long, long years will bide, 
 The supreme, triumphant moment 
 "When he will be satisfied. 
 
 Turn, dear soul, back to the common, 
 Worldly, week-day things of life, 
 But hold fast in silent patience 
 Through time 's ever-shifting strife ; 
 Still hold fast in pleading muteness 
 To these higher things you prized, 
 For in fullness, somewhere, sometime, 
 Each one will be realized, 
 
 14 
 
THE TIDE 
 
 Old Neptune, in the watery deep, 
 Lies on his bed of sea-weed soft; 
 
 Anon, he grumbles in his sleep 
 And tosses his huge limbs aloft. 
 And turns himself. 
 
 His broken sleep is void of ease; 
 
 Though monarch of the ocean wide. 
 Surrounding border-enemies 
 
 Still, harassing him on every side. 
 Keep him astir. 
 
 Scarce has he snatched an hour of rest 
 When comes the call, "To arms again! 
 
 Your land-foes from the east or west 
 Encroach upon your great domain!" 
 The giant wakes. 
 
 He shakes his bristling locks and calls 
 In storm-shrieks to his myrmidon ; 
 
 They, issuing from dark-heaving halls, 
 He, with his trident, goads them on, 
 Ready for battle. 
 
 15 
 
Then with a swift, tumultuous motion 
 The glittering armies land-ward pour; 
 
 Moving the water in the ocean 
 
 A thousand miles ; from shore to shore 
 The tide sets in. 
 
 Along the beach the breakers creep 
 Like little spies to feel the way, 
 
 Like picket-guardsmen from the deep 
 Sent out to see how the land lay, 
 By the watery host. 
 
 The sea makes onslaught at the land; 
 
 Fleet-footed billows, never slack, 
 Go galloping break-neck o'er the sand 
 
 And then retreat for a new attack ; 
 Eager for the fray. 
 
 The mighty waves with rush and roar 
 Leap into battle thick and fast, 
 
 Each mightier than the one before, 
 Each breaking higher than the last; 
 The great sea moans. 
 
 16 
 
As if some mighty fortress were 
 
 Assaulted by a mighty foe, 
 And up the rampart comes the stir 
 
 Of surging armies from below, 
 Pressing to the front. 
 
 Now comes the cavalry of the deep ; 
 
 Their armor and their sabres flash 
 Like burnished steel, and high they leap 
 
 With foaming bit into the clash. 
 The fight is on. 
 
 Thus column after columao. roll 
 
 And hurry glorious to their doom — 
 
 Low and deep you can hear the toll 
 
 Of the signal bells or the cannon's boom. 
 The tide is in. 
 
 17 
 
WOODS OF INDIANA 
 
 Howe'er dull my song, my theme 
 
 Is too precious 'most I deem, 
 
 Just for poesy and dream. 
 
 'Tis of cool sequestered places 
 
 In the Hoosier woods, where traces 
 
 Linger of primeval graces. 
 
 Talk of groves with beauty sweet; 
 
 There's no rival can compete. 
 
 From the Maine woods to Montana, 
 
 With the woods of Indiana. 
 
 There the trees, my loved ones, grow 
 
 Not in geometric row, 
 
 But no gardener could bestow 
 
 One more charm, or make a change 
 
 That would not the grace derange 
 
 Nature in her wondrous, strange, 
 
 Secret and mysterious ways 
 
 Through the long, long years and days 
 
 Platted out in her arcana 
 
 In the woods of Indiana. 
 
 18 
 
Some will find their heart's devotion 
 
 In the dance's mazy motion, 
 
 In the whirl of social notion; 
 
 Some will find their joy sublime 
 
 In the music's measured time 
 
 Or in rhapsody of rhyme; 
 
 But I leave them rave and revel 
 
 Out their joys on lower level, 
 
 For I find my soul's nirvana 
 
 In the woods of Indiana. 
 
 Beech-tree, pied with grey and cream, 
 Moss-beds, filmy fairy-dream, 
 Iron-weed with purple gleam, 
 Speak, in what your claims consist 
 That my whole heart's love enlist, 
 For your magic, I insist. 
 Is the rarest of the earth 
 From great forest in the north 
 To sweet southern savanna 
 In the woods of Indiana. 
 
 19 
 
How my trees do love each other! 
 Elm and ash and maple smother 
 "With embraces one another, 
 Walnut, linden, sycamore, 
 Hickory, linked with treasured store 
 And with child-hood's sylvan lore — 
 But the years change all, forsooth, 
 Save the never-dying youth 
 Of kind nature's sweet arcana 
 In the woods of Indiana. 
 
 Midst the groupings of these bowers 
 Grow the modest woodland flowers, 
 Strewn in clusters and in showers. 
 Bluebells and anemone 
 In their sweet simplicity 
 Have a cheering charm for me. 
 Weary, oft my way I wended 
 Hither, where I was befriended 
 And was feasted on sweet manna 
 In the woods of Indiana. 
 
 20 
 
Dainties, seasoned with incenses 
 Here my hidden host dispenses 
 To refresh my famished senses. 
 As I banquet, never-tiring 
 Do I listen to inspiring 
 Music that the birds are quiring 
 And I yield to soft content, 
 Infinite abandonment, 
 'Mongst the flora and the fauna 
 Of the woods of Indiana. 
 
 Yes, these are my friends of old, 
 And I sink on mellow mould 
 Flecked with dancing shade and gold, 
 And my vision drinks the reaches. 
 Avenues of oak and beeches 
 While my silent soul beseeches 
 Nature ne'er to break the thrall — 
 Cerulean blue is over all — 
 And my spirit finds nirvana 
 In the woods of Indiana. 
 
 21 
 
THE DOGS OF WAR 
 
 What sound comes from the fruitful plains of 
 
 Flanders — 
 What mutterings from Poland's ravished realm — 
 What clangs of clashing tumult from the Balkans — 
 What out-break, long-suppressed, now seems to 
 
 overwhelm 
 The muse-loved dells and home-crowned hills of 
 
 Europe ? 
 Alas! too true, they are the dreaded hounds; 
 The dogs of war have now outgrown their prison, 
 Have burst the bars and broken down the bounds 
 And with their red-mawed hayings and alarum 
 They run at large. Like flames will lick and sweep 
 Through some doomed city when the wild and 
 
 wanton 
 Winds cause the angry brands to spread and leap; 
 So do they over-run the peaceful hamlets; 
 Pack answers pack and fiercer grows the race; 
 Their ominous howl awakens all the echoes 
 Of long-forgotten wars. Time would efface 
 
 22 
 
And fain would smooth the bygone age's ravage; 
 But they stir up anew the ancient fight 
 And sniff along the former battle-fosses 
 To dig their gruesome contents up to sight. 
 They howl to glut their late-developed hunger 
 On earth's most precious product — human life. 
 And men will listen to the war-dog's clamor, 
 In their prone hearts is born desire for strife, 
 This wild stampede is rhythm to their senses, 
 This restless cry is music to their ears. 
 And they will drop their peaceful, homelike labor 
 And things accomplished by the thrift of years 
 And catch the warlike spirit of these demons 
 And flock along the trail from near and far 
 "While thousands upon thousands leave their loved 
 
 ones 
 And follow the relentless dogs of war. 
 Love can not hold. The kiss is interrupted 
 E'en in its early bliss. The sunny face 
 Of childhood, than which there is nothing sweeter. 
 The lingering love-look and the fond embrace, 
 The aged sire's pleading or the mother's 
 Strong grief, who knows who reared this food for 
 
 war 
 
 23 
 
And what the price, and what a useless, wasteful 
 
 Thing that it all is; all these can not bar 
 
 Or bid men's war-enthralled souls from combat, 
 
 They fain would follow and will twine around 
 
 The sleek and glossy throats of their seducers 
 
 Some fluttering motto with some thrilling sound, 
 
 As heroism, bravery, fame or glory. 
 
 They go, perhaps fall wounded, then they pray 
 
 For life to quickly pass and to relieve them, 
 
 For laggard death to hasten on his way. 
 
 Tell then, pensive muse, are they the offspring 
 
 Of savage race reared in some nether cave 
 
 Of Tartarus, whence they at intervening 
 
 Decades will issue and make man their slave? 
 
 "What is their pedigree and from what kennel 
 
 Spring they that can three continents embroil? 
 
 Are they the self-same brood that led the ancient 
 
 And prehistoric dweller on this soil? 
 
 They are the ones, the self-same progeny 
 
 That urged to carnage with inflaming cries 
 
 In cave or jungle. They bayed at lUium 
 
 When warriors fell and darkness veiled their eyes. 
 
 They followed at the heels of Roman legions, 
 
 Inciting their ambition. They also incensed 
 
 24 
 
The hordes of hairy heathens from the north-land. 
 
 And to the AUemanni they dispensed 
 
 Their fury and their taste for sanguine slaughter. 
 
 On this same soil, so many years ago 
 
 That time became adult since then, attaining 
 
 Its full majority, against the foe 
 
 They led the bloody Merovingian ambush, 
 
 The Saxon liegemen and their feudal lord. 
 
 They painted to the knights in glowing colors 
 
 The glory of their marriage to the sword. 
 
 And when these hounds could mass a dozen armies, 
 
 The Hun and Frank, the Moor and Muscovite 
 
 Of Spanish troops, Burgundian phalanxes 
 
 And hist them into battle's fiercest fight, 
 
 Then would they hold high carnival and revel. 
 
 And when they saw in bristling battle drawn 
 
 Grim-visaged hosts and warriors wolfish-looking 
 
 They breathed contention and they spurred them on. 
 
 Then, clear-eyed muse, deep-searching one, reveal 
 Where this blood-progeny is whelped and fostered 
 And where they whine their earliest appeal. 
 By whom is this prolific tribe first nourished? 
 'Tis in the home, where in some careless nook 
 
 25 
 
They are penned up and barred with good intentions 
 And leashed with fine apologies. They look 
 So frolicsome and harmless in their gambols 
 And have a charm that fascinates the mind. 
 For food the members of the household passing, 
 Throw to them little spites and things unkind, 
 And hates, all little wrongs and petty slanders, 
 Injustice and malicious thought and deed. 
 You then should see them thrive and grow and 
 
 prosper ; 
 Such food is what the greedy creatures need. 
 And in all public places are some cages 
 Devised to harbor specimens of these 
 Firmly secured by bands of public honor 
 And strong pretense of policy and peace. 
 And there the passing public through the barriers 
 Throw scraps of malice, hatred and ill-will 
 And feed these thrifty scions of the ancient 
 Arch-instigators to pillage and to kill. 
 They watch them fletch their teeth with satisfaction 
 At delicacies such as long-nursed grudges. 
 Or jealousies, or power-abused tribunals 
 "Where self-love and cupidity are judges. 
 They feed them fragments of the throttled tenets 
 
 26 
 
That said of old to man, ''Thou shalt not steal," 
 
 And remnants of the broken creed that teaches 
 
 To give to every man his due and deal. 
 
 They throw in racial narrowness, sweet morsels 
 
 Of hide-bound national intoleration. 
 
 They toss them groans of good men, persecuted. 
 
 Because they taught the way of man's salvation. 
 
 And in the theatres and public forums 
 
 Men keep these playful pets, with no design 
 
 Except to see them grow and feast and flourish 
 
 Upon the tribute offered at their shrine. 
 
 And through the nations are these nursing kennels 
 
 Where younglings of these dogs of war are reared; 
 
 But they are all environed with strong fetters 
 
 So strong, they say, that naught is to be feared. 
 
 E'en in the churches where men preach of mercy 
 
 Oft times are found in some secluded place 
 
 Behind the chancel wall a nest full hidden 
 
 And covered up with inconsistent — grace. 
 
 Nor do they starve. In governmental buildings 
 
 There oft is found a rabble of these pups 
 
 Well kept in shackles made of super-dreadnaughts. 
 
 The standing army, submarines and Krupps. 
 
 They say that these are proof against an out-break, 
 
 27 
 
And then around them all is placed a fence 
 
 Of royal intermarriages and treaties, 
 
 Peace-convocations and disarmaments. 
 
 The dogs are fattened here on oily diet 
 
 Of false diplomacy of court and state, 
 
 On puffed-up pride and boastful show of power 
 
 And lust for lands and seas, and wealth of state. 
 
 Until these minions, growing strong and willful. 
 
 Tug at and bend and break their prison bars 
 
 And howl one to the other in their fury 
 
 Forgotten echoes of a thousand wars. 
 
 And like from many lands soft peaceful brooklets 
 
 Converge their swollen floods to larger stream 
 
 Until it grows in volume like a deluge 
 
 And breaks through banks where homes and 
 
 harvests teem; 
 So have these dogs of war, now power-conscious. 
 Spurned all confinement, broken down their ranch 
 And swept o'er muse-loved, genius-favored Europe 
 With their dissensions like an avalanche. 
 
 Of thee, deep-thinking muse, I need no longer 
 Inquire what the cause of war might be. 
 Or who infused it, why men follow blindly, 
 
 28 
 
Have thex not nursed it in its infancy? 
 
 And fostered it in hearts and courts and councils? 
 
 I need not plead of thee to show its cure 
 
 Or to disclose where to begin prevention 
 
 Of war; and bring a peace that would endure. 
 
 But this, thoughtful-browed one, would I fathom 
 
 And am not able. How can some men hold 
 
 That there must needs be war to clear the path-way 
 
 To higher life ; hold, they were from of old 
 
 But birth-throes of a newer civilization; 
 
 That there are other things more dear than life? 
 
 'Tis true, the soldier's ebbing life when measured 
 
 With other pawns demanded by such strife 
 
 Is cheap. The sacrifice made by the living 
 
 Is greater far. The evils in the wake 
 
 Of glorious war appear like birds of carrion 
 
 In a campaign against the soul and make 
 
 A greater havoc than the deadly bullets. 
 
 The aftermath of war, its spiritual cost 
 
 In breeding vice, unthrift and use of liquor 
 
 Is far more fatal than the battles lost. 
 
 The yielding up of all to war's stern mandate. 
 
 The child-mind stunted, family uptorn, 
 
 The blighting seal on the pure souls of childhood, 
 
 29 
 
The stamp of destiny of those unborn. 
 And all the long, long years of dreaded payment 
 Until men's earning limbs will have become 
 Deformed and gnarled, his hands unshapely 
 
 work-hooks 
 And women's cheery singing will be dumb, 
 Their supple bodies doubly bent with burdens. 
 And child-faces, such as would court the light 
 To linger, go with brow depressed and old-like, 
 And minds endowed with atttributes of spright 
 And fulsome growth remain un-wooed and dormant. 
 Such are the wages which for war are paid. 
 They might as well say, sin is necessary 
 That good might be produced and right conveyed. 
 They might as well say, that consumption's ravage 
 Brings to the suffering patient better health, 
 Or that starvation and the pinch of hunger 
 Brings to its victim plenitude and wealth. 
 Must then the dish be broken and the porridge 
 Be spilt to find the children's hungry mouth? 
 And does the grouse evade the winter's rigor 
 By flying farther from the balmy south? 
 Must then the weaver's shuttle speed so fiercely 
 That it will set afire woof and weft? 
 
 30 
 
And must life's rental so exceed life's income 
 That all is spent and nothing will be left? 
 Nay, war, like error, travels in a circle; 
 This last is but the heritage of some 
 Preceding ones and it will be the silent 
 But certain cause of future ones to come. 
 Philosophy may teach there must be warfare 
 To break the old and readjust the new; 
 Did not philosophy down through the ages 
 Forever shift its tenets, change its view? 
 And august wisdom falls in ruts of error; 
 Some foremost sages but a year ago 
 Contended that there was but one solution 
 Of our own trouble with old Mexico. 
 And that was war; no other course was open, 
 That slaughter's fiery flag must be unfurled. 
 Yet in some better way was it adjusted; 
 The first time in the history of the world. 
 
 31 
 
THE CORNER IN WHEAT 
 
 On Exchange, one of the millionaires 
 
 "Was bandy-ing; words with the bulls and bears, 
 
 He was happy, for wheat was rising in price, 
 
 Financial investments had come around nice ; 
 
 So he said to himself, as he came down the stair 
 
 And blew the smoke from his fine cigar, 
 
 "I've got the bulge on 'em; I'll make them submit; 
 
 For I have the means to buy all in the pit; 
 
 I'll keep it longer; I'll make them pay more." 
 
 And he left in his gilded carriage and four. 
 
 That night a man with a heavy heart 
 "Went by the street of the city's mart; 
 Six children at home were yet to be fed; 
 They were all so small and their mother dead. 
 "Yes, when I had work I could keep them well 
 But now they're in want and I can't tell 
 What will become of these babes of mine, 
 They have had no supper ; the clock strikes nine. 
 
 32 
 
In the granaries are stored large masses of wheat, 
 For those that have money there is plenty to eat." 
 And a frozen fowl dangled under his nose — 
 He snatched it and hid it under his clothes 
 And his face towards the darkness he turned 
 So no one could see how with shame it burned. 
 When his conscience cried out and reproached 
 
 him for it 
 He answered, "Have mercy, I had to submit." 
 
 That night, a girl, but a little child. 
 With a piteous look so wan and wild, 
 Walked out alone, half-starved, half-clad. 
 While the wind blew fierce and the weather 
 
 turned bad. 
 Her father that evening had sent her out 
 To ask for bread and to beg about; 
 For times were hard and bread was high. 
 He could get no work, howsoe'er he would try. 
 So this little child walked out alone 
 With her tender bare feet o'er the cold, hard stone. 
 
 33 
 
Too timid to ask, she just walked on 
 Hardly thinking how far she had gone, 
 And she mused as she went, to herself she said : 
 "0, had I some shoes and a piece of bread j 
 They say in the country grow fields of wheat, 
 Why is it then, we have nothing to eat." 
 Her tears fell crystal on her breast ; 
 She had lost her way, she sat down to rest; 
 And Hunger and Cold in that dismal street 
 In icy tones whispered: ''You must submit "- 
 And still the wind with her curls would play 
 When they found her cold and white, next day. 
 
 In the insane ward a woman lay 
 
 That night and raved her life away. 
 
 She was a girl once, with a mien 
 
 As sweet as any that may be seen ; 
 
 She loved and married and few do start 
 
 Into life's troubles with a stronger heart. 
 
 Few hold, like she, through the wear of years. 
 
 It is the story of eternal tears, 
 
 34 
 
Of the super-human love of mother 
 In her efforts to hold her own together. 
 The stories recorded in chivalry's name, 
 The deeds emblazoned on walls of fame, 
 The legends of battle, the heroic tale, 
 The vaunted glory around them would pale 
 If human language the words would hold 
 And the true story of "mothers" were told. 
 And so this woman; she worked and toiled 
 For the children's good. Though often foiled 
 In her anxious task to guide and control, 
 To keep them clean in body and soul. 
 They had a home — and if no more 
 The mother thought it worth dying for. 
 But out of the depths came a specter, gaunt. 
 Grim and insidious; his name is "Want;" 
 And where he enters, money will measure 
 And put on the market each sacred treasure. 
 The mother plodded as woman plods. 
 But found now against her many odds. 
 
 35 
 
She failed — and she and hers were hurled 
 Into the maelstrom of the world. 
 
 That night, in a garret, dingy and dark, 
 
 A pale-faced maiden was busy at work. 
 
 Her hands were tired and her fingers numb, 
 
 She had sewed all day for a paltry sum. 
 
 So many shirts she must make each day; 
 
 Her toil was arduous, meager her pay. 
 
 She cauld hardly in decent clothes appear 
 
 For money was scarce and bread was dear. 
 
 In vain against hunger and cold she fought; 
 
 Now something was ever crossing her thought; 
 
 That evening, some women, bedizened and gay, 
 
 Laughing and joking had passed her way. 
 
 And while she was starving and naked and froze 
 
 These women had money and ribbons and clothes. 
 
 In this trying hour the tempter came — 
 
 O, how she shrank from a life of shame. 
 
 Must then her only possession go? 
 
 Must her jewels be pawned and forfeited so? 
 
 36 
 
That night a noble young man went wrong; 
 The road to fortune had seemed too long. 
 He, fitted out with brawn and brain, 
 Had entered the ranks of life to gain 
 An honest measure of success 
 By dint of hard study and willingness 
 To earn through merit a competence, 
 And pay for a dollar a hundred cents. 
 But on life's busy thorough-fare 
 He noticed some that would get there 
 By different means, on a shorter route; 
 Who all time-honored ways would flout 
 And ride them over; and they got returns 
 By methods that only a trickster learns. 
 Then they would boast and hobnob and jeer 
 And speak about honesty with a sneer. 
 He saw them prosper; the insolvent cheat, 
 The watered stock, the corner in wheat. 
 And plenty of blue air could they find, 
 And they spurned the plodder, left behind. 
 This made his strong ambition chafe; 
 
 37 
 
He left his path for ways unsafe — 
 He vowed to get rich at any cost — 
 The dollar had won, the soul had lost. 
 
 From the cold, bleak street a child, that night, 
 Was carried by angels to gates of light; 
 When, free from her suffering, she looked on 
 
 the place 
 A smile of glory came over her face. 
 And a woman, with face in halo framed, 
 Was there, with her mind restored, reclaimed. 
 The recording angel his ledger took 
 And he said: "I must balance this debit book 
 And charge to each the proper amount — 
 It is strange, but in the gross account 
 Of this night's sins I find that others 
 Are guilty of the sins of their brothers. 
 They are forced into sin, if not enticed — 
 No wonder the world has need of Christ." 
 And the man of theft and the woman of shame 
 He there absolved from much of blame; 
 
 38 
 
And he made a charge to the millionaire 
 
 Who had caused this misery and laid the snare. 
 
 But after the angel's task was done 
 
 With unerring figures for every one 
 
 He wrote across every debtor's name: 
 
 ''Recommended for mercy." And he did the same 
 
 Across the account of the millionaire 
 
 For he said: ''He, too, was trapped in a snare." 
 
 39 
 
HOPE 
 
 Though, in autumn, fragrant bushes 
 Broadcast all their beauty strew, 
 
 KnoWj that spring's incipient blushes 
 Bring their bud and bloom anew. 
 
 Though, sometimes, a day of glory 
 Turns to night of storm and rain, 
 
 May not azure-browed Aurora 
 Hail the sunlight's smile again? 
 
 Even if a face of rareness 
 
 Hardens, darkens, sad and stern, 
 
 May it not resume its fairness 
 And respond to love's return? 
 
