REPUBUC 
 
 A LITTLE BOOK: 
 OF 
 
 HOMESPUN VERSE 
 
 
 p 
 
 
 \ MADISON CAWEIN N 
 
 M 
 
 1 
 
 ; 
 i 
 1 
 
 1 1 
 
 1!!"'"". 
 illil'ililillliii 
 
 1 
 
 Itliiii 
 
Class _3j_i.L7J^ 
 Book .1R 5 
 
 Coffyrightli". 
 
 913 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE REPUBLIC 
 
 A LITTLE BOOK OF HOMESPUN VERSE 
 
 BY , 
 
 MADISON CAWEIN 
 
 A M 
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS CINCINNATI 
 
COPYRIGHTED, 1913, BY 
 STEWART CSl. KIDD COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 Copyright in England. 
 
 
 
To 
 DR. HENRY VAN DYKE 
 
 WHOSE WORK BOTH IN PROSE AND IN POETRY 
 
 HAS DONE SO MUCH TO SUSTAIN THE 
 
 HIGH STANDARD OF AMERICAN 
 
 LITERATURE DURING THE 
 
 PAST QUARTER OF 
 
 A CENTURY 
 
FOR permission to reprint 
 most of the poems in- 
 cluded in this volume ac- 
 knowledgment is due "The 
 Forum," in which "The 
 Republic" made its first 
 appearance; "The North 
 American Review," "The 
 Smart Set," "The Youth's 
 Companion," "The Inde- 
 pendent," "The Church- 
 man, rhe Book News 
 
 Monthly," and "Lippincott's 
 Magazine." 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 The Republic, - - - - - - 9 
 
 Mirage, - - - - - - 18 
 
 Accomplishment, - - - - - 22 
 
 The Wood Brook, _ _ _ _ 23 
 
 Happiness, - - - - - - 25 
 
 The Call of April, ----- 27 
 
 The Briar Rose, - - - - - 29 
 
 What the Flowers Saw, - - - - 32 
 
 The Blue Mertensia, - - - - - 34 
 
 A May apple Flower, - - - - 35 
 
 Solstice, - - - - - - 36 
 
 An Idyll. - - - - - - 38 
 
 The Menace, - - - - - - 40 
 
 Bryan's Station, ----- 42 
 
 Moonshiners, - - - - - - 46 
 
 Kentucky, ------ 49 
 
 Homespun, - - - - - - 53 
 
 A Light in the Window, - - - - 55 
 
 Victory, - - - - - - 57 
 
 Home, - - - - - - 58 
 
 Mother, - - - - - - 60 
 
 The Road Back, ----- 62 
 
 The Father, - - - - - 64 
 
 A Baby, ------ 65 
 
 A Song of Cheer, - - - - - 66 
 
 Little Messages of Joy and Hope, - - 68 
 
 The Desire of the Moth, - - - - 71 
 
 Experience, ----- 72 
 
Page 
 
 Love's Calendar, - - - - - 73 
 
 The Fountain of Love, - - _ _ 74 
 
 Happiness, - - - - - - 75 
 
 Adversity, ------ 76 
 
 Love and the Sea, - — — — "" 77 
 
 Loyalty, - - - - - - 78 
 
 A Tried Friend, A True Friend, - - - 79 
 
 So Much To Do, ----- 81 
 
 In the Forest of Love, - - - - 83 
 
 Love, the Song of Songs, - - - 85 
 
 Joy's Magic, - - - - - - 86 
 
 The Best of Life, ----- 87 
 
 Joy, - - - - - - 88 
 
 The Rose of Hope, - - - 89 
 
 Hope On, _ - - _ _ 90 
 
 Hope, - - - - - - 91 
 
 A Song of Cheer, - - - - 92 
 
 Work, ------ 93 
 
 The House of Life, - - - - - 94 
 
 Corncob Jones, - - - - - 95 
 
THE REPUBLIC 
 
I 
 
 THE REPUBLIC 
 
 "VTOT they the great 
 
 ^ ^ Who build authority around a State, 
 
 And firm on calumny and party hate 
 
 Base their ambition. Nor the great are they 
 
 Who with disturbance make their way. 
 
 Mindful of but to-day 
 
 And individual ends that so compel 
 
 They know not what they do, yet do it well. 
 
 But they the great 
 
 Who sacrifice their honor for the State 
 
 And set their seal 
 
 Upon the writing, consecrate. 
 
 Of time and fate. 
 
 That says, "He suffered for a People's weal: 
 
 Or, calm of soul and eye, 
 
 Helped to eliminate 
 
 The Madness that makes Progress its wild cry, 
 
 And for its policy — 
 
 Self, a divinity, 
 
 That on illusions thrives, 
 
 And knows not whither its desire drives 
 
 Till on the rocks its headlong vessel rives." 
 
 II 
 
 God of the wise. 
 On whom the People wait, 
 And who at last all evils wilt abate. 
 Make Thou more keen mens eyes: 
 
 9 
 
Let them behold how Thou at length wilt bring, 
 
 From turmoil and confusion now that cling 
 
 About the Nation's feet, 
 
 Order and calm and peace 
 
 With harmony of purpose, wing to wing — 
 
 As out of Chaos sprang 
 
 Light and its co-mate, Law, when loud Thy 
 
 summons rang — 
 High instruments of power never to cease, 
 Spirits of destiny, 
 Who from their lofty seat 
 Shall put down hate and strife's insanity. 
 And all contentions old that eat 
 The country to the quick: 
 
 And Common-Sense, the Lion-Heart, now sick, 
 Forth from his dungeon cell 
 Go free, 
 
 With Song, his bold Blondel; 
 And, stretching forth a stalwart arm 
 To laboring land and sea, 
 With his glad coming warm 
 The land to one accord, one sympathy 
 Of soul; whose strength shall stand 
 For something more than gold to all the land. 
 Making more sure the ties 
 Of freedom and equality 
 And Progress; who, unto the watchful skies, 
 Unfurls his banner and, with challenging hand. 
 Leads on the world's emprise. 
 
 10 
 
Ill 
 
 God of the just and wise, 
 
 Behold ! why is it that our mortal eyes 
 
 Are not more open to the good that lies 
 
 Around our feet? — the blessings in disguise 
 
 That go with us about our daily deeds 
 
 Attending all our needs? 
 
 Why is it that, so rich and prodigal, 
 
 We will complain 
 
 Of Nature — her whose liberal hand. 
 
 Summer and spring and fall. 
 
 Pours out abundance on the Land? 
 
 Cotton and oil and grain — 
 
 O God, make men more sane! 
 
 Help them to understand 
 
 And trust in her who never failed her due; 
 
 Who never camped with Famine and his crew 
 
 Or made ally 
 
 Of the wild House of old Calamity! 
 
 But always faithfully. 
 
 Year after generous year, 
 
 From forth her barque of plenty, stanch of sail, 
 
 Poured big abundance. What did lies avail, 
 
 Or what did fear 
 
 To make her largess fail? They who descry, 
 
 Raising a hue and cry. 
 
 Disaster's Harpies darkening the sky 
 
 Each month that comes and goes, are they not 
 
 less 
 Of insight than the beasts of hill and field. 
 Who take no worry, knowing Earth will yield 
 Her usual harvest — a sufficiency 
 
 11 
 
For all and more; yea, even enough to bless 
 
 The sons of Greed, who make a market of lies 
 
 And blacken blessings unto credulous eyes, 
 
 Turning them curses, till on every hand 
 
 They see, as Speculation sees, 
 
 God's benefactions — rain, and sun, and snow — 
 
 Working destruction in the land. 
 
 The camping-ground of old hostilities, 
 
 Changing all joy to woe 
 
 With visitations of her wrath withal. 
 
 Proclaiming her, our mother Nature, foe 
 
 Undeviating, to our hopes below — 
 
 Nature, who never yet has failed to bless us all. 
 
 IV 
 
 By the long leagues of cotton Texas rolls, 
 And Mississippi bolls; 
 By the wide seas of wheat 
 The far Dakotas beat 
 
 Against the barriers of the mountainland: 
 And by the miles of maize 
 Nebraska lays 
 Like a vast carpet in 
 Her House of Nights and Days, 
 Where, glittering, in council meet 
 The Spirits of the Cold and Heat, 
 With old Fertility whose heart they win: 
 By all the wealth replete 
 Within our scan. 
 
 From Florida to where the snows begin. 
 Made manifest of Nature unto Man — 
 Behold! 
 
 The Land is as a mighty scroll unrolled, 
 
 12 
 
Whereon God writes His name 
 
 In harvest: green and gold 
 
 And russet making fair as oft of old 
 
 Each daedal part He decorates the same 
 
 With splendors manifold 
 
 Of mountains and of rivers, fruits and flowers; 
 
 Sealing each passage of the rubric Hours 
 
 With esoteric powers 
 
 Of life and love, and all their mystery, 
 
 Through which men yet may see 
 
 The truth that shall refute the fool that cries, 
 
 "God has forgot us and our great emprise!'' 
 
 V 
 
 Of elemental mold 
 
 God made our Country, wombing her with gold 
 And veining her with copper, iron, and coal. 
 Making her strong for her appointed goal. 
 High on her eagled peaks His rainbow gleams 
 Its mighty message: in her mountain streams 
 His voice is heard: and on the wind and rain 
 Ride Potencies 
 
 And Portents of His purpose, while she dreams 
 Of great achievements, great activities, 
 And, weariless of brain. 
 From plain to busy plain, 
 And peak to plateau, with unresting hand. 
 Along the laboring land, 
 She speeds swift train on train, 
 Feeling the urge in her of energies, 
 That bear her business on 
 From jubilant dawn to dawn, 
 
 13 
 
From where the snow makes dumb 
 
 Alaskan heights, to where, Uke hives of bees. 
 