 And a heart submerged by sadness 
 And by sorrow cleft in twain, 
 
 Haply will return to gladness. 
 All its bruises heal again, 
 
 40 
 
Then, wherefore should sore repining 
 Or despair the heart destroy — 
 
 May be troubled days are twining 
 Garlands of returning joy. 
 
 Some auspicious star is ever 
 
 Beckoning through time 's horoscope ; 
 And the soul should wear forever 
 
 Blossoms of perennial hope. 
 
 41 
 
To a polyphemus moth, found by Ruth, clinging 
 to one of the stone columns in front of the Decatur 
 Library on June 15, 1914. 
 
 Eare Loiterer, in hidden haunts you must have 
 
 sought and found 
 Each gem-thread of your costly robe, each grace-line, 
 
 beauty-bound. 
 And now to these environments, where at some 
 
 strange behest 
 Man, too, is ever seeking light-rays in a long, 
 
 long quest, 
 You come; perhaps attracted by some gleams of 
 
 hard-learned art, 
 Which man essays to utter here and there in 
 
 fragment part; 
 You come and nonchalantly perch upon this carved 
 
 facade 
 And quite discourage man-made art by that which 
 
 nature made. 
 You shame an age's effort; like when all the wealth 
 
 of lore 
 And utmost human knowledge garnered from the 
 
 years of yore 
 
 42 
 
By Rabbi's prized and guarded from iconoclastic 
 
 doubt, 
 Was by a simple child-lip spoken Christ-word 
 
 clear put out. 
 Was it your own heart's love-instinct that was so 
 
 true to sift 
 The soft and filmy filaments to weave your vesture 's 
 
 weft? 
 Or was it some inherent cry of nature to adorn, 
 Some deep enthralled beauty-sense that languished 
 
 to be bom? 
 Or did the heavenly Artist from His treasured beauty 
 
 store 
 Select the daintiest garment that a creature ever 
 
 wore 
 To clothe the humblest one, to show again how He 
 
 delights 
 To elevate what is despised to beauty's highest 
 
 heights, 
 To prove again that of His rich salvation He does 
 
 vest 
 The amplest measure in the meekest and the low- 
 liest? 
 
 43 
 
MUSIC 
 
 Music is the blended speech 
 
 Of heaven 's border-line, 
 Where our grosser talk of earth 
 
 With angel-words combine. 
 In proud, overwhelming tones it swells, 
 Or soft on melting accents dwells, 
 Until the raptured spirit wells 
 
 In harmony divine. 
 
 Away from these material ties 
 
 It leads with unseen hands, 
 With unseen arms it guides to where 
 
 Our vision's range expands, 
 Till our small heart the great world holds. 
 Its joys and beauties all unfolds; 
 This common work-day world it moulds 
 
 Into ecstatic lands. 
 44 
 
Its undulations float along 
 Like winds o'er waving grain, 
 
 And crowd a train of wandering thoughts 
 Upon our pensive brain; 
 
 A train that no beginning hath, 
 
 A feeling that ne'er passed the breath. 
 
 And all of life and all of death 
 Is mingled in the strain. 
 
 45 
 
THE IRON- WEED. 
 
 You may croon me a rune of the lotus-bloom 
 
 On the dank river-bank of the ancient Nile ; 
 You may praise in fond lays their cloying perfume 
 
 That, they say, can allay and forever beguile 
 The pent up tears and the wounds of the years — 
 
 But why sing of Egypt 's reed-bound shore 
 When I know flowers with stranger powers 
 
 Right near my Hoosier cottage door? 
 
 Though they hold not the gold or the glimmering 
 sheen, 
 
 The perfume or rich bloom that some flowers show, 
 Yet I feel them steal on my soul, unseen, 
 
 In fallows where mallows and mullein-weeds grow. 
 Like a fairy band they hold in their hand 
 
 Some hidden, unbidden delight of the mead 
 And with magic art they draw from my heart 
 
 A deathless love for the iron-weed. 
 
 46 
 
No splendour could render such delicate charm, 
 
 No attar could scatter a daintier spell 
 O'er the child-haunts and romance down on the old 
 farm 
 
 Where heart-sweet with bare feet I wandered at 
 will. 
 Now often I yield to the call of the field 
 
 And seek by the creek where the kine used to feed 
 Some untarnished scroll of my wistful soul 
 
 In the lure and the love of the iron-weed. 
 
 Sing muse, if you choose, of the flowers of Greece 
 
 That bloomed sweet on Hymettus' fragrant hill, 
 Amaryllas and lilies and rosemaries 
 
 "With mazes of daisies and daffodil; 
 Let the hyacinth breathe and the amaranth wreathe 
 
 Me a seeming old dream of that classic mead — 
 But why dreams of yore when I love much more 
 
 The obscure soft lure of the iron-weed. 
 
 47 
 
NIGHT-FALL 
 
 The twilight gathers, and the sway 
 And sovereignty of the orb of light 
 
 Is broken, and imperious Day 
 
 Must yield his scepter to the Night. 
 
 Night comes not like the opening door 
 Of morning, with its stir and din ; 
 
 But like a mother, bending o'er 
 The crib her child is cradled in. 
 
 The Day's impetuous course is run; 
 
 Night has her somber flag unfurled 
 And golden wings from the hovering sun 
 
 Like angels bless the sinking world. 
 
 The languid earth now seeks her couch 
 And hidden hands restrain the light, 
 
 "While giant shadows creep and crouch 
 Out from the borders of the night. 
 48 
 
The queen of light leaves with dispatch, 
 Dark forms arise from woods and leas, 
 
 Pursuing her; they fain would snatch 
 Her streaming garments as she flees. 
 
 The queen of night, as if on down. 
 
 Glides o'er the world in brown disguise; 
 
 "With flutter of her trailing gown, 
 "With star-light in her dusky eyes. 
 
 Though not so fair as day, and yet 
 The child cries in her soft embrace, 
 
 And finds from worry and from fret 
 A kind and gentle nestling-place. 
 
 Soft-breathing breezes, rendered sweet 
 By some coy flower's dainty scent, 
 
 "Waft balmy fragrance and entreat 
 To sleep and sleep's abandonment. 
 
 49 
 
So Day and Night reign o'er their realms; 
 
 They have their toils, they teach their 
 truths ; 
 The Day with splendour overwhelms, 
 
 The Night the tired bosom soothes. 
 
 So Life's and Death's alternate reign 
 Bring cause to hope, and cause to weep, 
 
 Love's music, and the sad refrain 
 Of waning life, and rest, and sleep. 
 
 The envoy. 
 
 If you love day, then be consoled. 
 
 Night has but its allotted time ; 
 If you wish night, the day grows old 
 
 And night is here, serene, sublime. 
 
 If you love life, take comfort here. 
 Somewhere a greater life will dawn; 
 
 And if you're weary, death is near 
 To rest you and then lead you on. 
 
 50 
 
"SHE GAVE MORE THAN THEY ALL" 
 
 You, who give lavishly, 
 
 Think, how you take ; 
 Your neighbor has one, where 
 
 You thousands make. 
 Though you have millions, 
 
 By the true measuring rod 
 His, counts as much as your 
 
 In the clear sight of God. 
 
 Think, can you take his mite 
 
 As a just toll? 
 His, is a trifle 
 
 Compared with your roll. 
 Nay, by God's measuring line 
 
 His, is more valued 
 Yours, is but a luxury's price 
 
 His, buys the children bread. 
 51 
 
Heaven's favor bless those who 
 
 Hungry mouths feed; 
 But why donate millions 
 
 "Where there's no need? 
 "Where did you get it all? 
 
 At the Lord's judgment throne 
 You are indicted, 
 
 You took his very own. 
 
 Think, can philanthropy 
 
 Ever atone 
 For this, though your drag-net 
 
 Caught but his one ? 
 Nayj you have filched from him 
 
 Faith in an honest race. 
 Trust in his own self-help and 
 
 Courage this world to face. 
 
 52 
 
THE MIND'S INVITATION TO POETICAL 
 THOUGHT 
 
 Gentle muse, I woo thy favor, 
 
 Grant me thy propitious smUe ; 
 And ye, early child-hood shadows, 
 
 Linger once agaiu a while. 
 Dreamland, ope thy mystic portals 
 
 And disclose thy shadowy plain; 
 Fleeting forms of former fancies 
 
 Flit athwart it once again. 
 
 Draw the curtains and unveil the 
 
 Visions limned by life 's own hand ; 
 Usher in the throng which mingled 
 
 On a half -forgotten strand ; 
 All those images which early 
 
 Wove their strange fantastic spell, 
 Sadder shades, whose earnest meaning 
 
 Later life has taught so well. 
 53 
 
Generous muse, rehearse the pageant 
 
 Of man's life as it appears 
 Through the sweep of memory's mystic 
 
 Molten glamour of the years ; 
 Paint in lucid, softened pictures 
 
 Shade and sunshine of the past, 
 When the storms on life 's arena 
 
 Chased each other fierce and fast. 
 
 When the gleeful bells of morning 
 Bang in rhythm with the swell 
 
 Of the myriad-mouthed music 
 On life 's busy citadel ; 
 
 When those stirring peals and throbbing 
 
 Later blended with the chime. 
 
 With the mellowed, muffled cadence 
 
 That will greet life 's after-time. 
 
 54 
 
Open wide the long-passed flood-gates, 
 
 Bid forgotten prayers surge 
 From them and with their impulsive 
 
 Pleas again the soul submerge. 
 Show the answers to those prayers, 
 
 Offered vaguely and unskilled, 
 How they years and years unawares 
 
 In their own way were fulfilled. 
 
 Suppress not the scenes of anguish 
 
 That the past can conjure up; 
 Rather show the chastening purpose ; 
 
 Pass once more life's bitter cup; 
 From the buried days of sorrow 
 
 Bid the fount of pent-up tears 
 Break its seal, and deep contrition 
 
 "Weep again the woe of years. 
 55 
 
Bring to mind again the pleasure, 
 
 Pure and exquisite content 
 With which in an ample measure 
 
 Time's dear troubles are besprent. 
 For the draught of tribulation's 
 
 After-taste with sweetness blends; 
 Pain and sorrow have their season, 
 
 Cheer and love are constant friends. 
 
 Gentle muse, vouchsafe not only 
 
 Half -blurred visions of the past 
 But unlock the living present 
 
 With its varied views and vast. 
 But life is a restless ocean 
 
 With such mystic burdened waves 
 The presumptuous bard is humbled 
 
 At the seer-gift that he craves. 
 56 
 
For around him crowd the living 
 
 With the moist sweat on their brows 
 Struggling with their love-plans, life-plans — 
 
 Which the bard would fain espouse; 
 And the pencil dipped in heart-love 
 
 Fain in pictures would translate 
 All their deep-stored future destiny, 
 
 All their bliss-fraught, dread-fraught fate. 
 
 And he yearns to sketch the promptings 
 
 And impulses of the soul 
 That have power to stir to action 
 
 And have virtue to control 
 All the drift of man's ambitions. 
 
 These the poet fain would glean 
 
 Till he sees the heart 's exhaustless 
 
 Passions pictured on a screen : 
 57 
 
Sees where swift cohorts of progress 
 Push their ranks along the track 
 
 Of advancement, and the evil 
 Hamper them and hold them back ; 
 
 And where mercy builds a highway- 
 Through the wilderness of time 
 
 And the tyrant marches o'er it 
 To advance his cause of crime : 
 
 How sometimes there looms the promised 
 
 Diadem to mortal eyes 
 And a multitude of loyal 
 
 Ones rush up to pluck the prize ; 
 How these stretched-out hands fall listless 
 
 And their crown is snatched away 
 And man retrogrades to war and 
 
 Old time hatred and dismay. 
 58 
 
Like a panorama, show the 
 
 Paintings in life's hazy halls, 
 All the glad ones and the sad ones 
 
 On the strangely panelled walls, 
 Where the God-sprung human figures 
 
 Sturdily, with smile or frown, 
 Fight their life-fight, sing their life-song, 
 
 Laugh and weep and then go down. 
 
 But the mind gets tired pondering 
 
 On man's life as it appears. 
 And the mind gets weary, solving 
 
 At the problem of the years. • 
 Lead me back then to the sunshine 
 
 And its magic alchemy; 
 To the soothing haunts of child-hood — 
 
 Nature, and its poetry. 
 59 
 
Nature's muse, help thy diviner 
 
 Sister swing the magic wand 
 That untangles life's rare message 
 
 And interprets the Beyond. 
 Let us from the common bird-song 
 
 And the water's lisp imbibe 
 Sacred lore from which our souls may 
 
 Higher prophecies transcribe. 
 
 Like a child that at the conch-shell's 
 
 Rosy lips, with wondering eyes, 
 Listens, thinking it can hear the 
 
 Ocean's untold mysteries, 
 Later finds that those are echoes 
 
 Of its own life and the key 
 To a more momentous secret 
 
 Than that of the wind and sea. 
 60 
 
All depictings of the Present 
 
 Or the Past, howe'er succinct, 
 Are but fragmentary, broken. 
 
 If not with the Future linked. 
 Gentle muse, exalt my inner 
 
 Senses then, that I may reach 
 Out upon the trackless Future 
 
 And discern what it would teach. 
 
 Oft are heard above life's tumult 
 
 Strange acclaims from yonder shore. 
 And across the pathless distance 
 
 Come and come forevermore 
 Strains of some undying world-song ; 
 
 And above it, soft and clear 
 Leads a voice whose heavenly cadence 
 
 Breathes of some sublimer sphere. 
 61 
 
I'll not vie to walk with Dante 
 
 O'er the light-kissed hills of morn, 
 Or to watch in lurid twilight 
 
 Shades o'er Styx's billows borne, 
 Nor to reach the heights of Milton 
 
 Sealing heaven with his art, 
 Nor of Avon's bard, revealing 
 
 Wonders of the human heart. 
 
 I can't hope to sing, like Homer, 
 
 A lost age's life-refrain, 
 Nor to tune my lay, with Virgil's 
 
 To that lofty poet's strain. 
 Nor with Goethe quaff the muses' 
 Richest vintage of the years. 
 Nor with Hugo chant the sad, sad 
 Songs of everlasting tears. 
 62 
 
Though I fain would add, like others, 
 
 Luster to our country 's fame. 
 Or exalt, like our own Riley, 
 
 Indiana's classic name; 
 Yet I glean these scattered fragments 
 
 All unknown and wait serene. 
 My reward will be sufficient 
 
 In the ephah which I glean. 
 
 If to life's sublime cathedral 
 
 Favored ones their votive bear, 
 Grant that kneeling in the door-way 
 
 "With some humble worshiper 
 Of the sacred, solemn service 
 
 Mingled murmurs I may hear, 
 Of the grand orchestral music 
 
 Passing strains my reach my ear . 
 63 
 
And my mission is accomplished 
 
 And my soul shall be content 
 If to starving ones I show some 
 
 Hidden source of nourishment. 
 For a caravan rich-fraughted 
 
 And heaped high with kingly stores, 
 Chartered by some kingly sender 
 
 Passes ever at our doors. 
 
 64 
 
STAR-VOICES 
 
 Look out upon the tenements of God, 
 
 The starry heavens in their brilliant glare. 
 
 Conceive how vast, how deep, how long, how broad 
 The ground-plan was of Him who builded there. 
 
 Long ere the first sweet anxious human face 
 Peered out aloft from this our mother earth, 
 
 The stars were there in their allotted place 
 
 "Uttering speech and showing knowledge" since 
 their birth. 
 
 There is bright Orion 's beacon-flash on high, 
 
 Erect and grand, invincible and true. 
 Like some great watchman of the southern sky 
 
 Treading his rounds in the ethereal blue. 
 
 And there Arcturus, with his steady gaze 
 Looks down in human eyes as if to say : 
 
 "I can but speak my love to you in rays 
 For I'm a hundred trillion miles away." 
 
 65 
 
Through far, abysmal reaches of wide space 
 By sweet star-voices are we ever wooed 
 
 And lifting litanies of love and grace 
 Break the deep stillness of Infinitude. 
 
 Do they not speak to us ? Do we then lift 
 In vain our eager searching eyes above ? 
 Is not their blessed limpid light a gift ? 
 Does not a giver plainly say : * * I love ' ' ? 
 
 Their firmanent of joy and beauty siags. 
 
 The beauty of the jewel-vaulted sky 
 Falls on us like a benison and clings 
 
 Around us like sweet incense from on high. 
 
 Their voices chant to us of trust sublime, 
 That He who through illimitable space 
 
 And through the dim immensity of time 
 
 Can lead these spheres, will lead us with His grace. 
 66 
 
They sing of faith; the faith that in the grand 
 Immeasurable fabric-house there should 
 
 Be He who made it glorious, He who planned 
 It all and saw that it was very good. 
 
 The meek shall walk these bending courts of light, 
 
 And the refulgent canopy shall be 
 A hallowed sanctuary to invite 
 
 To quiet reverence and humility. 
 
 For through wide reaches of abysmal space 
 By sweet star- voices are we ever wooed, 
 
 And lifting litanies of love and grace 
 Break the deep silence of Infinitude. 
 
 67 
 
AFTER DEATH 
 
 Lord, if I should die today, 
 
 Should I lose all the things I wrought on this life's 
 
 toilsome way? 
 Should I lose all this little good I sought so hard to 
 
 gain, 
 All that I strove for here on earth with worry and 
 
 with pain, 
 "Would all my sweet ambitions and the dreamings of 
 
 my life 
 With all the pleasant things I loved and clung to 
 
 through the strife. 
 With all their sweet environments, forever fall away, 
 O Lord, if I should die today? 
 
 O Lord, if I should die today. 
 
 Would all my aims and plans be only realized 
 
 half-way. 
 And would life's book of poems only fragment lines 
 
 contain ? 
 Would life's great song be broken in the middle of 
 
 the strain? 
 The pages of God's nature-book to which I love to 
 
 yield 
 Would be forever closed to me, its leaves forever 
 
 sealed ? 
 My heritage of mind and thought would be cut ofE 
 
 straightway, 
 O Lord, if I should die today? 
 
 68 
 
O Lord, if I should die today, 
 
 Would all this sweet and bouyant summer light of 
 
 life's noonday 
 Be quenched and damped and darkened into sad and 
 
 silent night? 
 And every gleam I gathered from the heavenly 
 
 realms of light, 
 And all my soul's wild reaching out and my heart's 
 
 hungry cry 
 Be still and stifled and unanswered with the days 
 
 gone by? 
 Could I not even, like one sleeping, dream of time 
 
 that passed away 
 O Lord, if I should die today? 
 
 O Lord, if I should die today, 
 
 The spoiler's hand would level down this earthly 
 
 house of clay 
 And pillage all its furnishings ; and yet my soul 
 
 discerns, 
 It is but exiled to a better, purer home for which it 
 
 yearns, 
 "Where things worth while from earth shall be as 
 
 precious as of yore 
 And blend with the transporting joys that heaven 
 
 has in store; 
 "Where light and right and truth and growth and 
 
 mercy have full sway, 
 O Lord, if I should die today. 
 
 69 
 
Lord, if I should die today, 
 
 Whatever I would lose with earth, keep me Thy 
 
 love, I pray; 
 Thy love so real, that sought me and with over- 
 whelming grace 
 Through all my prone, half-faithful life held me in 
 
 sweet embrace; 
 Then would I fear death's ruthless grasp and 
 
 dreaded sting no more, 
 Then would I launch out gladly from this life's 
 
 tumultuous shore. 
 Led by Thy life-inspiring love, forever and for aye, 
 Lord if I should die today. 
 
 70 
 
EPIPHANY 
 
 Luke 1, 78. 
 
 Out from the vistas of eternity 
 Each new day comes, a messenger to me ; 
 From palaces on the eternal shore, 
 Each morning is an envoy at my door. 
 
 His robes are rich and radiant, so rare 
 No Eastern splendour can with them compare; 
 No poet's dream or vision could review 
 The beauty of his princely retinue. 
 
 Perhaps beyond the distant Pleiades 
 Where myriad spheres swing on in ellipses 
 This great King dwelleth, whose ambassador 
 Fraught with rich gifts is entering at my door. 
 
 First, from the King 's ethereal realms so bright 
 He brings a flood of winsomCj gladsome light; 
 The light that makes me laugh. He brings the 
 
 wealth 
 Of flowers, singing birds and glowing health. 
 
 71 
 
Aye, he brings more ; the love of human kind, 
 Of kin and friends, of heart-strings intertwined, 
 Encircling arms, endearing names, above 
 All else the lisp of childhood's guileless love. 
 
 And from his master's treasure-house he brings 
 Gifts, the most precious of all precious things; 
 An answered prayer; a contrite humble soul; 
 A blessed christian life, through faith made whole. 
 
 And from the store-house of his King he brought 
 The talisman of thaumaturgic thought; 
 Deep joys of delving deep, in searching out 
 And wresting truth from ignorance and doubt. 
 
 "Teach me bright herald of the light," cried I, 
 How I can love your gracious King and by 
 What service please Him;" He replied, "By one, 
 Accept another gift, the greatest one." 
 72 
 
And from among the splendour of his train 
 Came one in servant's garb and would remain 
 With me and be my helper and my friend. 
 I gazed — this greatest gift to comprehend. 
 
 Then as a child, long lost, with yearning cry 
 
 To mother clings ; so did I to Him fly ; 
 
 So did my heart to Him a love-cry bring. 
 
 My envoy said, ''Behold your Lord, the King." 
 
 Out from the vistas of eternity 
 The morning's glory-light shines full and free; 
 Not only earthly day-spring does it grant, 
 The King comes from among the radiant. 
 
 And as the starlight's sheen will never pale, 
 So His inviting grace will never fail. 
 Behold, His open, outstretched, giving hand 
 Is filled with gifts for us from heaven's land. 
 73 
 
AIMS AND NEEDS 
 
 Lord, I have aims; my higher orisons 
 Seek for the star-lit path that upward runs; 
 But when I scan my need of humbler things 
 It puts an anchor to my soaring wings. 
 
 I dream of conquests, and my spirit vies 
 To scale in triumph the sublimer skies; 
 But my heart-needs admonish and I know 
 The lowly path is all that I can go. 
 
 Lord, my aspiring life has often sought 
 The virtues which Thy noble life has taught; 
 And here again I learn, if I want these 
 That I must live my life upon my knees. 
 
 I look with longing to the sunlit hills, 
 And a sweeet impulse through my bosom thrills 
 To leave the valley; yet I know, I know, 
 'Tis safer with Thy hidden love below. 
 74 
 
Yes, I have many, many humble needs; 
 And though my vaulting spirit sometimes pleads 
 That I might live in higher realms, I know 
 The lowly path is all that I can go. 
 
 75 
 
WISTFULNESS 
 
 Lord, lead my storm-tossed bark to Thee; 
 I am weary and tempest-driven. 
 
 Bid Thy gale hie my sail to the jasper sea 
 That lies laughing in the offing of heaven. 
 
 Lord, I sue for a view of the waving palms 
 Where the islands of Thy highlands arise; 
 
 1 would fain hear a strain of the heaven-sweet 
 
 psalms 
 From that far, wooing paradise. 
 
 0, I ween I can glean from that glory-world 
 
 A vision of elysian field; 
 I yearn to discern the sweet realms unfurled 
 
 And the heavenly mansions revealed. 
 I long for the throng on the sacred strand 
 
 And to kneel with Thy seal on my brow, 
 To embrace as a grace from Thy Father-hand 
 
 Things higher, I desire even now. 
 76 
 
I'm a-weary of this dreary and turbulent sea; 
 
 For the joyful moment I pine 
 When salvation's habitations will appear to me 
 
 Breaking over the far sea-line ; 
 When my eyes in surprise shall a glory behold 
 
 Not allowed to the proud and the wise, 
 For in meekness I seek till my soul is consoled 
 
 With arrha from paradise. 
 
 I would here tarry near, and Thy summons abide, 
 
 Where the bright city's white towers show; 
 I would note their forms float in the glassy tide 
 
 With their pinnacles all aglow. 
 I could view through the blue of Thy sunlit strand 
 
 Fronded isles lapped in smiles of the sea, 
 And the motion of the ocean would, like mother's 
 hand, 
 
 Rock my troubles away from me. 
 77 
 
And the wave's listless lave and the wind that 
 swerved 
 
 O'er my ship would chant a refrain 
 Of a guerdon that came to my soul, undeserved, 
 
 Of a love I never could gain. 
 With a cry I would try the plan to unfold 
 
 That wafted my craft on this sunny sea, 
 But forever, I never could fathom or hold 
 
 The cause of the love of eternity. 
 
 Then my craft would I moor near the shore of 
 that land 
 The home of the blood-washed throng; 
 From the beach do they reach out their beckoning 
 hand, 
 And it makes me so ardently long ; 
 For I trow that they know and their bright faces 
 glow, 
 "When they think of life's cruel tide, 
 How through much tribulation and sorrow 
 and woe 
 We seek to be satisfied. 
 
 78 
 
But, Lord, I 'm content with what Thy love brings 
 
 And I kneel for my weal or my woe ; 
 In the fright of the night my hand still clings 
 
 To a hand that will not let me go. 
 With Thy aid, unafraid, I shall persevere, 
 
 Till I see Thy likeness and form. 
 For we hear, sweet and clear, Thy assuring cheer 
 
 Through the gloom and the spume of the storm. 
 
 79 
 
SIlj^ Bmm BmvtliittB 
 
THE SEVEN SEARCHERS 
 
 In some old college town, the story goes, 
 
 There dwelt an aged savant. He was kind 
 And very wise, but never would disclose 
 
 His learning, and disguised his deeper mind 
 In feigned ignorance. Oft like a dunce 
 
 With vacant air and blankness in his face 
 He answered weighty questions by mere grunts 
 
 Or by some vague, unmeaning paraphrase. 
 And yet the freshmen whispered it about 
 
 "With awe-struck looks, that this old man could 
 solve 
 Problems, of which the wisest were in doubt, 
 
 Great questions, which the world could not evolve. 
 And older students were afraid of him. 
 
 For in their mental tiffs he often made 
 Them know that if they plunged they had to swim 
 
 In waters that he only seemed to wade. 
 They had him with much mystery surrounded; 
 
 They felt, but fathomed not, his giant mind ; 
 This caused strange rumors and reports unfounded 
 
 To circulate. Some said that he could find 
 Trove treasures by some cabalistic art; 
 
 81 
 
He was in league with Satan, one would say; 
 Unlettered folk with apprehensive heart, 
 
 "Would cross themselves whene'er he passed their 
 way. 
 The faculty and students of the college 
 
 And learned people seemed to all agree 
 That he possessed both deep and lofty knowledge; 
 
 And some went farther ; said he could foresee 
 By some prophetic gift of intuition. 
 
 The future; that he could foretell events, 
 Like some profound, adept mathematician 
 
 Can figure out results. Some higher sense. 
 They said, pervades his intellectual field. 
 
 Suggesting that in his past life at some 
 Sublimer shrine of knowledge he had kneeled. 
 
 Which, though suppressed, would to the surface 
 come. 
 
 He knew the Truth, they claimed, concerning Man; 
 
 Man 's purpose, and the course that is the best 
 To follow, to fulfiill life 's wondrous plan. 
 
 They claimed he knew what others only guessed. 
 Yet he loved human-kind, would often come 
 
 To gatherings and bowed but rarely spoke 
 
 82 
 
"When honored. Rarely could the cry of some 
 
 Great inner thought a word from him evoke. 
 Like when an artist, who had stirred the world 
 
 With his deft pencil and creative mind 
 Is from his high career forever hurled 
 
 When untoward misfortune made him blind, 
 Will sit in darkness, brood in silence on 
 
 The time when winged genius brought him fame, 
 Until the embers of a fire long gone 
 
 On memory 's hearth are kindled into flame ; 
 So seemed our sage whene'er he sat so cold, 
 
 The image of arrested thought; as if 
 Egyptian stone-hewn Colossi of old 
 
 Forgot their message that they were to give. 
 So seemed our sage, when from some quiet story 
 
 He suddenly aroused and from him gushed 
 An inundating flood of mental glory 
 
 That all his hearers into silence hushed. 
 As though he caught himself, he then would lapse 
 
 Into grim silence and would say no more, 
 But looked chagrined; the hearers thought perhaps 
 
 That he begrudged his intellectual store. 
 And so the students one day had a meeting 
 
 For consultation and to lay a plan 
 To wring by stratagem or by entreating 
 
 The guarded knowledge from the silent man. 
 
 83 
 
By some excuse they brought him where they met 
 
 And greeted him with some contumely, 
 Demanded of him that he pay his debt. 
 
 To them and to poor blind humanity. 
 "Behold," they plead, "these ancient college walls 
 
 Hold garnered wisdom of five thousand years 
 And more ; you are aware how in these halls 
 
 Infinite pains and toil and even tears 
 And human lives are laid at wisdom's shrine. 
 
 The world is pillaged; ruins old and hoary 
 Are made to gape and leave light in again; 
 
 Old images are made to tell their story ; 
 The mummied dead who left this world midst pain 
 
 And weeping voices, tremulous with love. 
 Are made sit up, importuned to explain 
 
 Mysterious things the living know not of. 
 The earth is delved; the masonry of Grod 
 
 Is now from bottom layer to its cope 
 Exploited and laid bare; the divining rod 
 
 No longer satisfies, but man will grope 
 And search for missing line or lacking letter 
 
 In Af ric 's burning sand, in frozen zone 
 Twixt ice and heaven; he will break the fetters 
 
 That bind strange forces, hidden and unknown, 
 
 84 
 
And harness them as auxilliary power 
 
 To ferret out and find the final goal, 
 The Truth; and to accelerate the hour 
 
 When man shall know the destiny of his soul, 
 His object in this world, his course of duty. 
 
 And if success attends man's quest at last 
 And from the realms of light and truth and beauty 
 
 He snatched a part : 0, how he holds it fast 
 And tries to rivet it into his soul; 
 
 With rare, surpassing art perpetuates 
 The little jot gained from the immense whole. 
 He writes it in a book; or he creates 
 An image of it. To immortalize 
 
 And save it from Time's swift relentless mould 
 He builds a tomb or temple to the skies 
 
 For it to dwell in ; thinking he can hold 
 Some vestige or some emblem of its worth 
 
 On painted canvas or in sculptured stone. 
 That in the darkness it may point from earth 
 
 To Truth, high, holy, shining on her throne. 
 Resignedly, man sees his pleasant youth 
 
 And life and hoarded wealth and power decay; 
 Yet would he stem Time's ravages, when Truth 
 
 85 
 
And Light and Beauty seem to pass away. 
 Transcendent things like these are daily done 
 
 To gain a little fragment of the Truth 
 And hold it safely after it is won." 
 
 The speaker paused; the contumacious youth 
 Pressed closer to the hoary-headed sage; 
 
 ''We come to you," the spokesman then pursued, 
 As to a fountain that we may assuage 
 
 Our thirst for knowledge ; for we long have wooed 
 For it, and followed by that tedious route 
 
 Which I rehearsed e'en now in my prologue, 
 Through ever-shifting shadow-fields of doubt. 
 
 With all the modern methods now in vogue 
 Have we applied ourselves at learning's door; 
 
 With what result? As the great Newton said. 
 We have but found some pebbles on the shore; 
 
 In grasping after Truth, we have, instead, 
 In semi-darkness caught but slipping strands. 
 
 And holding these we follow, hope and pray; 
 But some of us hold on with trembling hands 
 
 And most of us are weary of the way. 
 
 'Tis noised abroad that you do know the Truth ; 
 
 As thy disciples at thy feet we wait, 
 Do not refuse or else we might, forsooth, 
 
 86 
 
Beleaguer you till you capitulate. 
 Behold, what vistas open to the eye; 
 
 You give us light by granting our wish, 
 Add fame and honor to our alumni 
 
 And stop a lot of learned gibberish. 
 So your own reputation would increase 
 
 Like spiral waves of water, circling, flee 
 When falls some rock from towering precipice 
 
 Which overhangs the placid inland sea. 
 It seems to us to be a glorious thing 
 
 To teach a truth, the world so long has sought 
 And see it spread as if on rumor's wing 
 
 And shake the very fundaments of thought. 
 While you, who by repute possess the power, 
 
 Would stand out like a hero, laurel-crowned; 
 The cynosure, the lion of the hour. 
 
 Whom ages would regard with love profound. 
 Alas — by all your bearing we can trace 
 
 That, hidden deeply in your heart, you know 
 The things we wistfully desire, yet your face 
 
 Does not with joy and exultation glow?" 
 The sage arose — not like a seer inspired 
 
 Whose message bursts the shackles of his soul, 
 But like one undecided; one required 
 
 87 
 
To play an averse and perplexing role — 
 "The gentle water should be called from rock 
 
 By gentle speech; with an impulsive blow 
 Did Moses sin; while you, you would unlock 
 
 The sealed fount by both and make it flow. 
 Know then, with kindly deference to your plea, 
 
 I do not want to speak, nor you to hear 
 The things that you so fain would wring from me ; 
 
 I am a man of cowardice and fear." 
 ' ' What need of fear ! ' ' the clamoring students cried ; 
 
 ''Where is the danger that you're speaking of? 
 'Tis rather fame and honor multiplied 
 
 Would come as meed to you, and human love." 
 "Aye, human love, unconsciously you spoke 
 
 A word that brings unquenchable regret 
 Into my heart and tells me how I broke 
 
 My plighted trust, and how my sacred debt 
 I did so cravenly repudiate. 
 
 0, human love, thou fullest recompense 
 To sainted ones within the golden gate 
 
 Of heaven, where they refuge take, and whence 
 From heart-love which they had engendered here 
 
 A holy tribute mounts up to the skies, 
 
 88 
 
And there becomes to them a feast of cheer 
 
 The most delectable of paradise. 
 Though centuries may wend along and file 
 
 With steady step past ruined monuments 
 Of earthly splendour ; great empires may pile 
 
 Themselves upon the wrecked magnificence 
 Of those preceding them! they in their turn 
 
 Will fall and mingle with the dust of ages ; 
 But thou, human love, through all the stern 
 
 Vicissitudes recorded in the pages 
 Of tear-stained history; thou, from the time 
 
 When first thou wert inspired by a deed 
 Of sacrifice, or by a heart sublime 
 
 That hearkened to the plaint and crying need 
 Of man and took his part in face of danger; 
 
 Or by a lowly one who, quite unknown, 
 Did angel service to both friend and stranger; 
 
 Or by a soul-hero, who heard the people groan 
 And felt the weight that crushed himself and others, 
 
 Did by eternal effort raise the load 
 Until he rolled it off and freed his brothers 
 
 And thus the chance of life and growth bestowed. 
 
 Thy conquests, human love, are greater far 
 
 Than all those gained by shrewdness or by force, 
 
 89 
 
Than all the vaunted victories of war. 
 
 The flowers nursed by thee along life's course, 
 The well of water wooed from arid earth, 
 
 The sweet inviting hostelries of peace, 
 Thy faiths that stimulate to deeds of worth 
 
 Are songs, inspired in heaven, that never cease. 
 And worthy that great bards the strain prolong 
 
 In epic meter or heroic verse. 
 Yet, often did thy advocates this song 
 
 With suffering martyr-pean intersperse. 
 0, human love, thy lovers often fare 
 
 But poorly here; and those that most have 
 cherished 
 "With gentle zeal thy tenets, often were 
 
 Rejected by the world; and many perished; 
 And many still will suffer pain and loss; 
 
 They drink a Gethsemane cup of wine 
 Because they will espouse thy sacred cause 
 
 And will not bow at mammon's sordid shrine. 
 But, when the winepress finally will cease 
 
 Its weary, crushing, mangling, bleeding grind 
 Thou, martyred human love, shalt then give peace 
 
 To those that for thy triumph prayed and pined. 
 The world, too, may then come with chastened heart 
 
 90 
 
And bring its incense, rich and genuine; 
 "With tardy homage, it may own thou art 
 A child of heaven; bom of Love divine." 
 
 He, lost in reverie, was quite unconscious 
 
 That anxious hearers hung upon his words; 
 They, pleased, regarded him as one who launches 
 
 Out on the deep; or as the wide-winged birds 
 Will preen their feathers and prepare for speed 
 
 On the warm weaving winds. They cheered 
 him on; 
 With nods and smiles they urged him to proceed. 
 
 As when before the creeping crimson dawn 
 The timid hare will seek some sheltered nook 
 
 Among the leaves and brushwood, where the least 
 Suspicion points for hunter's eye to look 
 
 And search for game; so now dismay increased 
 Within the gentle bosom of our sage ; 
 
 His situation stared him in the face. 
 Or, like a deer, when all around does wage 
 
 The baying-mouthed alarum of the chase. 
 With swift and searching glances plans a flight 
 
 By which it might escape; so did he ponder 
 On some pretext to free him from his plight. 
 
 91 
 
The students on the other hand grew fonder 
 Of him and of his presence, and they bid 
 
 Him to compose himself; addressed their guest 
 With gentle and respectful words; they chid 
 
 His apprehension as they 'round him pressed. 
 The bested sage entrenched himself in stern 
 
 And sullen silence. Nor could discourse fell 
 Or fair dislodge him from his taciturn, 
 
 Self-isolated, mental citadel. 
 The game was blocked. As when in draughts of 
 chess 
 
 One side has gained some point of vantage-ground^ 
 The other then with counter-plans will press 
 
 His opponent where he is weakest found, 
 So did these students now a council hold 
 
 To plan what means or methods would be wise. 
 
 He would not yield to force or love or gold; 
 
 So next they thought upon a compromise 
 And thus approached him: "You will not divulge 
 
 The much desired knowledge and be free; 
 We have decided kindly to indulge 
 
 Your misgivings, whatever they may be. 
 Respected One, whereas you do deny 
 
 92 
 
That we your secret Epopee should know, 
 We beg you, tell at least the reason why 
 
 You do refuse; then we will let you go." 
 The glorious glow of golden afternoon 
 
 Touched in the classic Philomaethean hall 
 Phantastic figures of romantic rune, 
 
 And ponderous volumes, reverenced by all 
 But never read, and ancient statuary, 
 
 And the low-murmllring students in groups 
 Discussing statecraft and news military, 
 
 The latest war, the movement of the troops. 
 And ever and anon their vision wandered 
 
 To where their aged guest with bristling brow 
 Sat in the afternoon's soft light and pondered 
 
 Upon some method of escape, or how 
 He could appease their set determination. 
 
 When he arose he had an audience 
 That urged its cause with some vociferation. 
 
 And backed it with appealing arguments. 
 ''The reason, tell us but the reason why 
 
 Upon such vital questions you demur 
 To speak, although the heavens high 
 
 And the low groaning world seem to concur 
 
 That those deep mysteries sometime must be solved; 
 
 93 
 
That he who shirks them sorely may transgress; 
 That paramount to others, they involved 
 The human race, and woe and happiness." 
 
 " It is agreed ; I render half the game ; 
 
 To your persistent clamor I will yield; 
 Hear then, an old man's obloquy and shame." 
 
 And thus the silent man his mind unsealed: 
 "The reason is, that I do cleave and cling 
 
 To life. Enjoyable to me and sweet 
 It was from early childhood and did fling 
 
 The choicest morsel lavish at my feet. 
 Like old rich wine, without its ill effects, 
 
 I drank, and loved its vivifying charm. 
 Not that I lived as one who not respects 
 
 This gift of life ; nor like the moths that swarm 
 Around the light in such a reveling glee 
 
 Scorching their wings, that all their little life 
 In joy is wasted. Ever did I flee 
 
 From dissipation, from unseemly strife, 
 Yet I enjoyed sweet life e'en as a fish 
 
 Enjoys its limpid element; to me 
 My very moving steeled my joy afresh, 
 
 My very living was a luxury; 
 
 94 
 
As though my body centuries ago 
 
 Did languish to be born, and now rejoices 
 Because from nature's bosom, soft and low, 
 
 It heard the call of life in music voices. 
 And labor, such as others deemed a drudge, 
 
 Rolled through my hands without a touch of fret, 
 And self-denials, such as others judge 
 
 To be exacting, I with pleasure met. 
 And then came one into my charmed life 
 
 That made my whole existence doubly sweet; 
 I speak of her who freely brought, as wife. 
 
 Her wealth of love and made my bliss complete. 
 Her love came to me like a great surprise. 
 
 Like something God for centuries had stored 
 In jealous keeping; then conferred the prize 
 
 On unexpecting me. If on great hoard 
 Of costly gems and jewels from the East 
 
 And piles of golden ingots, rarely wrought, 
 And richest ornaments, your eyes could feast. 
 
 The keeper then would push the glittering lot 
 High-heaped to you and tell you it is yours. 
 
 So did her wealth of worth surprise my soul. 
 But, 0, no earthly treasure-house so pure. 
 
 So rich and priceless jewels could unroll. 
 
 95 
 
And all her beauty never would compare 
 
 With gems or sordid gold; because no pearl 
 Of purest water was one half as rare 
 
 As her sweet living innocence ; no beryl 
 Of the Indian sun that caught the light 
 
 Blue gleamings of the sea when at its calm, 
 Awakened happiness one half as bright; 
 
 No chalcedony that dispenses balm 
 And hope of life, green-glinting through the maze 
 
 Of lurid light, brought half the lifting cheer; 
 No diamond, hidden deep, developed rays 
 
 From dreams of upper light one half as clear 
 And constant and serene as those which shone 
 
 In her sweet face, suggestive of the beams 
 Of higher sphere-light which, perhaps, her own 
 
 Pure soul assimilated in her dreams. 
 
 Her small and tender hands dripped with the gift 
 Of helpfulness. Her lithe and agile limbs 
 
 "Were ever eager and her feet were swift 
 
 To carry loving comfort. No shadow dims 
 
 Her memory, except that of her grave. 
 
 And loss to me and mine. When she was gone 
 
 Life lost its charm for me and I did crave 
 
 96 
 
To follow her into the gleams of dawn 
 Of yonder life. But when the poignant grief 
 
 Subsided, then the love of life returned. 
 I had two sons which now became my chief 
 
 Solicitude. Of that dear one I mourned, 
 The very image was the younger one ; 
 
 The older favored me. As when some vine 
 Of choicest fruitage withers and is gone, 
 
 The gardener, to perpetuate the line 
 Of noble harvest, nurses with great care 
 
 The tender scions springing from its root, 
 In order that in season they may bear 
 
 Like quality and kind of luscious fruit; 
 So henceforth my affections were divided 
 
 Between my youthful sons in equal share. 
 Their tendencies from wrong to right I guided, 
 
 Their growth and education was my care. 
 And when I witnessed how they prospered and 
 
 Dared with the world co-operate, compete; 
 When seeing them encounter life, yet stand 
 
 Its shock, paternal joy was nigh complete. 
 As by great cost and engineering skill 
 
 The great Americans essay to cleave 
 The mountains and to join Pacific's still 
 
 97 
 
And docile waters with Atlantic's wave; 
 So that when once within Culebra's strait 
 
 The sister oceans mingling meet and smile, 
 The cruise from eastern to the golden gate 
 
 "Will be diminished by ten thousand mile ; 
 So can youth's long and dangerous voyage out 
 
 By wisely engineering be made short, 
 Avoiding shipwreck by a safer route 
 
 And entering earlier at the golden porte. 
 But now they both are gone; duty's behest 
 
 The older called to distant field of action. 
 The younger joined his mother with the blest. 
 
 And life would be for me without attraction, 
 But a grand-daughter left as precious pawn 
 
 Of love, by my dead son, now comforts me. 
 She is but twelve, and like the promising dawn 
 
 Her blithe and buoyant beauty brings me glee. 
 Her eyes seem to have filched, from heaven's night, 
 
 Unconquered rays, with tinge of darker blue. 
 To soften down the brilliant over-light. 
 
 Her mass of hair holds all the dusky hue 
 Of deep soft midnight. She wears like a queen 
 
 Queen-jewels in her hair; their scintillations 
 Seem like star-clusters of the midnight sheen. 
 
 98 
 
And even while in this incarceration 
 I languish, till I have my freedom gained, 
 
 She wonders what unforeseen dreadful harm 
 Has come to me and why I am detained; 
 
 While every moment adds to her alarm. 
 
 But now, you, in a measure, understand 
 
 Why love of life has been to me a strong. 
 Unbreakable and ever-binding band 
 
 That bound me like a rigid iron thong. 
 In early life, in some grave youthful vision 
 
 I saw life's meaning deep, and deep heart-woe 
 Seized on my soul, and I made my decision 
 
 To seek for knowledge, so that I might know 
 What in this muddled mazy life is dross, 
 
 And where among the heaped-up rubbish glow 
 Its priceless jewels; know how thick the gloss; 
 
 How deep o'er life's eternal things this show 
 And tinsel is spread on; what underneath; 
 
 To know what fights are worthy of great valor, 
 What valor may be worth a victor's wreath. 
 