 The prairies hum 
 
 With cities; while around her girdling seas 
 
 Ships go and come, 
 
 Servants and slaves of her vast industries. 
 
 VI 
 
 And He, who sits above, 
 
 And, watching, sees 
 
 Her dreams become great actualities, — 
 
 Out of His love 
 
 Will He continue to bestow 
 
 Blessings upon her, even more and more. 
 
 Until their store 
 
 Shall pass the count of all the dreams we know? 
 
 Why heed 
 
 The sordid souls that worship Greed? 
 
 The vampire lives that feed, 
 
 Feast and grow fat 
 
 On what they name the Proletariat; 
 
 Wringing with blood and sweat. 
 
 From forth the nations muscle, heart, and brain. 
 
 The strength that keeps her sane : 
 
 They, too, shall have their day and cease to be. 
 
 Ignoble souls, who, for a market, set 
 
 Before the People's eyes 
 
 A scarecrow train 
 
 Of fabrications, — rumors, antic lies 
 
 Of havoc and calamity, — 
 
 Panic appearances of Famine, War, 
 
 That for the moment bar 
 
 The path of Truth and work their selfish gain, 
 
 14 
 
VII 
 
 God of the simple and the wise, 
 
 Grant us more light; and lead 
 
 The great adventure to its mighty end! 
 
 From Thy o'erarching skies 
 
 Still give us heed, 
 
 And make more clear the way that onward lies. 
 
 Not wealth now is her need, 
 
 The great Republic's, — Wealth, the child of 
 
 Greed, — 
 Nay, nay! O God, but for the dream we plead, 
 The dream as well as deed, 
 The Dream of Beauty which shall so descend 
 From Thee, and with her inmost being blend. 
 That it shall help her cause 
 More than all temporal laws. . . . 
 
 VIII 
 
 Now, for her soul's increase, 
 
 And spirit's peace, 
 
 Curb the bright daemon Speed ; 
 
 Grant her release 
 
 From strife; and let the joy that springs 
 
 From love of lowly things 
 
 Possess her soul and plead 
 
 For work that counts for something to the heart. 
 
 And grows immortal part 
 
 Of life — the work called Art; 
 
 And let Love lead 
 
 Her softly all her days; with quiet hand 
 
 Sowing the fruitful land 
 
 15 
 
With spiritual seed 
 
 Of wisdom from which blossoms shall expand 
 Of vital beauty, and her fame increase 
 More than the wealth of all the centuries. 
 
 IX 
 
 God of the wise, 
 
 The meek and humble, who still look to Thee, 
 
 Holding to sanity 
 
 And truth and purpose of the great emprise, 
 
 Keep her secure, 
 
 And beautiful and pure 
 
 As when in ages past Thou didst devise, 
 
 Saying within Thy heart, "She shall endure! — 
 
 A great Republic!" — Let her course be sure, 
 
 O God, and, in detraction's spite, 
 
 Unquestionably right; 
 
 And in the night. 
 
 If night there must be, light a beacon light 
 
 To guide her safely through the strife. 
 
 The conflict of her soul, with passions rife. 
 
 Oh, raise some man of might, 
 
 Whose mind shall put down storm and stress of 
 
 Hfe, 
 And kindle anew the lamp whose light shall burn, 
 A Pharos, in the storms. 
 That shall arise and with confusion shake 
 Foundations of. the walls of Civilization : 
 A pillar of flame, behold, — 
 Like that of old. 
 Which Israel followed and its bondage brake, — 
 
 16 
 
Leading each night-lost Nation 
 
 To refuge in her arms, — 
 
 Freedom's. — away from all the Tyrannies 
 
 Of all the Centuries, 
 
 Safe on her heart to learn 
 
 To hush its heart's alarms. 
 
 17 
 
MIRAGE 
 
 Scene, the Arizona Desert, its most desolate part. 
 
 LIE closed his eyes, yet still could see 
 
 * -■• The leprous hills loom thirstily; 
 
 The mesquit glimmering; and the dust 
 
 Of alkali; and, rimmed with rust 
 
 Of emerald, a mineral pool 
 
 From which his horse had drunk him full. 
 
 Now he would drink — how good to die 
 
 After the torture days gone by! 
 
 And so he rose, and through the sage 
 
 And sand groped, blind with thirst, and rage 
 
 At God, whose hand in hate had wrought 
 
 This trap of hell where he was caught. 
 
 Now what was this that held him fast? 
 
 Had he then reached relief at last, 
 
 After long years of heat and hate? 
 
 Surely there rose a marble gate, 
 
 A towered castle! and the sand 
 
 And sage had vanished from the land. 
 
 He entered where a fountain fell 
 On foaming crystal — Like a spell 
 He caught its freshness. Then his ear 
 Heard lute-like music drawing near; 
 And through a rainbowed mist a girl 
 Beckoned, her beauty like a pearl. 
 
 8 
 
And there two slave-girls on a mat, 
 Two naked Nubians, drowsing, sat, 
 Fingering dim-gemmed and nacreous lutes 
 He knew at once that they were mutes, 
 And this the same Seraglio, 
 Where love had met him lives ago. 
 
 The entrance doors he knew were nine : 
 Three were of agate, red as wine, 
 And three of lapis-lazuli, 
 Cerulean-blue as is the sky ; 
 And three of feldspar, veined with gold. 
 Each leading to her bower of old. 
 
 Behind a lattice or a screen 
 
 He knew she smiled and watched, unseen : 
 
 He felt her presence in the gloom 
 
 As one may sense a strange perfume: 
 
 And musk of myrrh and sandalwood 
 
 Were guides to lead him where she stood. 
 
 Once more he d see her; hold her fast, 
 Come back again from out the past; 
 And, locked in her divine embrace. 
 Watch, in the heaven of her face. 
 The ardor of her heart's desire 
 Change her dark eyes to starry fire. 
 
 And then far-off he heard a horn, 
 And, turning, saw that it was morn — 
 And there she rode, in dawn and dew. 
 And with her Chevaliers he knew. 
 The horn led on; he heard its song — 
 The air he had forgot so long: 
 19 
 
"How good," it sang, **How good at dawn 
 
 To ride with her of Roussillon! 
 
 To ride with her through dawn and dew 
 
 Beneath a heaven gentian-blue, 
 
 With hawk on wrist, a madcap crew, — 
 
 That wild the horn leads on, — 
 
 With her of Roussillon! 
 
 To hear the falcons' jesses ringing 
 
 Bells that set the pulses singing! 
 
 To see the heron wildly winging, 
 
 O'er mountained Roussillon, 
 
 Far, towered Roussillon. 
 
 '*How good to hear by wood and lawn 
 
 Our Lady laugh of Roussillon! 
 
 Where wild the torrent leaps the crag. 
 
 Through mists that on the mountain lag. 
 
 As in the forest leaps the stag, — 
 
 While clear the horn leads on, 
 
 With her of Roussillon! 
 
 How good to hear the falcon crying, 
 
 To see it strike the quarry flying. 
 
 And watch the stricken lapwing dying 
 
 By towered Roussillon, 
 
 Old, mountained Roussillon!" . . . 
 
 The music died. His hot head swung 
 
 Upon his neck as wire-hung. 
 
 And he awoke to see again 
 
 The thirsty peaks, the fevered plain, 
 
 Shutting him in with all their hate, 
 
 Malignantly, content to wait. 
 
 20 
 
Was it a dream of some old past? 
 Or would he see her there at last? 
 He sat and thought; no thing occurred. 
 The desert watched him, never stirred; 
 Like some gaunt beast with burning eyes 
 It stared at him with all its skies. 
 
 Around he gazed and searched again 
 The peaks, like blisters on the plain; 
 No creature moved. The pool nearby 
 With its green glitter caught his eye. 
 Yes, he would drink, and know at last 
 That secret of the long-gone past. . . 
 
 They found him in that poisoned place 
 With blackened lips and twisted face — 
 Dead — with seared eyes on something far. 
 Some unknown thing — perhaps a star — 
 Or was *t the gold, for which he *d sought? 
 The far mirage that turned to naught? 
 
 21 
 
ACCOMPLISHMENT 
 
 LJOLD to the rapture: let it work 
 * ^ Inward till founts of being fill, 
 And all is clear that once was murk, 
 
 And Beauty's self rise, mirrored still, 
 Before the mind, that shall devise 
 New forms of earth to realize. 
 
 Let it possess the heart and soul, 
 
 And through the two evolve the one, 
 
 And so achieve th* immortal goal 
 
 Of something great that man has done; 
 
 Pouring his thought, his dream intense, 
 
 Into the molds of permanence. 
 
 Within the compass of extremes 
 
 Science and Art their worlds have set, 
 
 Wherein the soul fulfills its dreams. 
 And evermore, without a let. 
 
 Swift, eagle-like, free, unconfined, 
 
 Soars to new altitudes of mind. 
 
 22 
 
THE WOOD BROOK 
 
 T IKE some wild child that laughs and weeps, 
 -^ Impatient of its mother *s arms, 
 The wood brook from the hillside leaps. 
 Eager to reach the neighboring farms: 
 Complaining crystal in its throat 
 It whimpers a protesting note. 
 
 The wildflowers that the forest weaves 
 
 To deck it with are thrust aside; 
 And all the little happy leaves, 
 
 That would detain it, are denied: 
 It must be gone; it does not care; 
 Away, away, no matter where. 
 