 What wreath will bless the brow. To be a scholar 
 And delve into the depths of hidden things 
 
 Was my ambition, and, for years, like you 
 
 99 
 
I gathered of the best, the harvestings 
 
 Of centuries, in knowledge old and new. 
 I reveled through my college years, nor wasted 
 
 My privileges; followed close in line 
 By other zealous students; and we tasted 
 
 And deeply quaffed the pure Pierian wine. 
 And when our student years drew to an end 
 
 Close-woven love and friendship, time had 
 wrought, 
 Like soldiers are thereafter friend and friend 
 
 Who with each other shared the soldiers' lot. 
 Among us there were seven comrades, tried, 
 
 Drawn to each other by some common bent 
 Or purpose ; perfectly we seemed allied ; 
 
 Each one filled out his special complement 
 To make a perfect and congenial whole. 
 
 One eve we seven met at the "Bed-rock" 
 As we were wont, where each one paid his toll 
 
 With cheer and love and profitable talk. 
 It was proposed that we rehearse the chief 
 
 Things that we gathered in our school career; 
 In comprehensive scope, to give, in brief, 
 
 A mental inventory, as it were. 
 
 100 
 
Some subject we to each did then assign, 
 
 To demonstrate its worth. Not like the miser 
 "Who loves to see his hoarded treasure shine; 
 
 Nor quack who lauds, as his own advertiser. 
 His worthless nostrums higher than the skies; 
 
 But as a careful man who stock and store 
 Of ware for his own future profit buys; 
 
 Or who invested money in a score 
 Of various materials to build 
 
 Himself a house to please his future bride; 
 Who had the new and splendid rooms well filled 
 
 With cosy furnishings, and naught denied; 
 And, deeming her as worthy of the best, 
 
 Took proper care his person to adorn; 
 And e'en his soul examined, to arrest 
 
 Some evil tendencies, by error born; 
 Who, at the wedding day, would then go over 
 
 His plans, to be assured they were above 
 The careful criticisms of a lover. 
 
 And worthy of a woman's blessed love. 
 So were our mind's attainments then to be 
 
 Before our vision as a map unrolled 
 The slightest good shall have its verity 
 
 What is unworthy must not be extolled; 
 
 101 
 
These were our only rules. The first began; 
 His name was — but we only called him, "Script" 
 
 A nick-name had all seven, to a man, 
 
 Some were uncouth^ yet they were hewed and 
 chipped 
 Off love's vocabulary; were in mint 
 
 Of fond affection coined. Script's great desire 
 He said, jokingly, was to get in print. 
 
 Yet, long ago, he sealed his faith with fire ; 
 (The sequel shows.) The theme to him assigned 
 
 Was human language. He inquired, if one 
 Learned human life if stingily confined 
 
 To his own tongue? Could he have ever won 
 The wealth of ancient classic life and lore? 
 
 Could he have learned first lessons with the last? 
 Could he have caught from oriental shore 
 
 The story of the ages that have passed? 
 And then he showed that foot-marks, half-effaced 
 
 Between the strata of our English-German 
 Can be to Sanscrit and old India traced 
 
 And clearly to our reason does determine 
 That our sweet singers, of the present age. 
 
 Are noble offspring from the shores of Ind. 
 
 102 
 
That Persia's old poetic heritage 
 
 Is our very own. Though by the wind 
 
 Of emigration, through long spans of time 
 We wafted past the Euxine-Caspian seas, 
 
 Our speech holds echoes from the sunlit clime 
 Of ancient man beyond the Euphrates. 
 
 So Script in better words. From elements 
 
 Of speech which first are learned in thumbed 
 leaves 
 To Logic, Rhetoric and Eloquence, 
 
 He skirted where the subject interweaves 
 And dovetails with Fine Art and History. 
 
 He dwelt upon the writings that endure 
 The lapse of time ; for life 's great mystery 
 
 Is mirrored in each nation's literature. 
 And then he closed his subject's exposition 
 
 In some such words: "The scope and range of 
 speech 
 Its use in sweet and delicate expression. 
 
 Its power, show that human efforts reach 
 Out into the unspeakable ; would fain 
 
 The all-surrounding messages translate 
 And put in human words that which in vain 
 
 103 
 
A thousand mouths try to communicate. 
 Man in his deepest soul, yearns to express 
 
 Deep-hidden thoughts of his deep-hidden mind 
 Like gathered subterranean waters press 
 
 With force against their prison walls to find 
 An upward issue through the rock and ground. 
 
 And when the welling waves a crevice wear, 
 Rejoicing, high towards the sky they bound 
 
 And murmuring mingle with the sun-kissed air. 
 So man does wistfully desire to speak 
 
 His heart's deep burden; like a child that caught 
 Some earliest words, repeating them, does seek 
 
 To utterance give to its sweet-forming thought. 
 
 If man would learn this higher language, and 
 
 "Would use the speech-gifts with which Heaven 
 crowned him 
 Then he might have the power to understand 
 
 The ever-speaking messages around him, 
 That urge persistently for him to hear; 
 
 The purling brook; the flower's dainty grace; 
 The mighty ocean, which in shrieks of fear. 
 
 Or whisperings of peace, speaks unto space 
 High-circling, with eternal beacons lit ; 
 
 104 
 
The stars themselves; and the wide welkin dome. 
 And then again, the life-forms infinite 
 
 "Which multitudinously creep or roam 
 Or fly or swim or have no other moving 
 
 Save their own growth ; the irksome life of man, 
 Its struggling variedness, its hating, loving, 
 
 Its ending and the briefness of its span, 
 All speak a language. The whole universe. 
 
 Each separate part of the eternal space 
 Wherein it thrones is yearning to converse 
 
 In its own language with the human race. 
 No orator or elocutionist, 
 
 Though trained and drilled as master of the art 
 To portray thought and feeling and enlist 
 
 All the receptive tendrils of the heart, 
 Can speak so eloquently to the soul. 
 
 O, for one gifted, that could in one broad. 
 Replete and sweeping sentence couch the whole 
 
 Of these appealing mysteries of God." 
 
 Script ceased, but we remained and listened long, 
 As though he still went on discoursing of 
 
 That hidden language and diviner tongue ; 
 And in our hearts was born a secret love 
 
 105 
 
And craving to interpret and respond; 
 
 Like some confiding tyro, fondly learning 
 "Well-relished truths still reaches out beyond 
 
 For more ; so we remained in silence yearning. 
 
 The second now arose ; we called him Wax. 
 
 In more than one way had he earned his name; 
 In fierce contentions, strenuous attacks 
 
 Of our debating club or football game. 
 And in another sense he was a credit 
 
 To the old meaning that his name expressed, 
 For he believed in growth and often said, it 
 
 Was of all human attributes the best. 
 His subject was the history of man, 
 
 And at some length he covered all the field 
 From primitive conditions when began 
 
 His first development ; how he did yield 
 From age to age and in a gradual way 
 
 To call of higher life, of broader mind 
 And kinder heart, of more exalted sway 
 
 Of power and help, until the various kind 
 Of human laws and human institutions 
 
 And governments were born and grew and flour- 
 ished 
 
 106 
 
And now peace-congresses, peace-resolutions 
 
 And ideas of disarmament are nourished 
 With other progress. Then along the line 
 
 Of deeper drift and meaning, "Wax proceeded, 
 To strike the under-current and design 
 
 Of human actions ; he but little heeded 
 The outward acts which are oft celebrated 
 
 By the world 's shallow dazzle and eclat ; 
 The feats of Alexander; over-rated 
 
 Sad spectacle of war and conquest that 
 Stand out so prominent in history's pages, 
 
 From ancient Trojan war of ten years' length 
 To some more modern battle-fields, where wages 
 
 The tilt between false cunning and sheer strength. 
 From these he turned to history's better phases; 
 
 Running through all, he traced a golden thread 
 That winds with golden meaning through the mazes 
 
 Of human story. Thus he gently led 
 Us up to this great vision of his mind: — 
 
 ^'Methought I stood beside the thoroughfare 
 Of time. My earthly eyes with sorrow blind 
 
 Were cleared and opened, and the mobile air 
 Was so transparent I could see this road 
 
 Lay broad before me in long stretches, springing 
 
 107 
 
From out the formless, mystical abode 
 
 Of birth of things; the weaving, shuttling, swing- 
 ing 
 Vast chaos where the nature and the form 
 
 Of great events take their initial mold. 
 Where darkly brew the sunshine and the storm 
 
 To fill some checkered life not yet unrolled. 
 From thence my vision saw this highway wend 
 
 In long broad reaches up to where I stood, 
 And sweeping by extending in its trend 
 
 Into the future. There in cowled hood 
 I saw some figure draped in mourning stand, 
 
 Who seemed the keeper at a creped gate, 
 Collecting toll. I peered into the land 
 
 Beyond death's portals, where I saw the great 
 And ponderous pile of earthly luggage fall 
 
 From weary shoulders, undesired, tossed 
 Aside, and heard deploring voices call 
 
 For something real — but here my senses paused. 
 I fell upon my knees and wished to scan 
 
 The road still farther, where silently leads 
 Through regions of the dead God's caravan 
 
 That bears the fruitage of man's earthly deeds. 
 I prayed to see and understand the sequel 
 
 108 
 
Resulting from events on earth, conveyed 
 To the beyond. I craved to see the equal 
 
 And even poise of actions truly weighed. 
 Anon, methought, that issuing from the deep 
 
 And darksome dawn I saw events emerge 
 Out on this highway, run their course and sweep, 
 
 Along, like to a river's foaming surge. 
 Methought that each transpiring act passed near 
 
 The place that I had chosen, so that I 
 Could scan it ere I saw it disappear. 
 
 Events came thick and fast while I would try 
 To trace with heightened and exalted vision 
 
 What purpose prompted them e'en from their 
 source 
 To spring into existence ; what their mission ; 
 
 What wrought the evolution of their course ; 
 What their result and final consequences 
 
 When summed up by unswerving computation. 
 Then there appeared a wonder to my senses : 
 
 Gigantic hands reached from some unseen station, 
 Picked up each action on time's thoroughfare 
 
 And weighed it with minutest nicety. 
 And branded it so it would ever bear 
 
 The stamp-mark of eternal verity. 
 
 109 
 
And the sojourner on time's thoroughfare, 
 
 That in life's varied action had a part, 
 Was measured with exact and rigid care 
 
 His will, his deeds, his love, his thought and heart. 
 Some deeds were thrown aside as of no worth 
 
 And humbler seeming actions were preferred. 
 Those counted as important on this earth 
 
 Were deemed as idle rubbish. He who stirred 
 The whole of Europe, great Napoleon 
 
 Was pushed aside with all his great career 
 And some poor fishermen were picked upon 
 
 To represent the thing of value here. 
 The vaunted things of earth, the boughten praise 
 
 Weighed in the balance by eternal hands. 
 Seemed light as bubbles; here the quiet ways 
 
 Of worth showed heft and answered the demands. 
 The princely gifts, magnificent and rich, 
 
 Went down in all their advertised array 
 Before the blood-imprinted pittance which 
 
 The widow offered in a shame-faced way 
 Because it was so little. And amazed, 
 
 I saw great movements, planned without a doubt 
 To take the world by storm with banners raised, 
 
 By some meek child-like service clear put out. 
 
 110 
 
Upon the stamp-mark, which the sealer laid 
 
 On all his work, indelibly, a word 
 "Was deeply graven. Vainly I essayed 
 
 To read its import. Not that it was blurred, 
 But my apocalyptic sight had even 
 
 Still left my eyes too full of earthly rheum 
 To read the signet of eternal heaven. 
 
 And yet I saw it shining through the gloom. 
 I thought it "Justice", but it seemed to me 
 
 In that, the stronger always holds the scale 
 And metes it to weaker, but a free 
 
 Co-equal measure seemed to here prevail. 
 I think that it was "Justness". One who loved 
 
 His fellow-man could read its hidden line 
 With more distinctness. One who prayed, and loved 
 
 His God could see its fadeless letters shine 
 "With glowing luster: To him who observed 
 
 Them both, the word became a living light 
 And priceless jewel. So history swerved 
 
 Along time's thoroughfare in rapid flight. 
 And there I saw God's arbiter forever 
 
 Sift human actions as to loss and gain; 
 And with exactness does he cull and sever 
 
 The sacred history from the profane." 
 
 Ill 
 
Long after Wax had ceased, musing, we wondered 
 
 Upon the mental picture that he drew 
 Of the inscrutable; we sat and pondered 
 
 And like the parched plants and flowers sue 
 For moisture when from drouth they limply lie, 
 
 So with a wistful longing we were seized, 
 With famishment earth could not satisfy. 
 
 By earthly knowledge could not be appeased. 
 
 At the "Bed-rock" we met from eve to eve, 
 
 That was the title of our rendezvous, 
 Each in his turn would beg indulgent leave 
 
 To offer to our memories anew 
 The well-conned lessons. Now the turn was mine, 
 
 The subject mathematics. And to thresh 
 The knotty points we had along the line 
 
 Over again; and to recall afresh 
 How we with eager, thwarted, vain endeavor 
 
 Essayed to square the circle, or trisect 
 The angle, or invent some wheel or lever 
 
 With parts so finely swung as to perfect 
 The ignis fatuus of perpetual motion; 
 
 Such was my task. But figures serve as props, 
 As hidden cable strands across the ocean 
 
 112 
 
Of the unmeasurable, where measuring stops. 
 Some simple mathematical equations 
 
 Uphold the fabric of the universe 
 In the safe confines of our computations 
 
 And serve as pole-stars in our drifting course. 
 But often when we seemed about to score 
 
 Success we found more trouble, for although 
 We learned that two times two are four, yet four 
 
 "Was just as much a mystery as two. 
 And when Copernicus and prior sages 
 
 Arranged the household of the heavenly spheres 
 So that all bodies seemed as equipages 
 
 To the great Earth, the heaven-viewing seers 
 Had their hands full of trouble, for they jibed 
 
 Not with their reckoning but oft would sally 
 Out of the path they had for them prescribed. 
 
 But Tyeho Brahe came to keep the tally 
 Of their aberrent incoherency. 
 
 And Galileo pointed to the sky 
 His lensed tube; shook earth's stability; 
 
 And time-tried theories seemed to go awry. 
 Astronomers were still left in the lurch 
 
 And the great law of movement was unsolved 
 And patient students in their patient search 
 
 113 
 
Were still at sea about how they revolved 
 Around some center. Then a peasant lad 
 
 Reared in a humble Swabian town, where he 
 In German schools was drilled, and also had 
 
 Learned life's most bitter inhumanity — 
 — My soul is drenched with taste of salty tears 
 
 When I recall a boy's heart-surging pain 
 That comes in tender love-of-mother years. 
 
 When mother suffers. The vindictive bane 
 Of superstition, which like the old story 
 
 Of dragon, that from time to time demanded 
 The maiden of most beauty as a gory 
 
 Meal for its ravenous maw, with full force landed 
 And struck its teeth like to a fanged snake 
 
 Into a boy's love; for John Kepler's mother 
 Was publicly condemned, for witchcraft, to the 
 stake. 
 
 She was a woman somewhat unlike other; 
 Was brighter, quicker to discern the true ; 
 
 And with such strange intuitiveness crowned 
 That she could reason in a straight line through 
 
 Where others had to go far, far around. 
 She gave the world a son; I'll say no more. 
 
 But the Unsearchable did not despise 
 
 114 
 
To have him cruise along his pathless shore 
 
 And to unclasp the secrets of the skies. 
 By aid of Tyeho Brahe's measurements 
 
 And by his own invincible resource 
 John Kepler traced the sought circumference 
 
 And orbit of the planetary course. 
 In double-centered circles they are chained 
 
 To swing forever their ethereal route : 
 The question why they thus revolved, remained 
 
 For future reckoners to figure out. 
 And one there came — his genius did eclipse 
 
 Them all — If Kepler taught the world to know 
 How this, our earth, revolves in an ellipse, 
 
 As every planet does ; why they do so 
 And are deterred from doing otherwise 
 
 And are compelled to circle in this course 
 In harmony with law which underlies 
 
 The basic structure of the universe : 
 "Was studied out by Newton. Time's machine 
 
 Was old. Long years the human race did grope 
 'Midst mystic things. The pointing hands were seen 
 
 Upon the dial of Time's horoscope, 
 Slow-moving and unerring, but the gear 
 
 Connecting wheel with shaft and shaft with wheel 
 
 115 
 
Into a clock-work, moving without veer 
 
 Or variance, first Kepler could reveal. 
 Then self-ignoring Newton came and showed 
 
 The tensioned power, compelling master-spring 
 Or gravitating clock-weights that bestowed 
 
 The measured moving symmetry of swing. 
 And many worthy helpers studied out 
 
 The purpose of each ratchet and each cog; 
 Of adverse forces which can bring about 
 
 A regulating pendulum to clog 
 And check danger, centr>p,€5ally holding. 
 
 Like self-installed eternal safety-measure. 
 With unseen mother-yearning forces folding. 
 
 In sweeping all-embrace its trusted treasure. 
 We need some greater genius; one who probes 
 
 Behind the mechanism, to the key 
 That winds this clock until it thrills and throbs 
 
 With force-imprisoned action to be free ; 
 And to the Hand that, when an age is through 
 
 And the eternal evening shadows fall, 
 Will turn the key and start the force anew 
 
 Through all its channels ; even to the hall 
 Upon the walls of which the key is hung; 
 
 And to the holy precincts of the shops 
 
 116 
 
Of the great Master-workman, and among 
 Infinities where human reason stops. 
 
 The fourth began ; his hackneyed name was Mute : 
 
 Though odd, we spoke this name with deference. 
 In school he gradually gained repute 
 
 Of answering calls ere they had utterance; 
 Of doing deeds, not giving them a name 
 
 Till the whole task was finished and devised; 
 He even forgot to speak or lay a claim 
 
 To work well worthy to be eulogized. 
 And yet in later life he gained renown 
 
 And fame. While he yet lived I asked him once 
 If he had never seen the laurel crown 
 
 That hung above his brow; in meek response 
 He told me how he formerly had yearned, 
 
 As others, for distinction and applause 
 But the same tide that brought it, too returned 
 
 To him such overwhelming proof and cause 
 That he should deem himself unworthy, quite. 
 
 Of claims to honor. He who gets a glimpse 
 Of oceans of unfathomable light 
 
 Makes truce with self-ness, he no longer primps 
 Himself with flattery that his own torch 
 
 117 
 
Emits such brilliance to cause him pride. 
 So answered he. — But to return in search 
 
 Of my disjointed story's trend — a wide 
 And comprehensive subject was assigned 
 
 To Mute: the sciences. And he succeeded 
 To touch upon and freshly bring to mind 
 
 The covered ground, and he proceeded 
 To thread the hidden paths; geology, 
 
 The birth and growth of worlds and their forma- 
 tion; 
 Biology, life's growth; Zoology 
 
 And Botany, life's fruit and their relation 
 To one another; the inanimate 
 
 And hidden forces shown in chemistry 
 And physics, teeming, seeming like some great 
 
 And curbed strength abiding destiny. 
 He then came to the mooring-place from whence 
 
 Our ether-planes set out into the blue 
 Unbounded sea of heaven's wide expanse. 
 
 Adrift, he cruised with us far out into 
 The ample harbors and high-throning ports 
 
 That clustering lie along the milky way 
 Until we saw the turrets of the forts 
 
 Of God loom in the distance, where for aye 
 
 118 
 
His skimming watch-ships fly. Our minds were 
 merged 
 
 Into the fascinating thralldom of 
 Mute's words, so that imploringly we urged 
 
 Him to continue. He with kindly love 
 Obeyed our wishes thus with deeper meaning: 
 
 "We stand upon the mystic border-land 
 Of the unknown, with zeal are ever gleaning 
 
 Some conquered trophy, or some contraband 
 Filched from the stubborn, adamantine grasp 
 
 Of that dark envious realm. To penetrate 
 Its infinite domain or to unclasp 
 
 The lock and hinges of its wroughten gate 
 Does labor, patience, pain and time require. 
 
 Let us then turn once, see what we have gained ; 
 Our conquered spoils are piling high and higher; 
 
 Know we their purpose as it was ordained? 
 Have we half ascertained what they can teach? 
 
 Some that we clutch with zeal and then throw by 
 Perhaps do hold the highest we can reach. 
 
 The very things for which we vainly cry. 
 The weaving, shifting, everchanging work 
 
 Of nature 's operations manifold. 
 Do they not bring a message that we shirk 
 
 119 
 
And never understand though ever told? 
 The good and beautiful and patient care 
 
 That nature shows in her phenomena, 
 Coiild we ask more in our impulsive prayer, 
 
 A sweeter, kinder sunshine? Elijah, 
 Surrounded by grand nature, had he more 
 
 Or less than we? We have the still small voice, 
 More true than oracle of ancient lore, 
 
 To calm our fears and make the soul rejoice. 
 The still, small voice, the windstorm and the flame 
 
 All show the intricate and wondrous plan 
 Of the most common thing; and all proclaim 
 
 How great must be the destiny of man. 
 To us the flowers and the birds can carry 
 
 Food so our flagging strength may be restored 
 If we in prayerful mood would learn to tarry 
 
 And here, as elsewhere, wait upon the Lord. 
 Come all my zealous loved ones, who are tired 
 
 Of wrangling words and self-asserting strife 
 In nature read, if you can read inspired, 
 
 A symbol of a godly Christian life ; 
 And note how busily she does bestir 
 
 Herself; how patiently she perseveres; 
 How modestly she labors, even where 
 
 120 
 
No eyes can notice and no prompter cheers. 
 And when her work is done, may it now be 
 
 A splendid rose ; or a delicious cherry 
 To kiss a child 's sweet lips ; or a grand tree 
 
 Affording shade ,• or else some little furry 
 Wild creature scampering through the leafy bushes ; 
 
 Or mountain with its outline grand and high ; 
 Exhaustless river rolling by the rushes ; 
 
 A glorious sunset painted in the sky; 
 Creation of a world from plastic mould 
 
 Surrounded by its ever-circling spheres; 
 A solar system, full, complete and rolled 
 
 Out into trackless space ; the smiles and tears 
 Of human beings and their love's sweet sway; 
 
 All these and more : when nature turns them out 
 As finished product, she makes no display 
 
 Of her achievements, nor with swaggering spout 
 Announces things that are yet to be done. 
 