 Ah, if it knew what work awaits 
 
 Beyond the woodland's peaceful breast ! 
 
 What toil and soil of man's estates! 
 What contact with life's sorriest, 
 
 A different mind it then might keep. 
 
 And hush its frenzy into sleep. 
 
 Make of its trouble there a pool, 
 A dim circumference filled with sky 
 
 And trees, wherein the beautiful 
 Contemplates silence with a sigh. 
 
 As mind communicates with mind 
 
 Of intimate things they have in kind. 
 
 23 
 
Encircled of the wood's repose, 
 
 Contentment then to it would give 
 
 The peace of lily and of rose. 
 
 And love of all wild things that live; 
 
 And let it serve as looking-glass 
 
 For myths and dreams the wildwood has. 
 
 24 
 
HAPPINESS 
 
 ' I WERE is a voice that calls to me; a voice that cries 
 •■■ deep down; 
 That calls within my heart of hearts when Summer 
 
 doffs her crown : 
 When Summer doffs her crown, my dear, and by the 
 
 hills and streams 
 The spirit of September walks through gold and purple 
 
 gleams : 
 It calls my heart beyond the mart, beyond the street 
 
 and town, 
 To take again, in sun or rain, the oldtime trail of 
 
 dreams. 
 
 Oh, it is long ago, my dear, a weary time since we 
 Trod back the way we used to know by wildwood rock 
 
 and tree: 
 By mossy rock and tree, dear Heart, and sat below 
 
 the hill. 
 And watched the wheel, the old mill-wheel, turn round 
 
 on Babbit's mill: 
 Or in the brook, with line and hook, to dronings of 
 
 the bee, 
 Waded or swam, above the dam, and drank of joy 
 
 our fill. 
 
 The ironweed is purple now ; the blackeyed-Susans nod ; 
 And by its banks, weighed down with wet, blooms 
 
 bright the goldenrod : 
 Blooms bright the goldenrod, my dear, and in the 
 
 mist of morn 
 
 25 
 
The gray hawk soars and screams and soars above the 
 
 dripping corn: 
 And by the pool, cerulean cool, the milkweed bursts 
 
 its pod, 
 As through the air the wild fanfare rings of the hunter's 
 
 horn. 
 
 The hunter's horn we heard, my dear, that echoed 
 
 mid the rocks, 
 And cheered the hounds whose belling bay trailed far 
 
 behind the fox: 
 Trailed far behind the fox, dear Heart, whose den we 
 
 oft had seen, 
 A cave-like place within the woods wild-hid in trailing 
 
 green : 
 Old Owlet's Roost, wherein we used to search, with 
 
 tangled locks, 
 For buried gold, where, we were told, the bandits lair 
 
 had been. 
 
 O gladness of the long-gone years! O boyhood's days 
 
 and dreams! 
 Again my soul would trace with you the oldtime woods 
 
 and streams: 
 The oldtime woods and streams, dear Heart, and seek 
 
 again, I guess, 
 The buried gold, we sought of old, and find it none 
 
 the less 
 Still in the ground, fast sealed and bound, among the 
 
 glooms and gleams. 
 As long ago we left it so, the gold of Happiness. 
 
 26 
 
THE CALL OF APRIL 
 
 A PRIL calling, April calling, 
 -^^ April calling me! 
 I hear the voice of April there 
 
 In each old apple tree: 
 Bee-boom and wild perfume, 
 
 And wood-brook melody, — 
 O hark, my heart, and hear, my heart. 
 
 The April Ecstasy! 
 
 Hark to the hills, the oldtime hills, 
 
 That talk with sea and sky! 
 Or speak in murmurs with God's winds 
 
 Who on their bosoms lie: 
 Bird-call and waterfall 
 
 And white clouds blowing by, 
 O hark, my heart, O hear, my heart. 
 
 The April's cosmic cry ! 
 
 There runs a whisper through the woods, 
 
 The word of bough to bough, 
 A sound of dead things donning green, 
 
 Of Beauty waking now: 
 Fern-bower and wilding flower, 
 
 Each like a prayer or vow, — 
 O see, my heart, O look, my heart, 
 
 Where Earth crowns white her brow! 
 
 And far away, and far away. 
 
 Yet nearer than she seems. 
 Look where she takes the oldtime trail 
 
 And walks again with dreams: 
 
 21 
 
Bird note and blue remote 
 
 And laughter of wild streams,— 
 
 O hark, my heart, O hear, my heart, 
 And follow where she gleams! 
 
 Earth has put off her winter garb 
 
 Of gray and drab and dun. 
 And robes herself in raiment green 
 
 Of love and laughter spun: 
 Wood-bloom and wood-perfume 
 
 And colors of the sun, — 
 O hark, my heart, O hear, my heart, 
 
 Where her wild footsteps run! 
 
 O April, mother of my soul. 
 
 Take to your heart your child: 
 And let him lie a little while 
 
 Upon its rapture wild: 
 Lean close and near, and let him hear 
 
 The words that once beguiled. 
 And on his eyes the kiss again 
 
 Of longing reconciled. 
 
 O kiss, that fills the fields with flowers 
 
 And thrills with green each grove, 
 Dream down into this heart again 
 
 And grow to songs thereof: 
 Wild songs in singing throngs. 
 
 That swift shall mount above. 
 And, like to birds, with lyric words. 
 
 Take Earth and Heaven with love. 
 
 28 
 
THE BRIAR ROSE 
 
 V/OUTH, with an arrogant air, 
 
 '■' Passes me by: 
 Age, on his tottering staff, 
 Stops with a sigh. 
 
 "Here is a flower," he says, 
 
 "I knew when young: 
 It keeps its oldtime place 
 
 The woods among. 
 
 ** Fresh and fragrant as when 
 
 I was a boy; 
 Still is it young as then. 
 
 And full of joy. 
 
 "Years have not changed it, no; 
 
 In leaf and bloom 
 It keeps the selfsame glow, 
 
 And the same perfume. 
 
 "Time, that has grayed my hair. 
 
 And bowed my form. 
 Retains it young and fair 
 
 And full of charm. 
 
 "The root from which it grows 
 
 Is firm and fit, 
 And every year bestows 
 
 New strength on it. 
 
 29 
 
"Not so with me. The years 
 Have changed me much; 
 
 And care and pain and tears 
 Have left their touch. 
 
 "It keeps a sturdy stock. 
 And blooms the same, 
 
 Beside the selfsame rock 
 Where I carved my name. 
 
 "My name? — I do not know 
 
 It is my own. — 
 'T was carved so long ago, 
 
 T is moss-oergrown." 
 
 (He stoops beside the flower. 
 
 He feels its need. 
 And for a thoughtful hour 
 
 He gives it heed. 
 
 (It beggars him, it seems. 
 
 In heart and mind, 
 Of memories and dreams 
 
 Of days once kind.) 
 
 "It gives and I must take 
 Thoughts sweet with pain; 
 
 And feel again the ache 
 Of the all-in-vain. 
 
 "If it could understand 
 
 All it implies 
 Of loss to me who planned 
 
 In life's emprise, 
 
 30 
 
**It would not look so fair, 
 Nor flaunt its youth, 
 
 But strip its branches bare, 
 And die of ruth. 
 
 **Ah me! days come and go; 
 
 And I am old — 
 This wild rose tells me so, 
 
 As none has told. 
 
 **Had it not played a part 
 
 In a love long past. 
 It would not break my heart 
 
 With loss at last." 
 
 31 
 
WHAT THE FLOWERS SAW 
 
 CHE came through shade and shine, 
 
 ^ By scarlet trumpetvine 
 
 And fragrant buttonbush, 
 
 That heaped the wayside hush — 
 
 And oh! 
 The orange-red of the butterfly weed. 
 
 And pink of the milkweed's plume, 
 Nodded as if to give her heed 
 
 As she passed through gleam and gloom, 
 heigh-ho ! 
 
 As she passed through gleam and gloom. 
 
 Marybud-gold her hair; 
 And deep as it was fair; 
 Her eyes a chicory-blue, 
 Two wildflowers bright with dew — 
 
 And oh! 
 The flowers knew, as flowers know, 
 
 The one she 'd come to find; 
 They read the secret she hid below 
 
 In her maiden heart and mind, heigh-ho! 
 
 Her maiden heart and mind. 
 
 All day with hearts elate, 
 They watched him from the gate. 
 Where in the field he mowed 
 At the end of the old hill-road — 
 
 And oh! 
 They seemed to see with their petaled eyes 
 The thing he was thinking of, 
 32 
 
And whispered the wind, in secret-wise. 
 All that they knew of love, heigh-ho! 
 All that they knew of love. 
 
 No matter what befell 
 Not one wildflower will tell; 
 Not one, that leaned to look 
 And see the kiss he took — 
 
 And oh! 
 The things they said in the woodland there 
 
 You must ask of the wandering breeze, 
 Who whispers all news of earth and air. 
 
 And is gossip of the trees, heigh-ho! 
 
 Old gossip of the trees. 
 
 33 
 
THE BLUE MERTENSIA 
 
 THIS is the path he used to take, 
 That ended at a rose-porched door: 
 He takes it now for oldtimes sake, 
 And love of yore. 
 
 The blue mertensia, by the stone, 
 
 Lifts questioning eyes, that seem to say, 
 'Why is it now you walk alone 
 On this dim way?" 
 
 And then a wild bird, from a bough, 
 Out of his heart the answer takes: 
 
 **He walks alone with memory now 
 And heart that breaks. 
 
 "And Loss and Longing, witches, who 
 Usurp the wood and change to woe 
 
 The dream of happiness he knew 
 Long, long ago. 
 