 And more, you never see her, though her hands 
 Invisible are busily working on 
 
 A thousand tasks. And softly she commands 
 Her willing hosts to finish with dispatch 
 
 Some labor that is pressing, or with slow 
 And patient painstaking to wait and catch 
 
 121 
 
The supreme moment for a sudden blow 
 That sends the aim of thousand summers home. 
 
 And when on nature's forge, weltering in white 
 And palpitating heat and livid spume, 
 
 The metal lies expectant, she is right 
 At hand to form and fashion her design 
 
 And to manipulate the lambent mass 
 To her own will and purpose ; to combine 
 
 And weld it for the service that it has 
 With drastic action or with tempered touch. 
 
 Or, here, in active silence, she will bide 
 The long, long, laggard, lingering years that stretch 
 
 Across eternity, to meet some tide 
 With which she has a dim and distant date, 
 
 Whose swelling surge was sent to lift and land 
 Her vessel with its long commissioned freight, 
 
 Upon the moorage of some needier strand. 
 Thus operating, nature, quite unseen, 
 
 Remains in modest sweet retirement ; 
 From her example Christians may glean 
 
 How true, to man, God keeps His covenant." 
 Mute ceased. Like some undaunted mariner 
 
 That ventured out upon a charmed sea 
 And with his frail and fragile bark skirts far 
 
 122 
 
Along the magic shore, till he can see 
 The golden pinnacles of cities gleam, 
 
 Islanded on the bosom of the deep, 
 Light-rays of dazzling wealth toward him stream 
 
 Which his distraught bewildered senses steep 
 Into a state of longing. So seemed Mute 
 
 And all of us, approaching to a state 
 Where language fails, lips falter and are mute 
 
 Because their pregnant burden is too great. 
 
 The useful Arts together with the Fine 
 
 Were next the subject of our comrade Ghice ; 
 His hands were educated to design 
 
 And work ingenious things. He had a nice 
 Selecting taste to choose or to eschew 
 
 The fittest and his mind, executive 
 Of all his clever talents, could imbue 
 
 The things he wrought with worth. His words I 
 give: 
 "The useful arts take of the many sides 
 
 Of education or accomplishments 
 A rank quite high. Few subjects made such strides 
 
 In latter years of progress. Man invents, 
 Constructs, a thousand handy things ; uniting 
 
 123 
 
The helpful forces which profusely teem 
 Around him, docile, willing and inviting 
 
 To be of service. This is shown by gleam 
 Of fiery furnaces; by clouds of smoke 
 
 "Which roll from lofty chimneys and the whirr 
 And hum of wheel ; the whistles that convoke 
 
 Men to their place of labor; and the stir 
 Of myriad marts and lines of transportation ; 
 
 The many and mysterious ways by which 
 Man has with distant man communication 
 
 E'en where need brooks no time a line to stretch." 
 So Ghice discoursed, only in better words 
 
 Than I can now repeat. He further claimed, 
 That man's degree of cleverness accords 
 
 With the degree of love at which he aimed. 
 Man's cleverness bespeaks that man loves better 
 
 And God vouchsafes to man these hidden gifts 
 But as he learns by letter and by letter 
 
 To spell and read with love. Slowly he lifts 
 The veil from beneficial mysteries 
 
 And leaves the light stream on a world that loves ; 
 Proportionately answers human pleas. 
 
 Man's genius He gives and He approves 
 Proportionately to the love He finds. 
 
 124 
 
That is the keynote of our progress here. 
 Love paves the way and opes the doors for minds 
 
 Like Edison's. He, the unquestioned peer, 
 Along his line of research was brought forth 
 
 By long love-vigils of past generation ; 
 To claim that by his cleverness and worth 
 
 Alone 'tis done would be a desecration. 
 This marvelous gift of man could not endure 
 
 "Within a mind that hates, and all his toil 
 Might yet be lost ; for if man would abjure 
 
 His love again these favors would recoil 
 As evils of destruction on his head. 
 
 For only love to man and God brings growth, 
 And only by sweet love is wisdom sped, 
 
 And only love can sanctify them both." 
 After such strain of discourse Ghice now turned 
 
 To the Fine Arts. The charmed circumstances 
 "Which clustered 'round the subject when we learned 
 
 Its beauties first, he painted to our fancies 
 Afresh, and with sweet stealing words reviewed 
 
 The sculptured masterpieces of the Greeks 
 And their high-pillared temples. He renewed 
 
 Our classic comradeship, which e'er bespeaks 
 The hero-worship down the lapse of ages 
 
 125 
 
"With the illustrious ones, the great immortal 
 Ones, the painters, poets and the sages. 
 
 Ghice waved his magic wand of thought — a portal 
 Opened and we stepped into halls of fame. 
 
 As if some great inspired architect 
 Would go to classic Attica, reclaim, 
 
 Eebuild and reconstruct some ruined, wrecked 
 And massive, fallen temple to its fine 
 
 And pristine virgin beauty and replace 
 Each weather-beaten figure, each divine 
 
 White-fluted carved column and each grace 
 Of arch or cornice, vandal-scarred and old, 
 
 And would restore it to its former guise; 
 All that his friends may love-entranced behold 
 
 And feast upon its sight their ravished eyes: 
 So Ghice collected from the various realms 
 
 Of art the choicest work, and built a true 
 Art temple in a grove of classic elms 
 
 Where only muse-invoked breezes blew 
 In zephyr softness through its shady halls, 
 
 Beset with sculptures of sublimest mould; 
 Divinest paintings hung upon its walls 
 
 Inshrined in ivory and chased gold; 
 On oriental tessalated floors 
 
 126 
 
Were richly wrought rare pattern and design ; 
 And through its marble pillared corridors 
 
 A measured music moved, dulcet, divine 
 And softly stole upon the raptured hearing; 
 
 Or now in volume and victorious sway 
 Arose in joyful chorus as if nearing, 
 
 Then falling, dying indistinct away. 
 My apotheosis of the world's art 
 
 Portrays but feebly Ghice's clear description, 
 Yet he maintained that only a small part 
 
 Of its grand beauty is of art's conception, 
 That music, paintings, poems, carved stone 
 
 Are not the art itself, they do but nourish 
 And are like soil in which true art is grown, 
 
 In which most favorably it will flourish. 
 ''For art," he said, ''is such a precious thing 
 
 That it must have a grosser element, 
 Surrounding it to stand the buffeting 
 
 Of our rude, earthly hands; a diluent 
 The heavenly draught to weaken and dilute. 
 
 And temper it so that when it is placed 
 Before us for enjoyment, it may suit 
 
 The compass of our cruder earthly taste. 
 Nor is it beauty that is art, although 
 
 127 
 
It loves a beautiful environment; 
 From under humblest colors it crops through ; 
 
 Like prisoned bird, it breaks its tenement 
 Singing a madrigal of alien climes 
 
 A world-including song : one whose strains 
 Familiar seem though distances and times 
 
 Are whole eternities apart; refrains 
 And echoes which have caught their full and deep 
 
 Harmonious dominance from the creation, 
 And yet so sweet their simple air can sweep 
 
 The gamut of the heart's wide variation. 
 Nor is it Truth that constitutes true art; 
 
 Although that comes the nearest in approach 
 Of its true definition, it falls short 
 
 Of having that sublime exalted touch 
 That makes immortal. There is nothing greater 
 
 Upon this earth than the abiding presence 
 The wielding, working Life of our Creator. 
 
 He, being hidden, yet His darting essence 
 Doth leave some land-marks in His winnowed trail; 
 
 Some prints of His sequestered heavenly feet; 
 The good will flutter or the bad will quail 
 
 Instinctively whene 'er His holy, sweet 
 And subtle being moves amid His creatures, 
 
 128 
 
The changeless Real among the transitory; 
 Some faint and fleeting outline of His features 
 
 Is mirrored forth in nature's radiant glory, 
 Some perfume ravishingly sweet and choice 
 
 Drips where His trailing hidden garments brush, 
 Some music echoes of the sweetest voice 
 
 With reassurance through our senses rush; 
 Some marks are on the ground where He has trailed 
 
 His measuring line, where He approvingly 
 Has struck His branding hammer or has nailed 
 
 His gates fast shut to some great infamy. 
 'Tis here the artist's world is to be found, 
 
 His field of research, here inspired to sketch 
 These half revealed forms, this holy ground; 
 
 These sounds divine with profane ears to catch 
 And so arrange that we may understand 
 
 Their meaning and their source. Not to create, 
 But to preserve these gathered glimpses and 
 
 These vouchsafed God-traits to perpetuate. 
 Like prudent house-wives, when warm summer 
 weather 
 
 Her cornucopia of delicious fruit 
 Ripe into nature's lap does pour, will gather 
 
 "With busy nimble hands the bursting sweet 
 
 129 
 
And juicy peach, the damson, or the cherry, 
 
 Plucking, as they in pendant clusters hang 
 On the low-laden limbs; or luscious berry 
 
 Growing in rich profusion. And the clang 
 Of the receptacles is heard as brought 
 
 Wide-mouthed to hold the crop in high-heaped 
 measure. 
 When some will quickly bear them home full- 
 fraught ; 
 
 While others in the kitchen take the treasure, 
 Where the sweet, savoury fruit is quickly cleansed 
 
 And heated on the merry fire, and after 
 The glazen jars, long stored away, are rinsed, 
 
 As cheery chaffing and sweet jocund laughter 
 Go the delightful rounds, the jars are filled 
 
 Sweet-fuming; and the round close-fitted cover 
 Is then with wax hermetically sealed 
 
 Thereon, so that, when prodigal summer's over 
 And the bleak winds blow crooning out of doors. 
 
 The thoughtful ever-planning housewife brings 
 A frugal portion of her wintry stores. 
 
 As sweet and fresh as when the robin swings 
 Upon the swaying bough and eats of it : 
 
 So does the artist bide a favored breeze 
 
 130 
 
That makes the boughs bend low their burden sweet 
 
 To pluck and gather fruit from heaven's trees ; 
 So seems the artist's wish to stow away 
 
 Gleaned snatches of the God-appearing light, 
 Thinking perchance this ephemeral day 
 
 "Will turn to desolate Erebian night, 
 And all be lost had not his forethought saved 
 
 A precious portion. Then should darkness fall, 
 Could man no longer see the flag that waved 
 
 Aloft in light ; should love and sweetness all 
 Be drowned by chilly death-inviting hate 
 
 And scorn and scoffing ; aye, should, sadly, even 
 The shining sentinels at mercy's gate 
 
 Withdraw and all the light and warmth from 
 heaven 
 Would seem beyond the reach of man; 'tis then 
 
 The love-preserving artist hopes to keep 
 Some glimmer of man 's God-like origin, 
 
 Some dream of heaven to inspire his sleep. 
 Some image — nay, some portion of the real. 
 
 And so he did when the dark ages brooded 
 O'er man's spiritual world; his work was leal 
 
 To its intended purpose, and secluded 
 In hearts and homes and temples steadfastly, 
 
 131 
 
Serenely kept aglow some living faith ; 
 Like to a beacon-light that patiently 
 
 Shows the benighted soul a heaven-ward path. 
 *Tis said of latter years that art declines ; 
 
 It is because this earth-eclipsing vapour 
 Is pierced, and heaven now more brightly shines, 
 
 There is less need of canvas, stone or paper 
 Or sweep of music 's symphony impassioned. 
 
 Since man has learned the highest form of art 
 Is not embodied by them but is fashioned 
 
 Not with these human hands but in the heart. 
 Since man does in a measure realize 
 
 The ever-present Prototype of art. 
 E'en as He flourishes in paradise, 
 
 Yearns for enthronement in the human heart. 
 So art may by its own realization 
 
 Be quite dispensed with or at least diminished. 
 And still we sat in silent contemplation 
 
 Of art long after Ghice had finished. 
 
 The sixth one now began. We called him Judge. 
 
 He was discriminating, cool and wary. 
 'Twas of love 's banter that we called him such, 
 
 And yet he served as our judiciary ; 
 
 132 
 
In many a mooted hard-fought altercation 
 
 He soothed our quarrels and umpired our sports 
 And no appeal from his adjudication 
 
 Was ever taken to the higher courts, 
 So amply was he loved, so well respected. 
 
 Philosophy in general was his theme. 
 The building ground was what he first inspected 
 
 Whereon does rest the universal scheme 
 Of things that are. Then Science he outlined ; 
 
 Philosophy; he said, "The subject-matter 
 Is same in both. All sciences combined 
 
 Do constitute the province of the latter. 
 And yet the different sciences are merely 
 
 Few carved, well-fitted stones laid in the wall 
 Of some great half-seen building. Men would early, 
 
 Taking their cue and fashion from that small 
 And well-shown section of the structure, try 
 
 To finish out its walls up to the towers, 
 And model the foundation stones that lie 
 
 Beneath the masonry. With all the powers 
 Of mind, man tried, down through the passing ages, 
 
 To picture out the structure as complete 
 And figure out on what it stands. The sages 
 
 Bent on deciphering the form of it 
 
 133 
 
And purpose, saw naught save a meager section 
 
 Of wall, whereon is seen the chisel's mark. 
 Well-laid, well- joined in workmanlike perfection 
 
 Above it, and below it all is dark. 
 And so they reasoned that this wall must rest 
 
 On some well-bedded and secure foundation; 
 And that it has foundation does attest 
 
 That it may also have an elevation, 
 A roof with many spires, reaching high. 
 
 And so each one in miniature would plan 
 A model as he thought would best comply 
 
 "With this strange fragment, clearly seen by man. 
 And as one built, the next would come along 
 
 And tear it down by showing its defects 
 And build again. The next would prove it wrong 
 
 Showing again how illy it connects 
 With the known portion. He in turn would build 
 
 So spleudid, that the world for years agreed 
 It was the true one. But one better skilled 
 
 In philosophic architecture freed 
 Men from their error, showing them the bond 
 
 Between its dwarfed and deformed top and rafter 
 And their support did poorly correspond ; 
 
 Was so grotesque that it was fit for laughter. 
 
 134 
 
Avoiding former errors, this one too 
 
 Would make an effort to complete the wall 
 Then other would arise with clearer view 
 
 And all his well-planned theories will fall. 
 Again, some labor to supply a base 
 
 And bottom layer to support the weight 
 Of the great structure ; to fill out the place 
 
 Invisible to them with adequate 
 Foundation that is fitting to uphold 
 
 This mystic, half-concealed, half-guessed-at build- 
 ing. 
 Here the same trouble ; scarce has one in bold 
 
 And massive masonry, with cement welding 
 The well-hewn blocks, planned out a firm foundation, 
 
 Then comes another, shows it is too light 
 And but a poor and flimsy imitation 
 
 Of what it should be were it modeled right. 
 It has been said the compass of our hearing 
 
 Is only meager, and the deeper tones 
 And deeper joynotes may be grandly quiring 
 
 In unheard harmony. Perhaps the moans 
 From deepest depths are never heard. They say. 
 
 But broken echoes of the higher strains 
 May reach us. Then the cry of agony 
 
 135 
 
Most piercing or the keenest joy refrains 
 May not be heard by mortal man. If God 
 
 Should play His organ of eternal build 
 And cause its tones to surge along the broad 
 
 And spacious galleries until it filled 
 The universe with music ; and the bass 
 
 In fullest diapason canvassed all 
 Its range ; Sopran and treble would embrace 
 
 The greatest compass ; aiid its tones would roll 
 In ever-varying modulated flood 
 
 Full-measured, so that all the worlds would hang 
 Upon its strains in listening attitude ; 
 
 As when the morning-stars together sang. 
 If then it were vouchsafed to mortal man 
 
 To listen, he could only hear the tones 
 Within his compass ; only those that ran 
 
 Within a certain scope. The music zones 
 Above that or below would to his ear 
 
 Be muteness. Portions of sweet harmony 
 Would come to him. Rare fragments as it were 
 
 Of some grand tune. Such is Philosophy. 
 And men have tried to find the missing strain 
 
 Which they can never hear or comprehend 
 With earthly senses. Yet the long, long train 
 
 136 
 
Of men of thought, whose researches extend 
 Down through the epochs of the centuries, 
 
 Who tried to scan the realms of the unknown, 
 Although they could not solve the mysteries 
 
 Surrounding life and death, yet we must own 
 They helped the human race that bravely fought 
 
 The fight with darkness ; though they did not show 
 "What wisdom is, they showed what it is not; 
 
 That is perhaps the manner we may know 
 The way to heaven. When once we have learned 
 
 All ways of error that we pronely trod. 
 Perhaps our wandering footsteps may he turned 
 
 In, to the path that leads to God." 
 
 We met at the "Bed-rock" as we were wont 
 
 To hear the seventh pay his moiety 
 Of love's instruction, sympathy's comment 
 
 On man's religion, God's divinity. 
 That was his subject. We had never need 
 
 Of him when victory smiled ; but when defeat 
 Came he was always looked upon to lead 
 
 Our routed ruined forces in retreat. 
 We called him Rally, for when things looked dark, 
 
 When hope burned but in low and lurid blaze, 
 
 137 
 
When faithful efforts failed far from the mark 
 
 Set up and hindrances beset our ways ; 
 Or when by our mistakes we sorrowing went 
 
 Into the valley of humiliation, 
 'Twas then our slow dejected steps we bent 
 
 To this our friend for cheer and consolation. 
 "Wax, Ghice, Script, Mute and all the rest of us 
 
 Hailed him with loving words when he arose. 
 "We told him the program's arrangement was 
 
 Quite fortunate ; 'twas fitting he should close. 
 For we had in the open been defeated 
 
 Through our own short-comings and ignorance. 
 Pressed by life 's questioners, we had retreated 
 
 Into the last stronghold of our defense ; 
 And that his coming now is opportune ; 
 
 "We needed leadership, since we had failed ; 
 Since we, retreating, did not know how soon 
 
 Our last entrenched redoubt may be assailed. 
 But Rally answered : ' ' Nay, you bravely fought ; 
 
 You scoured the country from all sides, and all 
 Your enemies fled cravenly and sought 
 
 A refuge in their fort, behind their wall. 
 But now with grave responsibility 
 
 You load me down when you make this appeal 
 
 138 
 
To me, that I should lead to victory. 
 
 I fear there 's not enough of godly zeal 
 Within my heart to try to take by storm 
 
 The strong-hold of the world's great unbelief. 
 I must regret that I am not in form 
 
 For heavy fighting, lacking myself the chief 
 Accoutrements of war, the proper weapons 
 
 And armor trappings to equip a knight. 
 So he may bravely meet whatever happens 
 
 To cross his path in this important fight. 
 Have we now tested to our satisfaction 
 
 That some great prize, much lauded and much 
 vaunted, 
 Is held out to the soul 's determined action ; 
 
 Concerted let us strive with hearts undaunted. 
 For in our past discourses we have learned 
 
 There is a common thing that we desire ; 
 Something for which a kingdom might be spurned, 
 
 Something the holy angels do admire, 
 Something so precious that my lips are loath 
 
 And powerless to express. We only know 
 The semblances with which heaven does clothe 
 
 Its inward worth. And of its perfect glow 
 A fragment only fills our feeble mind ; 
 
 139 
 
Like scientists will eatch a ray of light 
 Into a darkroom where it will not blind 
 
 Or dazzle their experimenting sight. 
 So I will not presume to all-embrace 
 
 The transcendental reaches of my theme, 
 But will walk humbly, only try to trace 
 
 Some visions which like pictures in a dream 
 Have come and gone, leaving their faint impress 
 
 Upon the plastic tablets of my heart. 
 Like camera set in the wilderness 
 
 Films from elusive nature's life a part, 
 Or rather like a student that peruses 
 
 Some epic of an age's literature. 
 Grasps here and there the meaning of the muses 
 
 Although much of its wealth remains obscure. 
 In meekness would I speak, not make pretense 
 
 That I can sound the God-depths or can scan 
 The hidden wisdom or the providence 
 
 Of heaven's great all-comprehending plan." 
 ' ' Now Rally turned, ' ' continued our sage, 
 
 "To speak to us in parable and story, 
 Regaled our seeking souls with many a page 
 
 At random from his book of allegory, 
 Of which a few from memory I relate ; 
 
 140 
 
But with his words there came the fondest craving 
 Like when we are to meet friends who await 
 
 Our coming, and to us sweet hands are waving. ' ' 
 
 "In that fraught period when a sober change 
 
 Comes 'er the youthful mind and makes it grave, 
 I found myself one day as on a strange 
 
 Mysterious shore. The restless lapping wave 
 That threw untiringly up on the beach 
 
 The round-worn, disk-shaped pebble also teemed 
 With something singular, and yet my speech 
 
 Could not express wherein the difference seemed. 
 I thought it odd that there should be a change 
 
 In nature's staid unchangeable apparel. 
 The sky was deeper blue. There was a strange 
 
 Charm in the flower's grace and the bird's carol. 
 As if in penetration I had gained 
 
 A higher sense, enabling me to see 
 Environing things that heretofore remained 
 
 Hidden or overlooked. Like tapestry 
 Of such old costly fabric that with wonder 
 
 "We oft had traced its texture and admired 
 Its workmanship, but never saw that under 
 
 Its dainty weft a full-wrought and inspired 
 
 141 
 
Embroidery of rare design appears, 
 
 A master-piece of art in living guise 
 Like a perspective from the legend years 
 
 At once unveils to shame our careless eyes. 
 So nature had, it seemed, in this new land 
 
 Its old familiar garb ; but emphasized 
 And heightened so that from the little, grand, 
 
 Deep meanings cropped out, heretofore disguised. 
 I was like one, lost in familiar woods. 
 
 In circle wanders till his reversed bearing 
 Misleads, and he knows not his own few roods 
 
 Of land, knows not his own house in the clearing. 
 So, common things I failed to recognize 
 
 By cursory glance, because the atmosphere 
 Of strangeness pictured out what underlies 
 
 All things, rather than such as they appear. 
 And something deeper, from life, I divined. 
 
 Occasionally I obtained a glimpse 
 Into the regions that the casual mind 
 
 Engrossed in earthly business only skimps. 
 And in those deeper moments I saw crews 
 
 Of spirits peopling gapes of tangible things, 
 I saw them glide along earth 's avenues 
 
 And heard the winnowing of their waving wings. 
 
 142 
 
My mind was keener to the sense of pain 
 
 And more alive to all the joys and woes, 
 Heart-hungers and soul-longings, the whole train 
 
 That make up life. But here I will disclose 
 My pilgrimage in sketches and narrate 
 
 Some things that did befall me in this land, 
 And in the form of allegory state 
 
 Some visions and some views from yonder strand. ' ' 
 
 "Methought I wandered on a highway, flanked 
 
 On either side by grain-fields and by fallows, 
 The road-side sward was fresh and flowerbanked 
 
 And brooklets gurgled over cooling shallows. 
 As I walked on I pictured in my mind 
 
 How generous and happy they must be 
 "Who lived where nature is so sweet and kind 
 
 And heaven in hand-reach, as it seemed to me. 
 I met two strangers, but my kindly greeting 
 
 Seemed lost on these ; they only scowled and 
 stared 
 And made some slur expression in retreating, 
 
 Intending that by me it should be heard. 
 Sneeringly they turned and noted what effect 
 
 It had on me, as if to test their skill 
 
 143 
 
And their success in trying to inject 
 
 Hate into me, who never wished them ill. 
 Grieving at this, not on account of fear 
 
 But rather that my love-plan was frustrated, 
 I met another stranger whose good cheer 
 
 Me with the world again conciliated; 
 For he gave love. And I felt it was not 
 
 Because he had some sinister intent, 
 'Twas not the gain my love should hring, he sought, 
 
 But rather love seemed the chief element 
 Of his existence. Like life that bestows 
 
 Upon each member of the human race 
 An equal portion. Like the sunshine strows 
 
 Sweet flowers for the virtuous and the base 
 With soft love-gushes in the vernal season ; 
 
 So was this new-found friend that I embraced. 
 Confiding in him then I asked the reason 
 
 Why those two had my love so illy graced. 
 He answered me, "The poor deluded ones 
 
 Still think the keynote of this, our existence, 
 Is rapinCj gain. Like the wild beast that runs 
 
 Its victim down they offer fierce resistance 
 To any force or power that would deny 
 
 To them the longest end, the biggest share. 
 
 144 
 
They think the game of life is to pile high 
 
 Their spoils, plundered by force and guile and 
 snare. 
 These two are jealous, for they thought you might 
 
 Perhaps compete with them in exploitations 
 Or that perhaps you would assume the right 
 
 To curb their predatory occupations. 
 If they had only thought that they could use you 
 
 Your love had met with different result 
 With blandished offers they would then enthuse you, 
 
 Invite you to become one of their cult. 
 Some clubs are bad, and young men have to choose 
 
 Between alternatives ; either retire 
 From combinations of this sort and lose 
 
 The gains of earth, or else lose something higher. 
 There is a cult that it is safe to join, 
 
 Its doors are free and open to all men. 
 It takes not social station, health or coin 
 
 To be a member ; even a Magdalen 
 Or a poor slave, deserted age, ill-fated 
 
 Time-serving culprit, or a millionaire, 
 Or royal blood may be initiated 
 
 Without another witness being there. 
 The pass-word "love" is born within the soul 
 
 145 
 
Of those who join this unassuming order; 
 They need no badge or token ; they enroll 
 
 Their consecrated names with the Recorder 
 In heaven. The lowly One who came to found 
 It, said it had no worldly bounds or bars, 
 But came like music of the wild wind 's sound ; 
 
 As strange as birth, as growth or light of stars; 
 He said 'twas like the alchemy of rain 
 
 Upon the tender roots suffering from dearth ; 
 Like the soil-process of the growing grain ; 
 
 Like fountain-waters bubbling from the earth ; 
 Or like the subtle chemistry that flushes 
 
 With down the lily's vestures and that brews 
 Its free-strewn fragrance ; like the night that hushes ; 
 
 Like voice of waking dawn ; like morning dews. 
 He said that it was like the rolling thunder 
 
 And flash concatenating through the sky 
 That tears the body and the soul asunder 
 
 And leaves man naked, to ask where and why. 
 He said, like from the mystic realms of birth 
 
 Inceptive life and growth comes unto men 
 So from a higher secret must come forth 
 
 The life whereunto man is born again." 
 Thus in sweet converse my new friend and I 
 
 146 
 
Our friendship sealed, easting our minds about 
 How we could better strive to hold on high 
 
 Love's pass-word. My friend said, if there was 
 doubt 
 In meeting strangers, how they are disposed 
 
 Toward us or our coming, we should go 
 And whisper "love," and it will be disclosed. 
 
 All their heart-fostered purposes will show. 
 We parted then and each his several ways 
 
 Pursued alone, but ever and anon 
 Each as by understanding turned to gaze 
 
 And follow with his eyes the other one. 
 
 "Me-thought that once my pathway came by chance 
 
 Upon a spacious lofty power-station 
 And from it issued many meshed strands 
 
 Of cables used for current-transportation. 
 And as I entered at its open door 
 
 A humming sound of action met my ear. 
 And silent forces moved from floor to floor 
 
 In measured swiftness, till the atmosphere 
 Seemed sympathetic with their thrilling motion. 
 
 I saw One there. Serene intelligence 
 Was written in his mien, and stern devotion 
 
 147 
 
To his entrusted charge. His eyes from thence 
 Did rarely wander, and he moved among 
 
 The throbbing armatures and mechanism 
 And wires charged with hidden, swift and strong 
 
 Death-dealing currents with due criticism 
 For every hitch or flaw; adjusting here. 
 
 Connecting there, with quick tool-bearing hands; 
 No matter what requirements would appear 
 
 He was prepared to answer their demands. 
 He seemed to never pay the least attention 
 
 To any visitors. Like one engrossed, 
 Cut off from every other intervention 
 
 Save that on which his consciousness is lost. 
 Some claimed that He was changed to a machine 
 
 Himself, and was himself in strange subjection 
 To his own regulated force-routine, 
 
 So swift and silent was his mode of action. 
 And in my soul there came a great desire 
 
 To breathe the charmed word into the ear 
 Of this strange one. And drawing gently nigher 
 
 I spoke the word with trembling and with fear — 
 When lo, to my surprise, the salutation 
 
 Made him turn to me with a gracious smile. 
 And come to me. Yet without relaxation 
 
 148 
 
The spinning generators all the while 
 Continued to their labors to attend. 
 
 He, greeting me, spoke with benign concern 
 About my journey, asking me to spend 
 
 The evening with him so that we might learn 
 To know each other. As we walked along 
 
 The busy street an aged woman slipped, 
 And he was quickly at her side with strong 
 
 Support. We met a vagrant child that wept. 
 He ministered to its necessity 
 
 In food and warmth. We met a crippled man 
 To whom he gave a healing remedy. 
 
 His children welcomed him with kisses, ran 
 To meet his coming home with shouts of glee. 
 
 That eve while to his wise discourse I listened, 
 I asked my kind host how it came to be 
 
 That on his labor bent he seemed so distant 
 And unapproachable. "It makes some think 
 
 That you do not concern yourself with men 
 Nor with man's thirst or hunger, meat or drink, 
 
 Nor with his love or joy or hope or pain. 
 But only with the current and its flow. 
 
 Its generation, and its safe control. 
 But now that I have learned your worth, I know 
 
 149 
 
Of none with finer sympathy of soul. ' ' 
 But kindly he, "They are but instruments, 
 
 The power-house is but the feeding source 
 Of myriad charged strands that issue thence 
 
 To carry swift and far their cabled force. 
 And though I seem to have naught else in mind 
 
 But mere mechanical control of forces, 
 Yet every wire has its work to find 
 
 And through each insulated strand there courses 
 A mission pulsing to its destination 
 
 And every cable bears a burning burden, 
 A task assigned, a sacred obligation, 
 
 A deed of charity or well-earned guerdon. 
 One current does a piece of work that makes 
 
 A thousand franchised child-hands wave with glee ; 
 Another like a wizard charms the aches 
 
 From tired limbs of man-made slavery ; 
 One runs a factory — where shoes are made, 
 
 One pair among the many is not lost. 
 For when I sped the current swift, I bade 
 
 Them shield a poor child's feet from cold and frost. 
 Another strand brings light — the festive halls 
 
 Where beauty moves in soft melodic measures 
 Are flooded splendour; then again it falls 
 
 150 
 
In muffled rays where sleep, the sweetest treasures 
 A father or a mother has ; one wave 
 
 I bid speed where through lonely hours of night 
 A widow for her children toils, to save 
 
 Her over-tasked self -immolated sight; 
 Another turns the wheel with magic quickness 
 
 That drives the car to bring loved ones together; 
 Another bears a telegram of sickness 
 
 And brings the matchless nursing of a mother 
 To her sick child. Thus in a thousand ways 
 
 I have in mind the distant waiting aid 
 And its accomplishment. For every phase 
 
 Of want I have my wire-lines quickly laid 
 Close to the human heart." Then I confessed, 
 
 With thanks, that he had made my question clear; 
 But that his gentle answer does suggest 
 
 Another question, this : " ' ^ It does appear 
 That you transmit along conducting strands 
 
 The streams of rescuing and helpful action; 
 Why do you then not bring to needy hands 
 
 That which would give forever satisfaction? 
 Why do you not then bring the feverish brow 
 
 Health that would never yield to grim disease? 
 Why do you not bring those that suffer now 
 
 151 
 
Permanent comfort and eternal ease? 
 Why do you then not bring to hunger's pain 
 
 A wave of wealth that need can not exhaust — 
 Why can the mourning one then not regain 
 
 His absent loved one, never to be lost? 
 Why can your lunging current not baptize 
 
 Man with the chrism of a deathless seal? 
 I ask this humbly, knowing you are wise 
 
 And willing to instruct and to reveal 
 Your will. ' ' He answered not as one confused 
 
 But rather like one the whole world addressing; 
 "In two ways can this offered power be used 
 
 As far as it would be to man a blessing. 
 For parallel with every stretched strand 
 
 There lies another hidden to your senses, 
 The one supplies the physical demand 
 
 The other the spiritual dispenses. 
 Although the line that may be seen confers 
 
 Not all you mentioned, yet it has been known 
 To store up fuel for a million years 
 
 That some day it may be to man a boon. 
 But if you want the things you pleaded for. 
 
 Draw largely on the current that is hidden; 
 It will work all those miracles and more, 
 
 152 
 
Is ever ready to assist when bidden. 
 And if your needs have once out-grown the first 
 
 Lines of supply, and you have a desire 
 At heaven 's deeper fount to slake your thirst 
 
 Draw on the hidden current that is higher. 
 Installed high over the eternal gates 
 
 Of helping heaven is a wireless station 
 Where, bent on love, a smiling angel waits 
 
 To quickly answer each communication," 
 
 "I heard a moaning, deep and half-suppressed, 
 
 But ever since in this new land I found me 
 I always heard that moan and rightly guessed 
 
 That it came from the hearts of those around me. 
 With their approach came consciousness of low 
 
 Lamenting. First with special grief I linked 
 This sad escaping of an overflow 
 
 Of hidden pain. But more and more distinct 
 I heard from all I met a quiet moan. 
 
 Not as from some great momentary anguish, 
 But like some deep relentless woe had grown 
 
 And slowly filled the heart and made it languish 
 In suffering. It sounded as the dripping 
 
 Of some long, lingering and remorseless pain 
 
 153 
 
So old that, though the heart still feels the gripping, 
 
 It has worn out the impress on the brain. 
 It was a special gift I had, to hear 
 
 This secret, sad and silent heart-complaint; 
 For few it seemed could hear their neighbor's drear 
 
 Lament ; its eommon-ness made it seem faint. 
 To me their faces some deep pain portrayed 
 
 Which I could read, though many tried to hide it. 
 I asked of one, what bitter grief had made 
 
 Him lowly wailing, as he went ; He chided 
 Me for inquiring thus and seemed to fear 
 
 That I might ridicule, which from my heart 
 Was farthest, for no one could learn to hear 
 
 This secret sorrow and then act the part 
 Of scoffing at it, or refuse to pity, 
 
 For its low cry would wring your soul to weeping 
 With it. Threading my way in some great city 
 
 Between the crowd that constantly is sweeping 
 Along its pavement, there I heard and found 
 
 That it was loudest where the crush for wealth 
 Was heaviest, though it was partly drowned 
 
 In the fierce din. Where poverty and filth 
 Reign undisputed in the crowded squalor, 
 
 As well as where all luxuries are heaped 
 
 154 
 
That can be bought with the almighty dollar; 
 
 Alike the human soul in pain is steeped. 
 I bent my steps to places where the sport, 
 
 The revel and enjoyment hold full sway; 
 Where people flocked their moments to divert 
 
 To find oblivion in soft gayety. 
 But as I scanned these merry pleasure-seekers 
 
 I heard a sigh between each burst of laughter; 
 Like when between the ripples of the breakers 
 
 The deep sea sighs. I noticed, too, that after 
 Their revelry had ceased their lowly wail 
 
 Was louder; like when flowing waters, pent 
 By some obstruction, gather force to scale 
 
 And sweep away their brief impediment. 
 Some bolder ones pretended to ignore 
 
 This sign of suffering and would boast about 
 The calm, cold equanimity they wore. 
 
 Their fine sang-froid that nothing could put out. 
 Yet all their boasting was a mockery; 
 
 Their haughty manner, self-sufficient mien 
 Which they put on was like a parody 
 
 Upon the anguish that they tried to screen. 
 And yet these wailings did not all express 
 
 The self -same woe ; some had a different strain. 
 
 155 
 
Most of them wept as one in deep distress, 
 
 One who had in himself the cause of pain; 
 Some few in soft low utterance of grief 
 
 No pangs, I thought, of personal pain expressed 
 But crying pity, seemed to be the chief 
 
 Incentive to the sorrow they confessed. 
 I met them here and there, and their heart-vents 
 
 Seemed altogether of a different strain, 
 Sad, yearning love was in the utterance; 
 
 And sympathy the heart could not retain. 
 To one of these I breathed the charmed word. 
 
 He, turning kindly to me, I inquired 
 The reason why this difference occurred. 
 
 He told me then of something that transpired 
 In his own life that caused this transformation. 
 
 He said that formerly in his own breast 
 The other cry sought ever for expression 
 
 And his heart-sorrow would not give him rest. 
 He said, "And I went suffering like these 
 
 With a pain-burden I could hardly bear 
 Until I heard of One that could give ease 
 
 To weary, heavy-laden ones ; and there 
 And then I sought him not in vain. 
 
 Like one, enthralled in tensioned throes of dread 
 
 156 
 
Disease, when fever numbs his throbbing brain, 
 
 For days and weeks confines him to his bed, 
 At once amends as one from death redeemed 
 
 And blithesome life's recuperated sway- 
 Finds sweet new joy in living; so I seemed 
 
 "When from my soul the burden rolled away. 
 Or like a prisoner, that years had spent 
 
 In a dim dungeon, till his friends were stones 
 And subterranean damp his element. 
 
 And the dank walls had grown into his bones. 
 Regains his freedom unexpectedly 
 
 And walks out into blessed summerlight, 
 And breathes the bouyant air, drinks in the free 
 
 And balmy breeze and feasts his starved sight 
 On tree and flower-bloom, and his dulled hearing 
 
 On nature 's music ; so was I when once 
 The painful wretchedness I had been bearing 
 
 Was taken away. The woe of others haunts 
 Me now and has become an anxious sorrow 
 
 And pity often rends my soul to weeping. 
 I pity those that go on in their narrow 
 
 Joy-quests, on their own hearts more trouble 
 heaping. 
 I pity those that hate, I know their hate 
 
 157 
 
Will breed a larger share of woe for them 
 Than all their hate for others could create; 
 
 "Will bring a punishment that naught can stem. 
 I pity those that bind themselves together 
 
 For harmful purposes, for well I know 
 The fellest hurt they can invent sinks rather 
 
 Into the hearts of those that strike the blow. 
 I pity nations when sheer selfish pride 
 
 Plunges them into war of unjust wrath, 
 There may be many trophies to divide, 
 
 One of them is a woesome aftermath. 
 The Man of Sorrows understands the sources 
 
 And is acquainted with the grief of earth 
 He knows its origin, the baleful forces 
 
 That nurture it and bring about its birth. 
 He also knows a full and sovereign cure." 
 
 The man then smiled at me and bid me grace 
 And I went musing on this adventure, 
 
 Thrice turning back, then going on apace." 
 
 "Methought I saw a motley throng with much 
 Wrought up excitement crowd an arched door; 
 
 Their faces made me lag my steps and watch 
 The various expressions that they wore. 
 
 158 
 
Some portrayed deepest hate and imprecations, 
 
 I heard the hot-breathed curses from their lips. 
 And others tried with sundry disputations 
 
 To justify their view. As when pain grips 
 The human heart into a vise until 
 
 The face seems but a single line of pain, 
 So seemed the mien of two. My heart grew chill 
 
 At their low lamentation and I fain 
 Would speak the charmed word that I had learned; 
 
 And when I uttered it they straight- way fell 
 To weeping bitterly. The foul-mouthed turned, 
 
 And sputtering up came words not fit to tell, 
 And hell's vocabulary was exhausted 
 
 In wicked sneer and insolent guffaw 
 With which this heart-grief 's outbreak was accosted. 
 
 I raised my eyes to understand and saw 
 An open hall-way and a door that led 
 
 Into a court of justice. Thence I entered 
 And will relate what here was done and said : 
 
 The interest of the audience was centered 
 On judge and lawyers and the one arraigned. 
 
 This one arrested long my mustering eyes. 
 His face to me a mystery remained ; 
 
 It showed, I knew not which, if joys, if sighs. 
 
 159 
 
For of all depths of untold pain some traces 
 
 Were mirrored forth half -hidden in his mien ; 
 All the familiar half -forgotten graces 
 
 That ever touched my life with hope, were seen; 
 And all the tenderness that ever wreathed 
 
 Itself around my poor existence, even 
 That which I spurned. Again there breathed 
 
 A sadness from him like blest ones in heaven 
 "Will breathe in prayer whene 'er they see on earth 
 
 Their loved ones walk with wilful steps in sin. 
 And patience and long-suffering shone forth 
 
 As though he suffered long, long hate, to win 
 For love the following eternities; 
 
 As though for eons suffering sorrow's throe 
 To win thereafter endless years of bliss. 
 
 To win the world from hate, from sin and woe. 
 And in the anguish of my heart I cried 
 
 Unconsciously, "What has this good man done?' 
 Some one beside me whispered, "He is tried 
 
 For lese iniquite, and there is none 
 Can save him from the tentacles that reach 
 
 Out from the realms of sin and hate and spite. 
 All his young years were spent in love to teach 
 
 These men accusing him a way they might 
 
 160 
 
Lead juster lives and be through grace reborn. 
 
 But this implied that they were sinful men, 
 Which they resented with most bitter scorn 
 
 And sought to wreak their vengeance on him. 
 When 
 To prosecute they found no legal cause, 
 
 They trumped up one, and have him here in court. 
 0, but the bitterness against him draws 
 
 An ugly crowd; he is their obscene sport, 
 But hate is cousin to obscenity. 
 
 The one will breed the other. How they hate 
 The very sight of him ! Yea, verily, 
 
 Their feet are swift to crowd him to hijl fate. 
 But listen now, the witnesses are called. ' ' 
 
 These were lined up and sworn to speak the truth. 
 The first one in the witness-chair installed 
 
 Was some pseudo-detective, whose uncouth 
 Service with other's money had been hired 
 
 To dog his footsteps, gather evidence 
 Or manufacture such as is required 
 
 By evil men to convict innocence. 
 His purpose was by sundry fabrication 
 
 To show the marvelous shrewdness of his game, 
 And by undoing this man 's reputation 
 
 161 
 
To earn his money and increase his fame. 
 But as a witness he was ill at ease, 
 
 Like one that had unduly been beguiled 
 To load some guiltless one with infamies 
 
 Or fasten some stern stigma on a child. 
 Then followed others on the witness-stand ; 
 
 One said that the accused man's every act 
 Stood like a grave reproach which seemed to brand 
 
 His own career and show wherein it lacked. 
 Another claimed the quiet, silent sway 
 
 And living sentiment of the accused 
 Was hindrance to him in a business way 
 
 And opposite to that which he infused. 
 Then one was called to give his evidence 
 
 Who was of haughty bearing, proud of self, 
 His wealth gave him an air of insolence. 
 
 'Twas he that hired the sleuth ; his bribing pelf 
 Was at the bottom of the whole affair. 
 
 Had not the culprit braved his great displeasure 
 By teaching things which he regarded were 
 
 Not in accordance with the mete and measure 
 Which he had set? It is a common failing 
 
 Of men who have acquired sudden wealth 
 To ween that they are fit to lead in scaling 
 
 162 
 
The higher realms ; to think their cunning stealth 
 Adapts them to entrap the heavenly guests 
 
 That bring God's wealth from heaven. They for- 
 get 
 The coveted gift for hoarding wealth invests 
 
 Men's souls not with the noblest tunic yet, 
 That gift is but of mediocre grade. 
 
 So, this one thought his shrewdness now should 
 hold 
 All men. And when his mind failed to persuade 
 
 He often used persuasion of his gold 
 To fashion things to his way and to coach 
 
 The issues to his much-desired end. 
 First, he proved that he was above reproach 
 
 By listing virtues that should recommend 
 Him to the world. He gave unto the poor ; 
 
 He often prayed in public ; and his name 
 Had oft been advertised from door to door ; 
 
 The public papers had extolled his fame. 
 "And this defendant, whose significance 
 
 Is nothing, says that a poor widow's mite 
 Does count for more than the munificence 
 
 Of all such princely gifts. He does incite 
 With his strange doctrine and his scurvy creeds 
 
 163 
 
Men to spurn such conventionalities 
 That stood the test of years. And thus he leads 
 
 Men's hearts to strange and perverse deities." 
 Such was his evidence. With pompous air 
 
 He looked about the room, self-justified. 
 And many a vengeful look and spiteful glare 
 
 Sought out the object that his wrath defied. 
 And men like he, God pity their blind zest, 
 
 God pity their misguided ignorance. 
 Urged by relentless hate, they never rest 
 
 Until some martyr's blood is on their hands. 
 On the court's call none rose to take the part 
 
 If him accused. His friends had skulked from 
 thence. 
 Save two that loved him. The judge in his heart 
 
 Knew well of this man's gentle innocence 
 Yet the wild spirit of the mob now showed 
 
 A thirst for vengeance that could not be stemmed, 
 
 And he gave way to its relentless goad, 
 
 The good and gentle victim was condemned. 
 And then methought I saw a wondrous sight : 
 
 A being like a blessed shade with grace 
 Unspeakable, in raiment, flowing white, 
 
 And with ecstatic joy upon the face, 
 
 164 
 
Came gliding swiftly up the crowded aisle, 
 
 Embraced the sentenced man and kissed his brow, 
 Assured him with a sweet victorious smile 
 
 That though he was condemned, high heaven now 
 Regarded him as one that did his duty. 
 