 **The faery princess, from whose gaze 
 The blue mertensia learned that look. 
 
 Retaining still beside these ways 
 The joy it took." 
 
 He listens, conscious of no part 
 In wildwood question and reply™ 
 
 The wood, from out its mighty heart, 
 Heaves one deep sigh. 
 
 34 
 
A MAYAPPLE FLOWER 
 
 VjT/HAT magic through your snowy crystal gleams ! 
 ^^ Your hollow spar, Spring brims with f ragrancy ; 
 That, like the cup of Comus, drugs with dreams 
 This woodland place, so drowsed with mystery. 
 What miracle evolved you from the mold? 
 Dreamed you, as *t were, into reality 
 Out of the Winter's death and night and cold? 
 
 Are you a sign, a message, that the Spring 
 Out of her soul unto the eye reveals? 
 A symboled something, telling many a thing 
 Of beauty she within her breast conceals? 
 The word significant, that conquers Death; 
 That through eternity with Nature deals, 
 As did the Christ, Jesus of Nazareth. 
 
 Or, of the rapture of the Earth a part, 
 
 Are you a thought that crystallized from dew 
 
 Into a flower? Nature, on her heart, — 
 
 Bewildered with the hope from whence you grew 
 
 Your loveliness, — wears as an evidence 
 
 Of immortality; a hint, a clue 
 
 To that which still evades our mortal sense. 
 
 33 
 
SOLSTICE 
 
 'T'HE ant is busy with its house, 
 ^ The bee is at its tree; 
 And by its nest among the boughs 
 
 The bird makes melody. 
 The Day, reluctant still to leave, 
 
 Sits crystal at its noon, 
 Like some sweet girl, with naught to grieve, 
 
 Sighing a dreamy tune. 
 Oh, hark, my heart, and quit your quest! 
 The song she sighs is one of rest. 
 
 The butterfly is on its flower; 
 
 The wasp is at its clay; 
 The wind to bramble lane and bower 
 
 Whispers of yesterday. 
 The Afternoon goes to its close. 
 
 With bright attendant states. 
 Like some calm queen who seeks repose 
 
 Behind her palace gates. 
 Oh, look, my heart, your pining cease! 
 That way, at last, you shall find peace. 
 
 The cricket trills; the beetle booms; 
 
 The mole heaves at its mound : 
 Pale moths come forth like ghosts of blooms; 
 
 Fhe firefly goes its round. 
 The eve puts off her gown of gold, 
 
 And for a moment stands 
 
 36 
 
Before her couch, a lamp of old, 
 The new moon, in her hands. 
 Oh, heart, go follow where it gleams, 
 And find again your world of dreams. 
 
 The life that wakes at dark comes out 
 
 The spider nimbly weaves ; 
 The bat flits silently about; 
 
 The drowsy owlet grieves. 
 The Night goes stealing to her tryst, 
 
 Breathing a fragrant sigh; 
 One jewel from her starry wrist 
 
 Drops down the quiet sky. 
 Heart, let it be a sign to you 
 Of love behind the bending blue. 
 
 37 
 
AN IDYLL 
 
 LIE was a boy, sun-burned and brown, 
 
 •■- * And she a girl from a neighboring town : 
 
 Dark were her eyes and dark her hair, 
 
 And her cheeks as red as the ripe peach there: 
 
 Dainty and sweet, with a far-away 
 
 Look in her eyes Hke the skies of May. 
 
 And it came to pass one afternoon 
 
 She walked in the fields; and the month was June; 
 
 In the hay-heaped fields and the meadowland 
 
 With trees and hills on either hand. 
 
 And the lad, who worked on her father's farm, 
 
 Had laid him down all tired and warm. 
 
 He had been toiling day after day 
 
 Mowing and raking and hilling the hay. 
 
 And now at last, with his work well done, 
 
 He slept by a stack away from the sun. 
 
 And she, who came with her young head full 
 
 Of thoughts that never are learned in school, — 
 
 Young dreams and fancies no girl knows of 
 
 Unless she is far on the road to love, — 
 
 When she saw him there, where he lay and slept, 
 
 A little nearer she cautiously stept : 
 
 Then stood, big-eyed, and looked around, 
 
 As if afraid of the one she 'd found; , 
 
 Of him she knew not, who seemed to take 
 
 Her heart in a hold she could not break. 
 
 He looked so tired and young and hot. 
 
 That an impulse swept her, she scarce knew what; 
 
 38 
 
Primitive, wild, that would not wait, 
 
 That cried in her blood, ^' There lies your 
 
 mater' 
 And all was still, save the cricket's shrill, 
 And the breeze that blew from the wooded hill. 
 And so she stood with a foot back-drawn, 
 Like a Nymph that comes on a sleeping Faun : 
 Then stooped and kissed him, and turned and fled. 
 Sobbing, her heart of itself adread. 
 
 But he who lay in the hay slept on. 
 And never knew what had come and gone: 
 The love that had bent to his life and kissed — 
 That something, called fate, which each has missed. 
 
 39 
 
THE MENACE 
 
 TTHE hat he wore was full of holes, 
 * And his battered shoes were worn to the soles. 
 His shirt was a rag, held together with pins, 
 And his trousers patched with outs and ins. 
 A negro tramp, a roustabout, 
 Less safe than a wild beast broken out: 
 And like to a beast, he slouched along 
 The lane which the birds made sweet with song: 
 Where the wild rose v/ooed with golden eyes 
 The honeybees and the butterflies. 
 But the bird's glad song and the scent of the rose 
 Meant nothing to him of the love man knows. 
 If he heard or heeded 't was but to curse — 
 Love had no place in his universe. 
 
 And there in the lane one met with him — 
 A girl of ten who was fair and slim : 
 A farmer's daughter, whose auburn hair 
 Shone bright as a sunbeam moving there: 
 And bare of head, as she was of foot. 
 She passed the tramp with a smiled salute. 
 She bore in her hand, that was dark with stain, 
 A pail of berries she 'd picked i' the lane. 
 Without a word he let her pass 
 Like a wildrose nodding above the grass. 
 Innocent, trusting, free from guile. 
 She met his look with a friendly smile. 
 And he? He laughed when the child had passed, 
 And a furtive glance about him cast, — 
 
 40 
 
Then turned and followed. His chance was now 
 To serve the Whiteman out somehow. 
 He would get even for many a kick. — 
 Now was his time to turn a trick. 
 
 Next day they found her, battered and torn, 
 Her small child's body hid under a thorn. 
 And, oh! I wonder, good brother of mine, 
 Why God in His Heaven gave never a sign. 
 Why she, the lovely, the young, the shy, 
 Like a beast of the field should have to die: 
 While he, the hideous, kin to the ape, 
 God, in His Heaven, should let escape. 
 
 41 
 
BRYAN'S STATION 
 
 During the siege of Bryan's Station. Kentucky, August 16th, 1782, 
 Nicholas Tomlinson and Thomas Bell, two inhabitants of the Fort, under- 
 took to ride through the besieging Indian and Tory lines to Lexington, Ky., 
 for aid. It happened also during this siege that the pioneer women of the 
 Fort, when the water supply was exhausted, heroically carried water from a 
 spring, at a considerable distance outside the palisades of the Station, to its 
 inmates and defenders, under the very guns of the enemy. 
 
 WE tightened stirrup; buckled rein; 
 Looked to our saddle-girths again; 
 Shook hands all round; then mounted. 
 The gate swung wide: we said, "Good-bye." 
 No time for talk had Bell and I. 
 One cried, "God speed!" another, "Fly!" 
 As out we rode to do or die, 
 And every minute counted. 
 
 The trail, the buffaloes had worn, 
 
 Stretched broad before us through the corn 
 
 And cane with which it blended. 
 
 We knew for miles around the gate 
 
 Hid Indian guile and Tory hate. 
 
 There was no time to hesitate. 
 
 We galloped on. We spurred like Fate, 
 
 As morn broke red and splendid. 
 
 No rifle cracked. No arrow whirred. 
 
 Above us piped a forest bird, 
 
 Then two and three together. 
 
 We 'd reached the woods. And still no shout 
 
 Of all the wild Wyandotte rout 
 
 And Shawanese had yet rung out : 
 
 42 
 
But now and then an Indian scout 
 Flashed here and there a feather. 
 
 We rode expecting death each stride 
 From fallen tree or thicket side, 
 Where, snake-like, they could huddle: 
 And well we knew that renegade, — 
 The blood-stained Girty, — only stayed 
 His hate awhile before he played 
 His hand: — that Fiend, who had betrayed 
 The pioneers of Ruddle. 
 
 And when an arrow grazed my hair 
 
 I was not startled; did not care; 
 
 But rode with rifle ready. 
 
 A whoop rang out beyond a ford — 
 
 Then spawned the wood a yelling horde 
 
 Of devils, armed with tomahawk 
 
 And gun. I raised my flintlock's stock 
 
 And let em have it steady. 
 
 Tom followed me. And for a mile 
 
 We matched our strength with redskin guile 
 
 And often I have wondered 
 
 How we escaped. I lost my gun: 
 
 And Tom, whose girth had come undone, 
 
 Rode saddleless. . The summer sun 
 
 Was high when into Lexington, 
 
 With flying manes we thundered. 
 
 Too late. For Todd at break of day 
 Had left for Hoy's; decoyed, they say, 
 
 43 
 
By some reported story 
 
 Of new disaster. Bryan's needs 
 
 Cried "On!** — ^Although we had done deeds, 
 
 We must do more, whatever speeds. 
 
 We had no time to rest our steeds. 
 
 Whose panting flanks were gory. 
 
 Again the trail; rough; often barred 
 By rocks and trees. Oh, it was hard 
 To keep our souls from sinking: 
 But thoughts of those we *d left behind 
 Gave strength to muscle and to mind 
 To help us on — on, through the blind 
 Deep woods, where often we would find 
 Our hearts of loved ones thinking. 
 
 The hot stockade. No water left. 
 The night attack. All hope bereft 
 The powder-grimed defender. 
 The war whoop and the groan of pain. 
 AH night the slanting arrow-rain 
 Of fire-brands from the corn and cane : 
 The fierce defense, but all in vain: 
 And then, at last, surrender. 
 
 But not for Bryan's! — No! Too well 
 
 Must they remember what befell 
 
 At Ruddle's and take warning. . . 
 
 And like two madmen, dust and sweat. 
 
 We rode with faces forward set. 
 
 And came to Boone's. The sun was yet 
 
 An hour from noon. . . . We had not let 
 
 Our horses rest since morning. 
 
 44 
 
Here Ellis heard our news: his men 
 Around him, back we turned again, 
 And like a band of lions — 
 That leap some lioness to aid, — 
 Of death and torture unafraid, 
 We charged the Indian ambuscade 
 And through a storm of bullets made 
 Our entrance into Bryan's. 
 
 And that is all I have to tell. 
 No more the Huron's hideous yell 
 Whoops to assault and slaughter. 
 Perhaps to us some praise is due: 
 But we are men, accustomed to 
 Face danger, which is nothing new. 
 The women did far more for you. 
 Risking their lives for water. 
 
 45 
 
MOONSHINERS 
 
 L-JOW long we had hid there and Hstened. 
 * * Where the trees let in winks o* the sun, 
 'Fore their Winchesters glittered and glistened 
 
 In the gully below by the run, 
 I never kep' count. It wuz mornin', 
 
 An* my legs wuz stove stiff with the chill 
 O' the night. But my Lize had the warnin' 
 
 An' we knew it wuz up with the still 
 If we ever give up with our watchin': 
 
 The six on us — me an' Bud Roe, 
 Two Tollivers, Dickon an' Hotchin — 
 
 An' the posse nigh twenty or so. 
 
 The evenin' before we had reckoned 
 
 The sheriff would ride through the glen; 
 An' it took little less nor a second 
 
 To see how we d manage it then ; 
 For the valley wound up in a' alley. 
 
 Blind-walled with bald bluffs; an' no trees 
 At its bottom; a trap of a valley. 
 
 Scrub thicket not high as my knees. 
 With me an* the Tollivers watchin' 
 
 The rear, an' Bud Roe in the gap, 
 With Dickon an* Hotch for the scotchin*, 
 
 We had em like rats in a trap. 
 
 So we all took a pull at the bottle 
 
 Lize brung me last evenin*: an' though 
 
 We 'd eaten, nor left whut would throttle 
 A fly, we wuz hungry — I know. 
 
 46 
 
Then a caw come hoarse through the quiet: 
 
 We knew it the signal they 'd reached 
 The gully: an' when they 'd passed by it, 
 
 A hawk — we had fixed it — jest screeched: 
 When a pewee had whistled, we knew it 
 
 The signal the posse wuz in, 
 Safe into the trap. . . . They would do it I 
 
 An* we — ^we wuz glad to begin. 
 
 A pistol each side an' a rifle 
 
 Or two ready loaded. Our height 
 Would help me to aim jest a trifle 
 
 To left an* my pards front an* right. 
 An' we laid in the rocks, never winkin' — 
 
 Jest ready. I heard the dry buzz 
 O* the grasshoppers; thinkin* an' thinkin' 
 
 How lonesome an* solemn it wuz: 
 When suddent, — I riz in a hurry, — 
 
 The laurel whipped back — I could curse! — 
 Lize could n*t git rid o' her worry, 
 
 An* woman-like come — fer the worse. 
 
 Jest then through the gully an' thicket 
 
 I seed the sun glim on the stocks 
 O* their Winchesters. Slim as a picket 
 
 Lize stood by me there in the rocks. 
 We waited until the last came in. 
 
 I lined on the leader an* said, 
 **Shoot! " hoarsely. We ushered the game in 
 
 With the sheriff an* deputy — dead, 
 it wuz a surprise for *em — certain! 
 
 They saw *t wuz a trap, an* rid back; 
 But the three in the gap raised a curtain, 
 
 With death-dealin' crack upon crack. 
 47 
 
An* back to the gully with frighted 
 
 Sick faces they galloped, like sin; 
 An* we, in the rocks, lay an* sighted, 
 
 An* hell jest happened agin. 
 They wuz cornered: they seed it: an' grimly 
 
 They turned on their death: an' I leant 
 With my gun on a rock, an' seed dimly 
 
 They rid fer us shoo tin', hell-bent 
 Through the smoke fer the thick o' our fire: 
 
 Then Lize, who wuz loadin' a gun, 
 Shrieked some thin' an' jumped — an* a wire 
 
 O* blood down her face. She wuz done. 
 
 There wuz six on em left. But a baby 
 
 Could of finished me then, with her dead 
 Instid o' myself! An' it may be 
 
 The rest on us there had eat lead 
 If Bud had n't come with another. 
 
 Them three wuz enough fer the rest, 
 Gittin' ojff as they did! — I would bother 
 
 With no thin', her head on my breast. 
 But they got me away; an' together 
 
 Brung her to the cave with the shot 
 In her face. May the buzzards now feather 
 
 And roost on them there where they rot! 
 
 48 
 
KENTUCKY 
 
 Written for the bauquet of the New York Society of Kentuckians. held 
 in the City of New York, February 12th, 1913. 
 
 \/0U, who are met to remember 
 
 "*• Kentucky and give her praise; 
 Who have warmed your hearts at the ember 
 
 Of her love for many days! 
 Be faithful to your mother, 
 
 However your ways may run, 
 And, holding one to the other. 
 
 Prove worthy to be her sons. 
 
 Worthy of her who brought you ; 
 
 Worthy in dream and deed : 
 Worthy her love that taught you, 
 
 And holds your work in heed : 
 Your work she weighs and watches. 
 
 Giving it praise and blame, 
 As to her heart she catches, 
 
 Or sets aside in shame. 
 
 One with her heart's devotion. 
 
 One with her soul's firm will. 
 She holds to the oldtime notion 
 
 Of what is good, what ill : 
 And still in unspoiled beauty. 
 
 With all her pioneer pride. 
 She keeps to the path of duty, 
 
 And never turns aside. 
 4 49 
 
She dons no new attire 
 
 Of modern modes and tricks, 
 And stands for something higher 
 
 Than merely poHtics: 
 For much the world must think on.- 
 
 For dreams as well as deeds; 
 For men, like Clay and Lincoln, 
 
 And words the whole world reads. 
 
 Not for her manners gracious. 
 
 Nor works, nor courage of 
 Convictions, proud, audacious. 
 
 Does she compel our love, — 
 But for her heart's one passion, 
 
 Old as democracy, 
 That holds to the ancient fashion 
 
 Of hospitality. 
 
 50 
 
IN HOMESPUN 
 
HOMESPUN 
 
 IF heart be tired and soul be sad 
 As life goes on in homespun clad, 
 Drab, colorless, with much of care, 
 Not even a ribbon in her hair; 
 Heart-broken for the near and new. 
 And sick to do what others do, 
 And quit the road of toil and tears, 
 Doffing the burden of the years: 
 And if beside you one should rise, 
 Doubt, with a menace, in its eyes — 
 What then?— 
 
 Why, look Life in the face; 
 And there again you may retrace 
 The dream that once in youth you had 
 When life was full of hope and glad, 
 And knew no doubt, no dread, that trails 
 In darkness by, and sighs, *'A11 fails!" 
 And in its every look and breath 
 A shudder, old as night, that saith, 
 With something of finality, 
 **There is no immortality!" 
 Confusing faith who stands alone 
 Like a green tree midst woods of stone. 
 Who feels within itself a change 
 Through contact with the dark and strange. 
 
 T were better with that Dream, you knew 
 In youth, to dream all dreams come true, 
 
 53 
 
And follow Love, in homespun clad. 
 As once you did when but a lad; 
 And. with the trusting heart of youth, 
 Listened, and held them for the truth, 
 The wondertales Life told to you— 
 Tales, that at last she will make true. 
 
 54 
 
A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 
 
 DAIN and wind and candlelight — 
 * ^ And let us pray a prayer to-night : 
 
 For every soul, since life is brief. 
 Little of trouble and less of grief. 
 
 And set a light at the windowpane, 
 To guide Love home through the night and 
 rain. 
 
 Rain and wind and candlelight — 
 And what shall we pray again to-night? 
 
 For every life, whose way is dim, 
 The grace of God and trust in Him. 
 
 A word, a song, till the tears be dried. 
 And Faith and Hope sit down beside. 
 
 Rain and wind and candlelight — 
 And one last prayer to pray to-night: 
 
 For every heart in the dark and rain 
 To know its prayer is not in vain : 
 
 A door flung wide, and a face aglow — 
 Love come back from the Long- Ago. 
 
 Then let the rain and the wind without 
 Threaten their worst and rave and shout : 
 
 55 
 
For who will care, though the night is black — 
 Love to his own has wandered back. 
 
 Has wandered back through the rain and 
 
 night. 
 Led home again by her candle's light. 
 