 And then I thought that other shining ones 
 Arrayed in vestments of transcendent beauty 
 
 Approached. I marveled at these denizens 
 From higher realms, and at their interest 
 
 That brought them here to earth with some high 
 plan 
 Of love and grace divinely manifest 
 
 Toward this friendless outcast of a man. 
 None seemed to notice these, or fear, or wonder — 
 
 Then suddenly I understood aright 
 That, though invisible, their holy splendour 
 
 "Was vouchsafed to my poor unworthy sight. 
 The prisoner with stern words was led out 
 
 Midst scoffing looks of satisfied revenge. 
 The shining shades still circled him about. 
 
 One passing near me, I wished to exchange 
 The secret word and witness its effect ; 
 
 I spoke, and in the guise of some sweet woman 
 She turned. If the Creator should select 
 
 165 
 
All worthy virtues ever found in human 
 Soul-depths, and all pain-purchased strength and 
 light 
 
 That ever agony of soul did glean 
 By patient heroism in the fight 
 
 For soul-enfranchisement; if He between 
 The lapses of these human virtues showered 
 
 Quintessent grace-gifts from the realms divine ; 
 And then with his creative word empowered 
 
 These attributes, so chosen, to combine 
 And take upon themselves a human form ; 
 So seemed the one that I in awe addressed 
 With winged words. By her sweet mien the storm 
 
 That swayed my heart was quickly set at rest. 
 * ' Why is it that this judged one, ' ' I inquired, 
 
 "Who drew such bitter hatred on his head, 
 Who now goes there, forsaken, undesired, 
 
 Despised as one from whom his friends have fled, 
 One who has been defeated, and the brand 
 
 Of ignominy fastens, and success 
 Now seems forever to slip from his hand, 
 
 And failure mocks him with its bitterness ; 
 Why it is, such as he is worthy deemed 
 
 Of your divine attention and regard; 
 
 166 
 
And favors, such as man has never dreamed 
 
 To get, are lavished on him as reward?" 
 And she replied with winged words, "Success 
 
 He has attained, and of the highest order; 
 Aye, he was watched with anxious eagerness, 
 
 And heaven with gladness overflowed its border 
 When found that he had stood the great ordeal. 
 
 Do you not understand, are you so slow 
 To comprehend what is the high ideal 
 
 Of heaven ? Nineteen hundred years ago 
 There was One suffered the utmost disgrace 
 
 And punishment, though guiltless of offense, 
 Yet if you follow out the blessed trace 
 
 Of that One's everlasting influence, 
 You will not say that He has been defeated 
 
 Although He died forsaken and alone. 
 Thus ever must these struggles be repeated." 
 
 I raised my eyes to thank her. She was gone. 
 
 "Night reigned. But looking from my hill aloft 
 The blackness of the sky seemed broken by 
 
 Numberless stars that studded with their soft 
 Eefulgence heaven's arched canopy. 
 
 The chaste, transparent light, evenly given 
 
 167 
 
The wide expanse of earth, fell like a token 
 Flung over from the parapets of heaven, 
 
 Pledging God's constancy, endless, unbroken — 
 I looked again and I was seized with wonder. 
 
 It seemed that every star scowled at his neighbor, 
 Their calm sweet harmony was rent asunder ; 
 
 Like boys with fuss and wrangle o'er their labor, 
 Each claimed to be the cause of all the light, 
 
 With rush and flare they tried to snuff each other, 
 They quite forgot that each was satellite 
 
 And closely bound to some revolving brother. 
 It seemed that I could hear their wordy cavil, 
 
 One told the second what the third had done ; 
 One said," your light was kindled by the devil, 
 
 It has a different luster from my own. ' ' 
 It seemed to me the heaviest commotion 
 
 "Was that they charged each other with collusion 
 And stealing from the bottom of the ocean 
 
 The gold that glittered there in rich profusion. 
 The sky was full of blazing scrapping flare, 
 
 Those of an ampler light like termagents 
 With menacing contortions tried to stare 
 
 Their humbler neighbors out of countenance. 
 I hid my face in shame. Could it then be 
 
 168 
 
The everlasting stars I love so much, 
 "Which often in their calm serenity 
 
 Were my faith's anchor, could they stoop to such 
 A low cat-scramble for a little gold ? 
 
 Their action was a mystery to me, 
 I thought the stars I learned to reverence hold 
 
 Jewels and gold more precious than the sea. 
 I thought the never-ending stars were islands 
 
 Set like great flambeaux in life 's dangerous sea, 
 Half-way between the soul and heaven's highlands, 
 
 That man might not despair of God's infinity — 
 I raised my eyes aloft again. Night reigned. 
 
 The quiet constant stars were in their places. 
 Of all the vulgar hubbub that had pained 
 
 My soul there were no longer any traces. 
 The heavens had been hidden by a cloud, 
 
 Those coruscations which had given birth 
 To my wierd phantasy were but a crowd 
 
 Of rushlights risen from the swampy earth. 
 Above me lay the flower-fields of light, 
 
 The galaxy of cities of the sky, 
 Whose gates are pearl, the walls of lazulite 
 
 Whose beauties still proclaim, God rules on high. 
 I sought my couch, thinking this world 's small-trade 
 
 169 
 
"Will cheapen jewels of the heavenly hoard 
 Only until again by heaven weighed 
 And their true mint-marked value is restored." 
 
 "On a bleak hill beside my rambling path 
 
 Covered with sparing grass and heatherbell 
 And boulders where the farmer in his math 
 
 Must circumvent and guard his scythe-blade well, 
 There in that barren place a group of palaces 
 
 Arose before my eyes and towered high, 
 Midst pillar-girded plazas, garnished trellises 
 
 In softly shining splendor to the sky. 
 And throngs of happy people homed around 
 
 These charmed premises. And in delight 
 And unsought joy they seemed to find profound 
 
 And sweet employment, and their highest height 
 Of happiness seemed but to love each other — 
 
 — I looked again and all was swept away. 
 Before me stretched the blank and barren heather. 
 
 I spoke to one beside me in dismay, 
 ''What mystic land is this, that has a double 
 
 Contoured existence to my seeking senses? 
 Scarce have I caught the one, when like a bubble 
 
 It disappears with all appurtenances, 
 
 170 
 
Like shifting curtains on colossal stages, 
 
 Or like some old palimpsest which between 
 Its lines holds ancient half-obscured messages 
 
 Of graver import than those which are seen 
 At the first glance. ' ' ' But my companion, thus : 
 
 ' ' And so it is ; this is a double world 
 And superimposed on that which by us 
 
 Is seen with natural eyes can be unfurled 
 Sublimer realms, where soft and sweet content 
 
 Steals o'er the soul its unexpected bliss. 
 Or else a region where dejected, bent, 
 
 The spirit grovels in deep wretchedness. 
 The vision which thy favored sight beheld 
 
 And those white mansions are the blest abode 
 Of some great king who once on earth has dwelt. 
 
 And those who zealously His love have wooed." 
 Then quickly I replied ; ' ' The deep impress 
 
 That vision left my mind will never fade, ' 
 For never did I see or hear or guess 
 
 That anything so beautiful was made. 
 Inform me then how I may ever gain 
 
 "Within those blessed courts my domicile? 
 How can I woo and finally attain 
 
 This wondrous, gracious king's consent and will 
 
 171 
 
To enter there ? ' ' Then my companion sweet : 
 
 "Those who best serve and love their fellowman 
 Seem to come nearest His desire to meet, 
 
 And nearest to work out His holy plan. 
 But come with me ; I know a rugged knoll 
 
 Quite near and just beyond the palace gate, 
 From whence the world is spread out like a scroll ; 
 
 There we will urge the wheels of time and wait 
 To see how man through life seeks after these 
 
 Exalted mansions." Soon we found a spot 
 Where down life 's valley we could see with ease ; 
 
 We saw the busy life and what it wrought ; 
 We saw the race and chase for wealth and gold, 
 
 The dash and clash for standing and for station 
 We saw one listening when he was told 
 
 About this King and His blest habitation, 
 Constrained by His sweet promises and love 
 
 He took, though wealthy, all his stock and store, 
 His jewels rich, his wealth, the product of 
 
 Long years of saving and all these he bore 
 Out in the world to serve his fellow-man. 
 
 For so he thought to gain his master 's favor. 
 Great gifts he gave, great projects he did plan, 
 
 Bought mercy of the tyrant and the slaver, 
 
 172 
 
Ransomed the bounden one and with his wealth 
 
 Strewed fullness where before was scarcity, 
 Purchased for blind ones sight, for sick ones health, 
 
 For those in darkness light and purity, 
 I saw, when all his ample earthly store 
 
 "Was once in gentle acts of mercy spent, 
 And he could help the suffering no more. 
 
 Toward the shining gates his steps he bent. 
 I saw a bright one at the portals wait. 
 
 Mild-eyed and sweet ; of her he asked kind leave 
 That he might enter through the glittering gate 
 
 And there his portion of reward receive. 
 But with soul-loving deep solicitude 
 
 The mild-eyed angel answered his desire 
 By asking, if he had done all he could 
 
 Or had a further call for something higher 
 Than mere alleviation of the needs 
 
 Of outward man. For heaven 's highest merit 
 Comes not to him who succors, clothes and feeds 
 
 The starving human body, but the spirit. 
 Hundreds of thousands souls the world does hold 
 
 Who have no wealth to give with which to please 
 Yet they can find their way within the fold. 
 
 The master said : ' ' She gave more than all these, " 
 
 173 
 
When He was speaking of the widow 's mite ; 
 
 You have in part loved and served man, 'tis true, 
 But man has more than body to keep right ; 
 
 A needy soul to administer to. 
 And when the Master said, "My chosen thirst," 
 
 He meant a thirst that we can nowhere slake 
 Save where the springs of living waters burst 
 
 Out from the throne of G-od. And when He spake 
 Of those in prison, He meant those ill-fated 
 
 Ones whom the career of the soul holds doomed. 
 Until they are by grace emancipated. 
 
 And when He said, "My children are consumed 
 With hunger, and they languish after food;" 
 
 It was the hunger of the soul He meant ; 
 The bread of life to which He did allude. 
 
 And when He said, "My little ones are spent 
 In burning fever and in dread disease," 
 
 The Master meant that in their souls they languish, 
 That earthly remedies can give no ease ; 
 
 That only He can free them of their anguish." 
 The man with sorrow on his loving face 
 
 Mused as he went away, as one who seeks 
 Some other resource. Then I saw him place, 
 
 Like one who one last faithful effort makes, 
 
 174 
 
The strength of his young manhood on the altar. 
 
 He went about and travailed hard to bring 
 Some higher good to man. And without falter 
 
 He fought the evil tendencies that cling 
 Around the human soul to do it harm. 
 
 He sacrificed his body and his mind 
 In shielding others from life 's bitter storm. 
 
 Soul-bondage and injustice could not find 
 A single victim if he could prevent. 
 
 At last his health gave way, and broken down 
 His footsteps toward the golden gate he bent. 
 
 The mild-eyed one brought out a shining crown 
 Of gold and gems ; but he waved it aside 
 
 And said he wished one like his Master wore. 
 The angel said, "Not yet. If you abide 
 
 In patience when the test comes to your door. ' ' 
 Then the man pleaded : "I need higher aid 
 
 If I shall e 'er attain this blessed goal. ' ' 
 I heard him weeping. ' ' Ah, what price is paid 
 
 For the redemption of a single soul! 
 Before I never realized the cost 
 
 It takes to bring to heaven and happiness 
 A wandering human being that is lost. 
 
 I have not even yet met with success. 
 
 175 
 
Fond hope surrounded me in the beginning 
 
 And with the sanguine confidence of youth 
 I thought that easily I might be winning 
 
 For such a Master and for such a truth 
 A goodly number. Then I gave my wealth 
 
 And hoped to see it render good returns, 
 And then I tried what all my strength and health 
 
 Could do to win the wilful soul that spurns 
 A higher life, and when I had naught left 
 
 I gave my mind, my thought, my speech, every- 
 thing. 
 That I might warn one heedless of the drift 
 
 To seek and find these mansions of our King. 
 And yet I fear that I have sadly failed. 
 
 What more is there that I might do or offer ? " 
 The angel said : ' ' That which has e 'er availed 
 
 The most to save a fallen world — Suffer. ' ' 
 I saw the man then fall upon his knees, 
 
 Remaining long. He arose and turned away 
 To meet the world again. But a deep peace 
 
 Seemed to infuse him with a glowing sway 
 Of love and hope ; like one that sought a thing 
 
 Most precious, perseveres uncheered, alone. 
 Till unexpectedly some turn will bring 
 
 176 
 
A pledge that sometime it will be his own; 
 So he took heart. I saw him dedicate 
 
 His soul to human service, heard him teach 
 In song and words, I heard him supplicate 
 
 Each one alike that they should try to reach 
 The shining gates. Those he had heretofore 
 
 Assisted with his labor or with gold 
 Were always kind to him, but now no more 
 
 Came sweet respect from all those that he told 
 To seek the one thing needful, but some scoffed 
 
 At the sweet voice of his evangelism; 
 Laughed him to scorn ; and they assailed him oft 
 
 With sland 'rous insult and fierce criticism. 
 And then he learned to bend and bow his head 
 
 And let the waves of hatred o'er it roll, 
 He learned the fearful lonesomeness and dread 
 
 When the flood-waters come up to one's soul. 
 Again I saw him seek the shining gates 
 
 And like a child seeks comfort from its mother 
 He found the mild-eyed angel there that waits 
 
 To open to the soul, who for another 
 Has suffered. Now he knew he was redeemed 
 
 By some One 's suffering ; and on the breeze 
 Came softest music strains, whose burden seemed 
 
 177 
 
A thousand blended joys ; and like one flees 
 From something that had long held him enslaved 
 
 He ran in through the gate that swung ajar 
 And mingled in sweet concourse with the saved, 
 Who met him, waving welcome from afar. 
 I turned to my companion : ' ' Do all such 
 
 That overcome and reach this blest abode 
 Forever dwell therein, no longer touch 
 
 The world or a world-pilgrim's jading load?" 
 He straightway answered me : " This is a double 
 
 Existence and a double world, and some 
 Do only live the lower life of trouble. 
 
 While others strive the world to overcome 
 And find a second world above the lower. 
 
 And though those soul-entrancing tenements 
 Above encompass them and the sweet shore 
 
 Affords enjoyment for a heavenly sense, 
 Yet can the human life not well escape 
 
 From this its lower life as long as it 
 Remains a tenant in this mortal shape ; 
 
 But daily they bring portions of the sweet 
 Sumptuous fruitage from the realm divine 
 
 And scatter it among the starving ones 
 They meet below ; and in their duty-line 
 
 178 
 
"Which they pursue among the denizens 
 Of earth, they shadow forth their higher life." 
 
 I to my kind instructor : ' ' Is the gall 
 And bitterness of earth's mad selfish strife 
 
 No longer able to disturb their soul? 
 Or does the hate of earth which so distressed 
 
 The life of him we erstwhile saw, before 
 The long-desired mansions he possessed, 
 
 Still harrow them ? ' ' My guide replied : ' * No 
 more 
 They feel the poisoned shafts of ugly malice ; 
 
 Yet as they come in close contact with pain 
 Their hearts are not untouched or cold or callous 
 
 Or even proof to it. And oft they fain 
 Would quietly withdraw themselves away 
 
 Into the peaceful solacing retreat 
 Of these white mansions which invite alway, 
 
 And to companionship which there they meet. 
 Though not exempt from pain, these blest ones hold 
 
 The key to all; brave patience to withstand. 
 They are not ruffled by the greed of gold 
 
 The fight for preference on every hand. 
 They have learned patience; stronger than the 
 sword, 
 
 179 
 
Patience, that gathers up the broken frays 
 Of ruin, of defeat, and twines a cord 
 
 To bind the force that 'gainst our work inveighs. 
 Patience, that fans again the dying embers 
 
 Left of a fire that destroyed our treasure 
 To burn the heaping sorrow that encumbers 
 
 The riven heart, load-heavy without measure. 
 Patience, that reaches out into the dense 
 
 Deep endless night and plants the heaven-adorning 
 Star-cluster and with light-creating hands 
 
 Sweeps in the dawning of another morning. 
 Patience, the signal sent from heaven's moorage 
 
 That through man's anxious voyage ever gleamed. 
 Patience, the token from the cross to encourage 
 
 A faith that by it mankind was redeemed. ' ' 
 Then my companion sweet bid me good cheer 
 
 And I went pondering on the gentle plans 
 Of God to lift and cherish, and how near 
 
 His heavenly habitations are to man's." 
 
 *'And now," the sage continued, "I am nearing 
 
 A point in my irregular recital 
 Where all the stray converging threads are bearing 
 
 Towards a subject, to us seven, vital. 
 
 180 
 
Long after Rally ceased we sat in silence, 
 
 It seemed we all had reached an open door 
 And through the night we saw the wished-for islands 
 
 Of truth which we regarded more and more, 
 For which our searching mental vision longed. 
 
 Should we cross over ? Are our efforts worth 
 The entry for such prize? The memory thronged 
 
 With long-heard call of voices from the earth. 
 With oft-repeated signals from the sky, 
 
 From nature came the thousand mute appeals 
 Like silent spirits that are saddened by 
 
 The carelessness which our neglect reveals. 
 And above all the crying need of man 
 
 Which eloquently spoke from our heart; 
 For ever since the search for truth began 
 
 At every turn sin with its direful art 
 Stood in the way. Sin with its blighting touch, 
 
 The poor world's universal heritage, 
 The soul's great enemy whose power is such 
 
 That man must never-ceasing warfare wage ; 
 And even after a victorious fight 
 
 Must ever keep a watchman at the gates, 
 Must keep incessant vigil day and night 
 
 At all its barriers. For outside waits 
 
 181 
 
Sin, like a lion, to raze the ramparts low, 
 
 Or else perchance in some way find an entrance 
 More unobtrusive. Like a lamb might go 
 
 In through an open doorway without hindrance ; 
 Or like a sinuous snake might noiselessly 
 
 Below the bottom rail come cra^ding through ; 
 Or like a squirrel that with agility, 
 
 So quickly that the eye can not pursue. 
 Climbing, springs o 'er the very topmost panel ; 
 
 Or even like a mouse that gnaws a hole 
 In secret for itself a hidden channel ; 
 
 So pitiless sin conspires against the soul. 
 When on the highway to Benares city 
 
 Some five and twenty hundred years ago 
 Buddha was moved to an eternal pity 
 
 At passing sights of suffering and woe. 
 The stricken of the plague, decrepit age. 
 
 The sufferers from famine, flood and fire. 
 He cast about desiring to assuage 
 
 The woe of countless millions who expire 
 In writhing pain. The putrid corpse that lay 
 
 Along the roadside killed by murderous steel 
 Suggested to Buddha the painful way 
 
 Of birth and death, rebirth to further ill, 
 
 182 
 
He saw man endlessly by pain pursued. 
 
 So he his life in meditation spent, 
 In which he every source of wisdom wooed 
 
 To find a way by which he could prevent 
 The suffering of man. Six hundred years 
 
 Later came One who said, not suffering 
 But sin was the chief source of all our tears 
 And all our loss. He further taught the thing 
 That we most need to conquer is not pain, 
 
 But that which caused our souls to be distorted ; 
 Our highest object should be to attain 
 
 Deliverance from sin, although we courted 
 And brought upon us pain and persecution. 
 
 The battle of the heart, the overthrow 
 Of sin, that is the paramount solution ; 
 
 To sin should all our highest pity go. 
 He came and He espoused the thorny crown. 
 
 And all along these nineteen hundred years 
 Whene'er His followers would seek renown 
 
 And worldly-minded gain. He disappears 
 And shuns the work wherein they take reward 
 
 In worldly adulation or in pleasure. 
 And always you will find His work is hard, 
 
 And suffering-fraught, and paid with such a treas- 
 ure 
 
 183 
 
The world would laugh at. Always we must turn 
 
 To lowly, modest, tear-encumbered sources 
 To find His true defenders and to learn 
 
 The stronghold and the strength of Christian 
 forces. 
 Thus at the "Bed-rock" did we seven discuss 
 
 Such questions uppermost in our minds 
 Like one who in a forest lost will guess 
 
 His bearing, scan each object, till he finds 
 The wished-for path that leads him on his course ; 
 
 So we enlisted all we ever knew 
 And we exhausted every thought-of source 
 
 To find some index, some directing clue 
 To help us in our life-depending choice. 
 
 Sometimes we wept and in a sort of awe 
 Not one of us would deign to raise his voice. 
 
 Or dare to speak the visions that he saw. 
 Then Judge spoke out, and he described a scene 
 
 That was the climax to our mental sifting, 
 It held a picture of the Nazarene, 
 
 That was the choice toward which our minds were 
 drifting. 
 Then Rally spoke in prayer directed to 
 
 The object of our choice, and his words came 
 
 184 
 
As though we all had spoken them, as though 
 
 From but one heart : " Christ, we love thy name, 
 Although thy warriors display no trophy 
 
 Of warlike fame or earth-born victory. 
 Thy poet does not sing a single strophe 
 
 That has the ring of martial heraldry. 
 But pierced are Thy hands that healed and blessed. 
 
 Thy body bears the stripes of one chastised, 
 And all these wrongs to Thee go unredressed. 
 
 Although they spat upon Thee and despised 
 Thy life and work and utterly rejected, 
 
 And pushed Thee out into death's cruel realm. 
 And all the bitterness of earth collected 
 
 Its venom to engulf and overwhelm 
 Thy soul. Although Thy followers one by one 
 
 Forsook Thee, fearful or ashamed to own 
 A fallen master whose career seemed done. 
 
 Whose cherished hard-won work seemed over- 
 thrown. 
 Although the hopes Thy loved ones held were 
 blighted, 
 
 Thy yearning love which o 'er the human race 
 Hovered like mother-love was ill requited 
 
 And earthly failure stared Thee in the face. 
 
 185 
 
Although the edifice which had been reared 
 
 By them, with love's ambition and with prayer. 
 Was razed to ruins and Thy enemies jeered 
 
 In mockery and derision their despair ; 
 Although Thou drankst the dregs of human hate 
 
 And had a taste of utter desolation, 
 Till there was nothing left that could create 
 
 Earthly desire or earthly inspiration: 
 Yet do we take Thee as our chosen king ; 
 
 And here upon our bended knees we offer 
 Our fealty and homage, and we bring 
 
 Our willingness to meet and bear and suffer 
 For heaven-victories all this earth-defeat. 
 