 36 
 
VICTORY 
 
 THOUGH dead the flower. 
 ■■• That, from her tower, 
 Love flung you in some perfect hour: 
 
 Though quenched the Hght, 
 
 That, on the height, 
 
 Faith built, a beacon in the fight: 
 
 Though gone the star, 
 
 That, seen afar, 
 
 Hope Ht to guide you through the war 
 
 Yet draw your sword. 
 And shout your word. 
 And plunge into the battling horde! 
 
 Give Fate the lie! 
 
 And, live or die, 
 
 Yours, yours shall be the victory! 
 
 57 
 
HOME 
 
 I DREAM again I *m in the lane 
 That leads me home through night and rain; 
 Again the fence I see and, dense, 
 The garden, wet and sweet of sense; 
 Then mother's window, with its starry line 
 Of light, o'ergrown with rose and trumpetvine. 
 
 What was 't I heard? Her voice? A bird? — 
 
 Singing? — Or was 't the rain that stirred 
 
 The dripping leaves and draining eaves 
 
 Of shed and barn, one scarce perceives 
 
 Past garden-beds where old time flowers hang 
 
 wet — 
 Pale phlox and candytuft and mignonette. 
 
 The hour is late. I can not wait. 
 Quick. Let me hurry to the gate! 
 Upon the roof the rain is proof 
 Against my horse's galloping hoof; 
 And if the old gate, with its weight and chain, 
 Should creak, she '11 think it just the wind and 
 rain. 
 
 Along I '11 steal, with cautious heel, 
 
 And at the lamplit window kneel: 
 
 And there she '11 sit and rock and knit, 
 
 While on her face the light will flit. 
 
 As I have seen her, many a night and day, 
 
 Dreaming of home that is so far away. 
 
 58 
 
Upon the pane, dim, blurred with rain, 
 I 'II knock and call out, "Home again!" 
 And at a stride fling warm and wide 
 The door and catch her to my side — 
 Mother! as once I clasped her when a boy, 
 Sobbing my heart out on her breast for joy! 
 
 59 
 
MOTHER 
 
 OH, I am going home again, 
 Back to the old house in the lane. 
 And mother! who still sits and sews, 
 With cheeks, each one, a winter rose, 
 A- watching for her boy, you know, 
 Who left so many years ago. 
 To face the world, its stress and strain- 
 Oh, I am going home again. 
 
 Yes, I am going home once more, 
 And mother '11 meet me at the door 
 With smiles that rainbow tears of joy. 
 And arms that reach out for her boy. 
 And draw him to her happy breast. 
 On which awhile his head he '11 rest. 
 And care no more, if rich or poor, 
 At home with her, at home once more. 
 
 Yes, 1 am going home to her. 
 Whose welcome evermore is sure: 
 I have been thinking, night and day. 
 How tired I am of being away! 
 How homesick for her gentle face, 
 And welcome of the oldtime place, 
 And memories of the days that were — 
 Oh, I am going home to her. 
 
 Oh, just to see her face again 
 A-smiling at the windowpanel 
 
 60 
 
To see her standing at the door 
 And offering her arms once more. 
 As oft she did when, just a child, 
 She took me to her heart and smiled, 
 And hushed my cry and cured my pain 
 r m going home to her again. 
 
 61 
 
THE ROAD BACK 
 
 COME, walk with me and Memory; 
 And let us see what we shall see: — 
 A wild green lane of stones and weeds 
 That to a wilder woodland leads. 
 An old board gate, the lichens crust. 
 Whose ancient hinges croak with rust. - 
 A vale; a creek; and a bridge of planks, 
 And the wild sunflowers that wall its banks: 
 A path that winds through shine and shade 
 To a ferned and wildflowered forest glade; 
 Where, out of a grotto, a voice replies 
 With a faint hollo to your voice that cries: 
 And every wind that passes seems 
 A foot that follows from Lands o' Dreams. 
 A voice, a foot, and a shadow, too, 
 That whispers of things your childhood knew: 
 A girl that waited, a boy that came. 
 And an old beech tree where he carved her 
 
 name ; 
 Where still he sees her, whom still he hears 
 Bidding him come through the long-gone 
 
 years. 
 
 How oft she beckons your heart and mine 
 From the farmhouse window trailed deep with 
 
 vine. 
 And porched with roses! where all must know 
 She used to live in the long-ago. 
 The farmhouse there at the end o' the lane. 
 With the sunset twinkling its windowpane; 
 
 62 
 
Where she smiles as she smiled in the Long-ago, 
 The farmer's daughter you used to know, 
 Who has not changed to your heart for years. 
 Though her face you often see through tears: 
 Who wears her youth, as she did of old. 
 As a princess weareth a crown of gold. 
 The little sweetheart, you know for truth. 
 Who lives for aye in the Land of Youth; 
 Who never dies; who is always fair. 
 With eyes of mischief and tomboy hair: 
 Whom your heart still follows and worships, it 
 
 seems, 
 Forever and aye in the Land o' Dreams. 
 
 63 
 
THE FATHER 
 
 THERE is a hall in every house. 
 Behind whose wainscot gnaws the mouse; 
 Along whose sides are empty rooms, 
 Peopled with dreams and ancient dooms. 
 When down this hall you take your light, 
 And face, alone, the hollow night. 
 Be like the child who goes to bed. 
 Though faltering and half adread 
 Of something crouching crookedly 
 In every corner he can see, 
 Ready to snatch him into gloom. 
 Yet goes on bravely to his room. 
 Knowing, above him, watching there, 
 His father waits upon the stair. 
 
 64 
 
A BABY 
 
 WHY speak of Rajah rubies. 
 And roses of the South? 
 I know a sweeter crimson — 
 A baby's mouth. 
 
 Why speak of Sultan sapphires 
 And violet seas and skies? 
 
 I know a lovelier azure — 
 A baby's eyes. 
 
 Go seek the wide world over! 
 
 Search every land and mart! 
 You '11 never find a pearl like this 
 
 A baby's heart. 
 
 65 
 
A SONG OF CHEER 
 
 BE of good cheer, and have no fear 
 Of Fortune or Tomorrow: 
 To Hope's low whisper lend an ear 
 And turn away from Sorrow. 
 
 Time out of mind the soul is blind 
 To things God sends as blessings : 
 
 And Fortune often proves unkind 
 Merely in foolish guessings. 
 
 Within the soul we bear the whole 
 
 Of Hell and also Heaven; 
 And 'twixt the two is set the goal 
 
 Of dreams our lives have driven. 
 
 What counts above all deeds is Love, 
 And Friendship, that, remember, 
 
 In heart-beats keeps Life's record of 
 Its April and December. 
 
 To every one come rain and sun, 
 And calm and stormy weather: 
 
 What helps is not what Life has done. 
 But Life and Love together. 
 
 Of sun and rain and joy and pain 
 
 The web of Life is woven ; 
 And ever through it runs the skein 
 
 Of Hope, with strand uncloven. 
 
 66 
 
Now high in air it ghtters fair; 
 
 Now dims beyond divining; 
 But still the thread winds golden there, 
 
 Although no longer shining. 
 
 Be of good cheer and have no fear 
 
 Of any care or sorrow; 
 The clouds at last will disappear, 
 
 And the sun will shine tomorrow. 
 
 67 
 
LITTLE MESSAGES OF JOY AND HOPE 
 
 I 
 TAKE HEART 
 
 TAKE heart again. Joy may be lost awhile. 
 It is not always Spring. 
 And even now from some far Summer Isle 
 Hither the birds may wing. 
 
 II 
 TOUCHSTONES 
 
 HEARTS, that have cheered us ever, night and day, 
 With words that helped us on the rugged way. 
 The hard, long road of life — to whom is due 
 
 More than the heart can ever hope to pay — 
 
 Are they not touchstones, soul-transmuting true 
 
 All thoughts to gold, refining thus the clay? 
 
 Ill 
 FORTUNE 
 
 FORTUNE may pass us by: 
 Follow her flying feet. 
 Love, all we ask, deny : 
 Never admit defeat. 
 Take heart again and try. 
 Never say die. 
 
 68 
 
IV 
 
 BE GLAD 
 
 BE glad, just for to-day! 
 O heart, be glad! 
 Cast all your cares away! 
 
 Doff all that 's sad! 
 Put off your garments gray ! 
 Be glad to-day! 
 
 Be merry while you can; 
 
 For life is short — 
 It seemeth but a span 
 
 Before we part. 
 Let each maid take her man, 
 And dance while dance she can: 
 Life 's but a little span — 
 Be merry while you can. 
 
 V 
 CARPE DIEM 
 
 BLOW high, blow low! 
 No longer borrow 
 Care of tomorrow : 
 Take joy of life, and let care go! 
 
 VI 
 JOY SPEAKS 
 
 ONE with the Heaven above 
 Am I — its bliss: 
 Part of its truth and love, 
 And what God is. 
 69 
 
I heal the soul and mind: 
 
 I work their cures: 
 Not Grief, that rends Mankind, 
 
 But Joy endures. 
 
 VII 
 
 FOR THE OLD 
 
 nPHESE are the things I pray Heaven send us still, — 
 ^ To blow the ashes of the years away, 
 Or keep aglow forever *neath their gray 
 The fire that warms when Life's old house grows chill: 
 
 First Faith, that gazed into our youth's bright eyes; 
 Courage, that helped us onward, rain or sun ; 
 Then Hope, who captained all our deeds well done ; 
 
 And, last, the dream of Love that never dies. 
 
 70 
 
THE DESIRE OF THE MOTH 
 
 WOMAN 's a star, a rose; 
 Man but a moth, a bee: 
 High now as heaven she glows, 
 
 Low now as earth and sea . 
 Star of the world and rose, 
 Clothed on with mystery. 
 
 Ever a goal, a lure, 
 
 Man, for his joy and woe. 
 Strives to attain to her, 
 
 Beating wild wings below. 
 Dying to make him sure 
 
 If she be flame or snow. 
 
 71 
 
EXPERIENCE 
 
 THREE memories hold us ever 
 With longing and with pain ; 
 Three memories Time has never 
 Been able to restrain; 
 That in each life remain 
 A part of heart and brain. 
 
 The first *s of that which taught us 
 
 To follow Beauty still ; 
 Who to the Fountain brought us 
 
 Of ancient good and ill, 
 
 And bade us drink our fill 
 
 At Life's wild-running rill. 
 
 The second one, that 's driven 
 
 Of anguish and delight, 
 Holds that which showed us Heaven, 
 
 Through Love's triumphant might; 
 
 And, deep beneath its height. 
 
 Hell, sighing in the night. 
 
 The third — none follows after: 
 Its form is veiled and dim; 
 
 Its eyes are tears and laughter, 
 That look beyond the rim 
 Of earth and point to Him, 
 Who rules the Seraphim. 
 
 11 
 
LOVE'S CALENDAR 
 
 'T'HE Spring may come in her pomp and splendor, 
 •■• And Summer follow with rain and rose, 
 Or Fall lead in that old offender, 
 
 Winter, close-huddled up in snows: 
 
 Ever a-South the Love- wind blows 
 Into the heart, like a vane a-sway 
 
 From face to face of the girls it knows — 
 But which is the fairest it 's hard to say. 
 
 If Lydia smile or Maud look tender. 
 
 Straight in your bosom the gladness glows; 
 
 But scarce at her side are you all surrender, 
 When Gertrude sings where the garden grows: 
 And your heart is a-bloom mid the blossoming rows. 
 
 For her hand to gather and toss away, 
 Or wear on her breast, as her fancy goes. 
 
 But which is the fairest it 's hard to say. 
 
 Let Helen pass, as a sapling slender, 
 Her cheek a berry, her mouth a rose, — 
 
 Or Blanche or Laura — to each you render 
 The worship due to the charms she shows: 
 But Ruth 's a poem when these are prose; 
 
 Low at her feet your life you lay ; 
 All of devotion to her it owes, — 
 
 But which is the fairest it s hard to say. 
 
 How can a man of his heart dispose 
 
 When Bess and Clara, and Kate and May, 
 
 In form and feature no flaw disclose, — 
 And which is the fairest it s hard to say. 
 
 73 
 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LOVE 
 
 'T'HE source of laughter lies so near to tears, 
 ^ And pain to rapture, that one fountain flows 
 From forth the two — Love's; in whose deeps appears 
 The image of the Heaven each man knows. 
 
 74 
 
HAPPINESS 
 
 A ROUND its mountain many footpaths wind, 
 ^^ But only one unto its top attains; 
 
 Not he who searches closest, takes most pains, 
 But he who seeks not, that one way may find. 
 
 75 
 
ADVERSITY 
 
 A BARREN field o'ergrown with thorn and weed 
 It stays for him who waits for help from God: 
 Only the soul that makes a plough of Need 
 
 Shall know what blossoms underneath its sod. 
 
 76 
 
LOVE AND THE SEA 
 
 LOVE one day, in childish anger, 
 Tired of his divinity, 
 Sick of rapture, sick of languor, 
 Threw his arrows in the sea. 
 
 Since then Ocean, like a woman, 
 
 Variable of nature seems: 
 Smiling; cruel; kind; inhuman; 
 
 Gloomed with grief and drowned in dreams. 
 
 11 
 
LOYALTY 
 
 nrO Friendship drink, and then to Love, 
 A And last to Loyalty! 
 The first of these were not enough 
 Without the last, through whom we prove 
 That Love is Love, and right enough 
 What Friendship's self may be. 
 So here 's to Loyalty! 
 
 A sword he wears, but never a mask, 
 
 So all the world may see. — 
 Let Friendship set him any task, 
 Or Love — no question doth he ask, 
 But draws his sword and does his task. 
 
 And never takes a fee. 
 
 So here 's to loyalty! 
 
 78 
 
A TRIED FRIEND, A TRUE FRIEND 
 
 A FRIEND for you and a friend for me, 
 •*^ A friend to understand; 
 To cheer the way and help the day 
 
 With heart as well as hand : 
 With heart as well as hand, my dear. 
 
 And share the things we Ve planned — 
 A tried friend, a true friend, 
 
 A friend to understand ! 
 
 A friend for you and a friend for me, 
 
 A friend to hear our call, 
 When, wrong or right, we wage the fight 
 
 With backs against the wall! 
 With backs against the wall, my dear, 
 
 When hope is like to fall — 
 A tried friend, a true friend, 
 
 A friend to hear our call ! 
 
 A friend for you and a friend for me, 
 
 To share with us that day 
 When our ship comes back and naught we 
 lack 
 
 Of all for which men pray! 
 Of all for which men pray, my dear. 
 
 That long has gone astray — 
 A tried friend, a true friend, 
 
 To share with us that day! 
 
 Oh, side by side, on roads untried, 
 Two souls may better speed 
 79 
 
Than one who goes the road he knows 
 With none to give him heed! 
 
 With none to give him heed, my dear. 
 And help when there is need — 
 
 A tried friend, a true friend, 
 A friend, a friend indeed! 
 
 80 
 
so MUCH TO DO 
 
 THE face of the world is a homely face. 
 And the look of the world unkind. 
 When harsh on your arm a hand it lays 
 
 And bids you into the grind. 
 That *s little to your mind, my dear, 
 
 That 's little to your mind. 
 But it 's work that counts in the world, you see; 
 
 Not what we dream, but do: 
 For the dreamer of dreams, whatever he be, 
 
 If he 'd have his dreams come true, 
 Must be a workman, too, my dear. 
 
 Must be a workman, too. 
 
 So much to do; so much to know; 
 
 So much that life would shirk! 
 But each is one of a hive below. 
 
 The world's great Hive of Irk, 
 Where each must do his work, my dear, 
 
 Each one must do his work. 
 A song, a look, a word of cheer. 
 
 Will help more than a sigh! 
 For this is the law of the hive, my dear, 
 
 That every bee must try, my dear. 
 And all the drones must die, my dear. 
 
 That all the drones must die. 
 
 Oft-times it seems that the end is far. 
 
 And the work we do, in vain ; 
 That night will never reveal a star, 
 
 And day bring only rain, 
 6 81 
 
To trouble our hearts again, my dear, 
 
 To trouble our hearts again. 
 But ever the stars are shining there 
 
 With ever the old regard; 
 And be it foul, or be it fair. 
 
 However long debarred. 
 All work has its reward, my dear, 
 
 All work has its reward. 
 
 Could summer come without the rose? 
 
 Or morn without the sun? 
 And thus shall toil bring soul's repose 
 
 To each and every one, 
 Whose work at last is done, my dear. 
 
 Whose work at last is done. 
 For the face of the world is a homely face, 
 
 But the look in its eyes is kind 
 To him who sets his heart's brisk pace 
 
 To the work he has in mind. 
 And turns not with the wind, my dear, 
 
 And turns not with the wind. 
 
 82 
 
IN THE FOREST OF LOVE 
 
 TJT/HAT sighed the Forest to the nest? 
 ^ ''So young, so old, 
 
 Love, 
 Help me to mold 
 This life I hold/'— 
 What said the bird, 
 That harked and heard? 
 ''Below, above, 
 Love, love is best — 
 
 Take heed, my Life, and quit thy quest— 
 The meaning of Love is rest" — 
 So spake the bird. 
 
 What cried the Nightwind to the trees? — 
 "Thou dream of Earth, 
 
 Love, 
 Make me of worth 
 In death and birth! ''— 
 What said the wood 
 Stark-still that stood? — 
 "Below, above. 
 Give me increase. 
 
 Take heed, my Heart! thy sighings cease. 
 The meaning of Love is peace. "" 
 So spake the Wood. 
 
 What sobbed the Earth in deep and height?— 
 "O Song of Songs, 
 Love, 
 
 83 
 
Unloose my thongs, 
 And right m^ wrongs! ''— 
 What said the Clod, 
 That dreamed of God?— 
 ''Below, above, 
 Prisoner of Night, 
 ^iriY, lift high thy taper^light /— 
 The meaning of Love is might ''- 
 bo spake the Clod. 
 
 84 
 
LOVE. THE SONG OF SONGS 
 
 /^VER the roar of cities, 
 ^^ Over the hush of the hills, 
 Mounts ever a song that never stops, 
 A voice that never stills. 
 
 Epic-loud as the sea is, 
 
 Lyric-low as the dew, 
 It sings and sings a soul into things 
 
 And builds the world anew. 
 
 Dauntless, deathless, stern but kind. 
 
 Bold and free and strong. 
 It sweeps with mastery man's mind, 
 
 And rolls the world along. 
 
 From soul to soul it wings its words. 
 
 And, lo, the darkness flies; 
 And all who heed that song of songs 
 
 View Earth with other eyes. 
 
 New eyes, new thoughts, that shall go on 
 
 Seeing as Beauty sings. 
 Until the light of the farthest dawn 
 
 Shall fold its rainbow wings. 
 
 85 
 
JOY'S MAGIC 
 
 JOY'S is the magic sweet, 
 That makes Youth's pulses beat, 
 Puts music in young feet. 
 
 The old heart hears, the sad heart hears, 
 that *s near it: 
 And Joy's the pleasant pain, 
 That holds us, heart and brain. 
 When Old Age, sound and sane. 
 