 Hail to our humble sovereign of woe ! 
 Thee with tear-mingled hosannas we greet, 
 
 Thy banners on the earth are trailing low, 
 The place to lay Thy head is oft the couch 
 
 Of poor maltreated, outcast refugees 
 Where in the shadows threatening figures crouch 
 
 To rob Thee even of such stinted ease. 
 
 Th}^ kingdom has no earthly boundary, 
 
 No bastioned walls encircle Thy domain; 
 Exposed to onslaughts of the enemy 
 
 Thy martyrs languish and expire in pain. 
 
 186 
 
No pomp or glitter marks Thy regal throne 
 
 On earth, but only sacrifice and loss 
 Are its foundation. Even when Thy own 
 
 With earthly splendor would adorn Thy cause, 
 Thy faithful ones desert a thing perverted 
 
 And seek in silence on a stranger shore 
 A humbler shrine where quiet and God-girted 
 
 They strive Thy meek heart-kingdom to restore. 
 No shout of time-diverting revelers 
 
 Can e'er supplant the eryings after God; 
 And sad and earnest sweep Thy travelers 
 
 Up the blood-mantled steeps which Thou hast trod. 
 Yet some unbounded sweetness of Thy love 
 
 Constrains us to accept Thee as our Lord. 
 For when sin weighed us down through Thee above 
 
 Was sweet forgiveness in our hearts restored. 
 We knoAV Thou dost forgive for we have tasted, 
 
 We know One who forgives does also love 
 The object, else forgiveness would be wasted, 
 
 With all the purposes for which it strove. 
 Yet have we chosen Thee as our own Lord. 
 
 We choose the sweetness interspersed between 
 
 The pangs of pain and grief this earth can bring, 
 The hidden joy that unannounced, unseen 
 
 187 
 
Comes and makes suffering sweet. We choose the 
 bliss 
 
 That comes to one while being swept away 
 By the great deluge of iniquities 
 
 Whose ravages he tries to stem and stay. 
 We choose Thee Lord from glamour's fleeting glow 
 
 From all the lures of life which urge and taunt 
 Us with their glittering transitory show, 
 
 From all of which earth's eloquence can vaunt, 
 From all the soul can dream of wealth and power, 
 
 The pleasing flush of flattery or fame, 
 The sweet soft adulation of the hour, 
 
 From all these, Lord, we choose Thee and Thy 
 name. 
 Life, Love, God, Thou who dost fill 
 
 Time's ever-passing, ever-changing shores, 
 Thou who dost in the deep space-reaches dwell 
 
 And the vast star-depths are Thy corridors. 
 Hear us, we pray, for here we make our choice." 
 
 Thus surging from his bosom came the prayer, 
 And more than words spoke from his throbbing 
 
 voice, 
 A pent up earnestness, a sincere care. 
 And there at the ''Bed-rock" same to us seven 
 
 188 
 
Something that I can not describe or utter, 
 But we could hear the orchestra of heaven, 
 
 And all around us seemed the joyous flutter 
 Of wafting wings. Like when John Wesley's band 
 
 Of students seeking for a deeper grace 
 Found grace in rich abundance right at hand 
 
 Seeking for them, desiring their embrace. 
 Or like the straggling band at pentecost 
 
 Met praying, fearing He, whom they believed 
 And walked with, would forever now be lost. 
 
 With inexpressible joy were undeceived. 
 So we who sought the Truth with doubts and tears 
 
 Discovered that she claimed us as her own. 
 That she had trailed our footsteps through the years. 
 
 That she had wept because we were so prone. 
 That she anticipated our salvation 
 
 And like a distant friend to whom we yearn 
 To go, making extensive preparation 
 
 Toward our journey^ also in his turn 
 Has greater love and meets us at our door. 
 
 So came this inextinguishable joy. 
 Welling into our hearts as naught before 
 
 Had ever done, until it seemed to cloy 
 And overflow our unaccustomed soul 
 
 189 
 
"With an inexplicable happiness 
 Not of this earth. It seemed as if the whole 
 
 Creation shared this love, this joy and bliss. 
 And then our duty lay before us; clear 
 
 And well mapped-out now lay our future route. 
 We saw the truth in vivid light — but here." — 
 
 The old sage scanned the youth that sat about 
 Him listening, in the Philomaethean hall; 
 
 The evening sun in horizontal rays 
 Streamed in and threw a glad glow over all 
 
 And bathed the students in a mellow blaze. 
 "But here," the sage continued, "I appeal 
 
 To our pact, I need not tell my views 
 And by our compromise I may conceal 
 
 Those which I deem to be the highest Truths. 
 Yet will I keep my word and in the sequel 
 
 Must briefly tell you how it was that fear 
 And love of life did render me unequal 
 
 To meet the brunt of it and persevere. 
 Yes, we were sanguine and we loved our cause 
 
 And we had laid our all upon the altar, 
 "We promised that without reserve or pause. 
 
 We humbly vowed that without fear or falter 
 Our earnest efforts should be consecrated 
 
 190 
 
And used to help the cause we had espoused 
 Nor should we shrink or blench if we are hated, 
 
 Nor fear if opposition is aroused. 
 Thus like strong swimmers brave the rugged sea 
 
 Throwing themselves into the briny wave 
 That shipwrecked ones in the extremity 
 
 Of their last grasp for life they yet might save ; 
 So in life's buffeting sea we soon got scattered 
 
 And each one was on his own task intent 
 And some brought precious freightage spume-be- 
 spattered 
 
 Out of the maw of death 's own element. 
 So was the plunge initial of these seven, 
 
 And nobly did they strike out from the shore. 
 A short account of each could now be given 
 
 That you may know the battlescars they wore. 
 Mark this, and love to you the more abounds 
 
 Here in the lengthening shadows of my age, 
 There is a field of war on spiritual grounds 
 
 Where sharply drawn eternal combats wage ; 
 Espouse but once the cause of truth and right, 
 
 'Tis then you step into the firing line 
 And have enlisted in this mortal fight, 
 
 That rages on the trail to heights divine. 
 
 191 
 
'Tis not a war of carnage and of gore, 
 
 You do not even try to wound your foe 
 'Tis not your sheets of lead, your cannon's roar, 
 
 That makes your enemy rage and bluster so, 
 'Tis but your quiet entering in the lists. 
 
 The wearing of the colors that he hates, 
 The standing for the cause that he resists, 
 
 The opposition that your life creates. 
 The fearless human being who would hew 
 
 Close to the chalk-line that our God has struck, 
 Who without veer or vary would pursue 
 
 A true straight course, and would not cringe or 
 truck 
 To all the thousand influences tending 
 
 To lead off either to the right or left, 
 To all the sweet-voiced favors that are bending 
 
 Their alluring powers to draw him with the drift, 
 I say, if such undeviating course 
 
 With strictness were pursued without a flinch 
 That life would be, aye, even from its source 
 
 A straight line leading to the martyr's bench. 
 Yea, even in these vaunted modern times 
 
 When faggot-flame and cross are out of date, 
 Man still finds means to perpetrate his crimes 
 
 192 
 
And methods to work out his rankling hate. 
 Two things astound me : Love, the infinite love 
 
 Of God, and hate, the appalling hate of man. 
 But hate is ever the prer ursor of 
 
 Great woe to him who hates. And through the 
 plan 
 Or man's redemption is the purpose running 
 
 That he should find a milder heart and break 
 Away from this inveterate hate, thus shunning 
 
 The suffering that follows in its wake. 
 Averting thus the crippling of the soul. 
 
 As poison will cause persons to inherit 
 A dwarfed and stunted body, death and dole, 
 
 So, hate deforms and stunts and dulls the spirit, 
 And brings a double woe that e 'er will stay 
 
 With him who has directed it to fall, 
 Though it reach not its purpose. By the way 
 
 No sweeter peace-note came from heaven's wall 
 Than recently when the United States 
 With Mexico in trouble were involved 
 And in the face of ugly jingo traits 
 
 By noble statesmen Christianly were solved. 
 When nation will regard as Christian brother 
 
 Each other nation and will treat it so 
 
 193 
 
Willing to bear like Christians with each other 
 
 The humanization of the world will grow. 
 But to resume my purpose and relate 
 
 In brief the further history of my theme ; 
 Ghice sped headlong and sure toward his fate, 
 
 He never brooked the flimsy world of seem, 
 And many he led on to a higher striving 
 
 And many he opposed. With prayers and tears 
 He tilled his chosen field, often depriving 
 
 Himself that he might sow for future years. 
 But having like the Baptist criticised 
 
 Some people that were high up, as they say. 
 They turned against him, wrongfully devised 
 
 Some slanderous tales, published them in a way 
 That made it seem that they were very loath 
 
 To tell the truth, though it was never true. 
 No one knows like he who defames, the growth 
 
 Of lies, the sure returns if he but strew 
 The insidious seeds, if he but persevere. 
 
 So Ghice 's worthy name was undermined 
 And his own friends turned from him with a sneer 
 
 Or with feigned sorrow-words, the more unkind. 
 And then he suffered, suffered the deep pierce 
 
 Of guileless hearts branded with laming shame; 
 
 194 
 
Suffered assaults, he thought none could be fierce 
 
 Or cruel enough to perpetrate the same, 
 Until at length infinite patience came 
 
 To shield his soul from hate 's exhaustless quiver. 
 But to the sensitive man's fragile frame 
 
 The shafts had done their work. Down with a 
 fever 
 He never rose again. No martyr sleeps 
 
 In ancient catacomb or hallowed crypt 
 That has a higher claim. Righteousness weeps 
 
 O'er such in copious tears. The fate of Script 
 Was kinder, though it was equally tragic. 
 
 He learned the art to help men and could read 
 Their soul or body-want, and as by magic 
 
 He was at hand and with his old time speed 
 Allayed and succored. Once a fire broke out 
 
 In some old crowded building ripe for flame. 
 Heroic work was done. There was a shout 
 
 That three were yet unsaved, cut off. Script came, 
 He never asked a question, spoke a word, 
 
 But like a flame himself he leaped right through 
 And in the flames he perished with the third 
 
 After he had rescued the other two. 
 And Wax, he found his work in a large city 
 
 195 
 
"Where life and joy and beauty are congested, 
 "Where suffering too and crime engaged his pity, 
 
 "Where the real timber of a man is tested. 
 "Withal he was imprudent and his acts 
 
 Invited martyrdom, for he was prone 
 To hurl the naked biting unkempt facts 
 
 Into the enemy's face. And all alone 
 And single handed he would brave and beard 
 
 The monster of untruth and hurl defiance 
 Into his very teeth. He never feared. 
 
 Tall, agile, strong with faith and God-reliance 
 He made a leader where it was required 
 
 To fight an evil. By the very stand 
 He took, incipient evils were retired 
 
 Ere they were born and bold ones hid their hand. 
 Once when some crying public shame was told 
 
 That there was law they found a stiff resistance 
 For it was backed by trade-clubs and by gold. 
 
 'Twas run by hired tools and in the distance 
 "Watching the prey to enter and entangle 
 
 Itself were they who swiped the profits in, 
 Some that would come to church in silks and 
 spangles 
 
 Bought with the money realized from sin. 
 
 196 
 
As in the night a tempest stealthily steals 
 
 Up in the sky with rumbling thunder-flights 
 Increasing suddenly to heavy peals, 
 
 And shaft and sheet of lightning glares and smites 
 The crass and heavy darkness, so this leader ; 
 
 He fearlessly exposed them in the courts, 
 And even a biased court had to consider 
 
 The clinching evidence, the gross reports. 
 And "Wax and his reformers won the day. 
 
 But something happened that experienced 
 Men thought not of. Those that received the pay 
 
 Of the nefarious traffic had incensed 
 Their creatures so and in their hearts created 
 
 Such sentiment it could not be controlled 
 And that same night their fury unabated 
 
 Broke over Wax and he lay dead and cold. 
 Now Mute, he was a man of milder mould 
 
 He had a gift of teaching that is rare, 
 He offered to the world the heavenly gold 
 
 That was entrusted to his watchful care. 
 And as a light-house throws its helpful light 
 
 Across the night-enveloped billowy sea 
 And with a ray of hope inspires the fight 
 
 Of struggling seamen in distress, so he. 
 
 197 
 
He, through the books he wrote, acquired fame 
 
 And he became so noted that the great 
 Vouch-safed to honor his illustrious name. 
 
 Then he was called by Princes of the State 
 To act as their adviser: he fulfilled 
 
 This mission with much grace and excellent sense. 
 But they had other counsellors. To build 
 
 Your fortunes in a king's environments 
 Is both replete with grace and jeopardy 
 
 And as Mute's fame increased, so did his danger, 
 And the old throne-courtiers in jealousy 
 
 Combined their influence to oust this stranger 
 Who had insinuated, as they claimed. 
 
 Himself into the Prince's grace by reason 
 Of self -planned purposes. So they inflamed 
 
 The ignorant classes with the cry of treason. 
 And Mute went down although the Prince well knew 
 
 There never was a grain of treason in 
 This man. For Mute tried always to imbue 
 
 The world with love of good and hate of sin. 
 Thus when truth beckons, when light fain would 
 flood 
 
 The world, then evil men will come in might 
 And nip the promising blossom in the bud, 
 
 198 
 
Delay Christ 's day, prolong the morbid night. 
 "Woe to the world that speeds to self-destruction; 
 
 Of old it stoned the prophets that were sent. 
 "Woe to the man of sin that flouts instruction 
 
 And hastens e'er recurring punishment. 
 I come to Rally now, the best of all. 
 
 Preaching the gospel was his chosen calling, 
 He struck his tents within the sacred wall 
 
 Of prayer and love. To those around him falling 
 And needing guidance he brought such up-cheer, 
 
 As when to one that gropes along his way 
 In densest darkness, all at once a clear 
 
 And star-lit sky shows up, and dawn and day. 
 His words brought comfort like when barren drouth 
 
 Rests on the earth and plants will wither 
 And blossoms droop, and creatures with their mouth 
 
 Are gasping up to heaven, and the weather 
 Then quickly changing brings abundant rain, 
 
 Brings back the joy of life and growth and bloom 
 Until the seed-plants thrive to growing grain. 
 
 The flowers spend their long withheld perfume, 
 And slowly swells the fragrance-flavored fruit. 
 
 And everything breathes in the earth's reborn, 
 Rebaptised life : so did the words of Mute, 
 
 199 
 
Untrammeled from life's bitterness and scorn, 
 Pall on a suffering, world-famished heart. 
 
 He had a gift to clearly show the road 
 To higher planes of life. He knew the art 
 
 Man's heaven-hunger to arouse and goad. 
 But he, too, found his enemies. They guessed 
 
 The trend of truths which he so much extolled 
 Was counter-action to their world 's behest, 
 
 And quiet truth cuts deeper than the bold. 
 When truth sets up her standard, falsehoods come 
 
 With ruthless hands to hamper or to mar 
 Or sneakingly contrive to detract from 
 
 Its worth, or its good influence to bar. 
 And though the truth will stand, its advocates 
 
 Will oft go down. Wlien falsehood can't devise 
 Derogatory things or find some traits 
 
 About a life like Rally's to criticise 
 Then it will slink around and sniff the air. 
 
 Will -pry into his house and home, patrol 
 His comings and his goings everywhere, 
 
 And draAv a cordon all around his soul 
 With meshes such as these: "He has no reason 
 
 To carry himself different from us ; 
 His godliness is not in proper season ; 
 
 200 
 
He throws us in a bad reflection thus ; 
 The world is good and by his unique action 
 
 He says that it is not ; He is too good 
 To live and that itself is an infraction 
 
 That merits death. ' ' And on the streets they would, 
 In passing him, thus give vent to their hate : 
 
 "I hope he'll go to heaven where he belongs" 
 ''His funeral would be appropriate." 
 
 But Rally knew the world and all its wrongs 
 And heeded not. Their jibes, they touched him not. 
 
 He knew and pitied that they only seared 
 The heart that bore them, that they only wrought 
 
 Their havoc where they were begot and reared. 
 Once he contracted a malign disease 
 
 While, heedless of himself, he helped to nurse 
 Some poor afflicted ones and bring them ease. 
 
 Reeover,y delayed and he grew worse 
 And worse, and in his early, useful years 
 
 "When yet much undone labor seemed to wait, 
 Heaven removed him to the higher spheres, 
 
 Perhaps to save him from a sterner fate. 
 I come to Judge, the shrewdest of us seven. 
 
 At casual glance he seemed a worldly man. 
 One versed in worldly arts; but deeply scriven 
 
 201 
 
On his deep hidden soul another plan 
 Was the chief impulse of his entity. 
 
 A warning voice like that the gentle son 
 Of Sophroniscus ever heard when he 
 
 Approached the danger mark that he must shun 
 Was ever present, ready to apprise 
 
 Judge of the true effects his acts produced. 
 He reasoned that it would not be quite wise 
 
 To die before one-half his life was used. 
 Like when a prudent swimmer in the waves 
 
 Helps one from drowning, takes the proper 
 caution 
 For his own life as well as that he saves, 
 
 So both might 'scape the death-embrace of ocean. 
 Or like a prudent husbandman that spends 
 
 His health and powers charily and life 
 To him is precious, for on it depends 
 
 The keeping of his children and his wife ; 
 So Judge lived cautiously, his words were couched 
 
 In terms ambiguous, with double meaning 
 But hid behind his worldly wisdom crouched 
 
 The prized truth. Like servant who is screening 
 His master's jewels from the public gaze 
 
 Of greedy eyes, and covers them with dross 
 
 202 
 
That he may have them in the future days 
 
 That he may use them in his master's cause. 
 And he lived long and prospered. The world 
 thought 
 
 That he in his maturer days would yield 
 To all the selfish objects which they sought. 
 
 They knew not what his secret life revealed. 
 And yet they saw that wealth did not enchain 
 
 His heart, not did vain pride find an abode. 
 His actions formed a straight and tangent line 
 
 To their self-centered, cramped and crooked code. 
 The reason that his actions counter ran 
 
 With theirs, was that the motive and the source 
 Was different from the selfish worldly plan 
 
 That formed the mainspring of their inner course. 
 And Judge liked not their insincerity. 
 
 Some pseudo-christians of the popular kind 
 At last turned on him, and they charged that he 
 
 Was skeptical, and learning made him find 
 No good in any one except himself. 
 
 And Judge replied : " I always held that learning 
 Or lack of it can never bridge the gulf 
 
 That yawns between the soul and higher yearning. 
 To make that crossing all mankind is leveled; 
 
 203 
 
And no man, though he be fool, need err. 
 I think the narrow Christian path is traveled 
 
 By more unlearned earnest souls who were 
 Redeemed than b^^ the great and wise of earth. 
 
 But none are barred ; Christ took so broad a view 
 That he saw naught in man but the real worth 
 
 Of an aspiring soul. The trappings, too, 
 That cling around us such as class or station, 
 
 Position, knowledge, talent, wealth or lot, 
 Or any church or lodge affiliation, 
 
 Before him vanished as if they were not. 
 Not only has each one an equal chance 
 
 To be possessor of the heavenly treasure, 
 But high or low, wisdom or ignorance 
 
 Possessing once, enjoys in equal measure. 
 This is the stamp-mark of the Saviour 's plan ; 
 
 This is the broad provision that He made ; 
 The universal refuge-place for man, 
 
 "Where he can tarry, safe and unafraid." 
 But when once jealous persons seek for causes 
 
 To blame, they'll blame a lamb with treachery. 
 If Judge had said, that snow is white, or, roses 
 
 Are sweet, they would have called it heresy. 
 For one wiJl say, that he half-way suspicioned, 
 
 204 
 
Another, that he heard or saw or knew — 
 There is no combination so efficient 
 
 As when unitedly they choose to spew 
 Their poisonous slander at some brother's door. 
 
 And many henceforth looked at Judge askance. 
 He had been honored by the king, and more, 
 
 Had been a tutor in the residence 
 Of royalty. But now the tongues went babbling 
 
 And calumny like disconcerted geese 
 Hither and thither flew hissing and gabbling. 
 
 The things that they accused him of were these : 
 That he had taught the young prince theories 
 
 That were pernicious to his youthful mind ; 
 That he had always taught strange infamies. 
 
 Judge knew his fate had finally fallen. Resigned 
 And brave, he faced the bribeless price of Truth. 
 
 He knew that this would bring him little pain 
 Since he had looked for it and in his youth 
 
 Had chosen it. Why should he now complain? 
 His life was spared, but he was banished thence 
 
 To be an exile on an alien shore ; 
 Where long, long days he scanned the wide expanse 
 
 Of sky and sea. He learned to read the roar 
 Of waters and their whisperings and sighs ; 
 
 205 
 
He listened to their moan and understood 
 Their surging restlessness, their smothered cries, 
 
 And all the threnodies of wind and flood. 
 But they touched not the peace within his soul. 
 
 For fiercer than the loud-resounding sea 
 Had tempests broken on his own heart's shoal; 
 
 And darker than the sea's night revelry 
 Are struggles of the human heart for light. 
 
 And sadder is the call for fleeting pleasure 
 That the wild sobbing of the sea at night. 
 
 And sweetness came to Judge in fullest measure 
 And lisping voices from another shore 
 
 Flowed to him on the laughter of the sea. 
 But now he feels life's banishment no more, 
 
 Death's commutation came and set him free." 
 
 " — Now I alone am left." The old sage wept. 
 
 The door of the old Philomaethean hall 
 Then suddenly opened and through it stepped 
 
 A child that made the musing students all 
 Exclaim by reason of her wondrous beauty. 
 
 Suppressed in her large eyes there flashed a storm 
 Upbraiding and reminding them of duty. 
 
 And when her glance fell on the aged form 
 
 206 
 
She sprang to him and put her arms around him 
 
 In anxious joy, as if she long was vexed 
 And, seeking, long had worried till she found him. 
 Like some embodied spirit-angel followed 
 The mazes of a wavering human soul. 
 
 Until, constrained by love, its anxious, hallowed 
 Home-bearing hands may lead it to its goal; 
 
 So seemed the girl. Then turning quick, defiant 
 With her deep-meaning eyes, she made them quail 
 
 And own her sovereignty. All humble, pliant. 
 Obeyed her love-moved will. And to this frail 
 
 Sweet, love-inspiring guardian came the students 
 And for forgiveness each one bowed. But she 
 
 Fixed on his cloak with fond motherly prudence 
 And bore him off in triumph and in glee. 
 
 207 
 
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