 With memories nears, long memories nears 
 the spirit. 
 
 Joy's is the witchery rare. 
 That on the face of Care 
 Puts smiles; and rapture where 
 
 Love holds her breath, her hearts wild 
 breath, to still her: 
 And Joy it is that plays 
 On Time's old lute of days 
 As Life goes on her ways 
 
 With thoughts of Death, gray thoughts of 
 Death, that chill her. 
 
 86 
 
THE BEST OF LIFE 
 
 WITH soul self-blind 
 
 '^ Do n't struggle on merely at last to find 
 The best of life, the dream, is left behind. 
 
 Why desperately 
 Struggle and strive? after long years to see 
 Substance alone has no reality. 
 
 To find, alas! 
 The starry glitter in the mountain pass, 
 The light you climbed for is no star, but glass. 
 
 Help, one and all! 
 Dreamers we need, not workmen, for the wall — 
 The Tower of Beauty that shall never fall. 
 
 87 
 
JOY 
 
 WHAT were this life without her? 
 Joy, whose young face is sweet 
 With dreams that flit about her. 
 
 And rapture wild of feet! 
 With hope, that knows no languor. 
 
 And love, that knows no sighs. 
 And mirth, like some rich anger, 
 High-sparkling in her eyes. 
 
 Come! bid adieu to Sorrow; 
 
 And arm in arm with Joy, 
 We *11 journey towards Tomorrow, 
 
 And let no Care decoy 
 Our souls from all clean Pleasures, 
 
 That take from Time's lean hand 
 The hour-glass he treasures. 
 
 And change to gold its sand. 
 
 88 
 
THE ROSE OF HOPE 
 
 "THE Rose of Hope, how rich and red 
 •■' It blooms, and w/7/ bloom on, *t is said, 
 Since Eve, in Eden days gone by, 
 Plucked it on Adam's heart to lie. 
 When out of Paradise they fled, 
 With Sorrow and o'erwhelming Dread, 
 It was this flower that comforted. 
 This Rose of Hope, that can not die. 
 God's Rose of Hope. 
 
 When darkness comes, and you are led 
 To think that Hope at last is dead. 
 Take down your Bible; read; and try 
 To see the light; and by and by 
 Hope's rose will lift again its head — 
 God's Rose of Hope. 
 
 89 
 
HOPE ON 
 
 HOPE on, dear Heart, and you will see 
 The walls of worry fade and flee; 
 And sane of soul and sound of mind, 
 You '11 go your way of life and find 
 The paths, once barren, suddenly 
 In blossom; and from Arcady 
 
 The summer wind blow sweet and kind — 
 Hope on, dear Heart. 
 
 Think what it 'd mean to you and me — 
 This life — if Hope should cease to be! 
 
 If Hope should die — what doubts would blind! 
 
 What black despairs go unconfined! 
 What sorrows weight us utterly! 
 Hope on, dear Heart! 
 
 90 
 
HOPE 
 
 WITHIN the world of every man's desire 
 Two things have power to Hft the soul above 
 The first is Work, who dons a mean attire; 
 The other, Love, whose raiment is of fire. 
 
 Their child is Hope, and we the heirs thereof. 
 
 91 
 
A SONG OF CHEER 
 
 CHEER, though you part at morn! 
 Cheer, though you never part : 
 Sigh not, nor look forlorn ; 
 
 Never lose heart ! 
 For, to the hope you don, 
 Face that your soul puts on, 
 Whether in sun or storm, 
 Will the world's face conform. 
 
 Sing from the start. 
 
 Never lose heart. 
 
 92 
 
WORK 
 
 \Y7HAT though the heart be tired, 
 ^ The heart, that long aspired,— 
 And one high dream desired, 
 
 Beyond attainment's scope; 
 Beyond our grasp; above us; 
 The dream we would have love us, 
 That will know nothing of us, 
 But merely bids us hope. 
 
 Still it behooves us never 
 From love and work to sever. 
 To hold to one endeavor, 
 
 And make our dream our care: 
 For work, at dawn and even. 
 Shapes for the soul a heaven. 
 Wherein, as strong as seven. 
 
 Can enter no Despair. 
 
 Work, that blows high the fire 
 Of hope and heart's desire, 
 And sings and dreams of higher 
 
 Things than the world's regard: 
 Work, which to long endeavor. 
 And patient love, that never 
 Seems recompensed, forever 
 
 Gives, in its way, reward. 
 
 93 
 
THE HOUSE OF LIFE 
 
 'T'HEY are the wise who look before, 
 ■■• Nor fear to look behind ; 
 Who in the darkness still ignore 
 Pale shadows of the mind. 
 
 Who, having lost, though loss be much, 
 
 Still dare to dream and do: 
 For what was shattered at a touch 
 
 It may be mended, too. 
 
 The House of Life hath many a door 
 That leads to many a room; 
 
 And only they who look before 
 Shall win beyond its gloom. 
 
 Who stand and sigh and look behind, 
 
 Regretful of past years, 
 No room, of all those rooms, shall find 
 
 That is not filled with fears. 
 
 'T is better not to stop or stay; 
 
 But set all fear aside. 
 Fling wide the door, whatever the way, 
 
 And enter at a stride. 
 
 Who dares, may win to his desire ; 
 
 Or, failing, reach the tower, 
 Whereon Life lights the beacon-fire 
 
 Of one immortal hour. 
 
 94 
 
CORNCOB JONES 
 
 An Oldham- County Weather Philosopher. 
 
 **Vjr7ho is Corncob Jones?" you say. 
 ^ Beateningest man and talkingest 
 Talk and talk th* enduring day, 
 
 Never even stop to rest, 
 Keep on talking that a-way, 
 Talk you dead, or do his best. 
 
 We were there in that old barn, 
 Loafing 'round and swapping lies: 
 
 There was Wiseheart, talking corn, 
 Me and Raider boosting ryes, 
 
 When old Corncob sprung a yarn 
 Just to give us a surprise. 
 
 **Why," says he. *'the twelvth of May 
 
 'Bout ten year ago, why I 
 Rickolects it to the day, 
 
 By statistics hit wuz dry. 
 But hit must have rained, I say, 
 
 Cause — well, I remember why. 
 
 **Fer that night it 'gin to blow 
 And to rain, an' rained a week; 
 
 When hit stopped hit 'gun to show 
 Here an' there a clearin' streak, 
 
 Then set in to sleet an' snow — 
 
 Blamededst weather! simply freak! 
 
 95 
 
**An* the fruit wuz killt; the corn, 
 Gin'ral. an* the gardin truck.— 
 
 That *s experience, an* no yarn. 
 You can't put hit down to luck. 
 
 But to Natur', whar we larn 
 
 Common sense, we do, by Huck! 
 
 "Why, as I have said to-fore," 
 
 (Here he aimed a streak of brown 
 
 At a hornet on the floor, 
 
 Got him too) "you put hit down 
 
 To experience, nothin* more, — 
 Whut they call hit there in town. 
 
 "Natur' jest rubs in the thing — 
 Jest won't let a man ferget; 
 
 Keeps hit up spring arter spring — 
 Why? — Jest cause, now you kin bet, 
 
 Blamed blackberries bloom, by Jing! 
 They jest need the cold an' wet. 
 
 "Every time the twelvth o' May 
 
 Cums around, hit 's bound to rain, 
 
 Almost to the very day. 
 
 Then hit turns an' snows again. 
 
 That s experience, I say, 
 
 Whut we gets here, in the main." 
 
 "Talkin' 'bout experience — 
 
 It don't help so much," I said; 
 
 "Not as much as common sense." — 
 Here old Corncob shook his head. 
 
 Spat and said, "Well that depen's 
 On whut common sense is, Ned," 
 
 96 
 
Then old Wiseheart says, says he, 
 "Common sense is somethin* more. 
 
 Common sense comes nat* rally. 
 Nothin' helps hit, that I 'm shore; 
 
 But hit helps the one, you see, 
 
 That *t was borned with, rich er poor.' 
 
 Then says Corncob, "Talkin' now 
 Of experience. — That wuz what 
 
 We wuz talkin' 'bout. — Somehow 
 You got stalded — missed the spot, — 
 
 Barbwired both yerself an' plough. — 
 An* ye have n't proved a jot. 
 
 **You can't git along, you know, 
 
 'Thout experience. — Whar 'd we be. 
 If we missed hit? — Helps me so 
 
 I kin reckin, acktually, 
 When hit 's goin' to rain er snow, 
 Er turn hot er cold;" says he. 
 
 "Jest by thinkin* back, by Jack! 
 
 Hit *s not whut the weather is. 
 But whut hit wuz oncet, long back 
 
 In the times whut 's gone. — Gee whiz! 
 No man needs an almanack 
 
 If he only notices. 
 
 "Weather? — Why, sirs, summer er fall 
 
 We kin lay hit by the heels. 
 Hit cums easy, natural. 
 
 Jest like set tin' down ter meals. 
 Jest take notice, that is all. 
 
 Don't rely on how hit feels. 
 
 97 
 
"That 's experience. — Larn to know 
 Whut is whut, an' then take heed. 
 
 So it cums we reap an' sow 
 Jest accordin* as we 've seed 
 
 How 't wuz done long years ago, 
 An' so profit; — that 's my creed." 
 
 Blamededst man you ever met, 
 This old Corncob. Had a way 
 
 Of convincing you, you bet, 
 
 By just facts, as you might say; 
 
 Tell you when 'twas dry or wet, 
 And what 'twould be to the day. 
 
 % 
 
MAY 12 1913 
 
f'"" 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 785 611 A 
 
 NIIIH 
 
 :i|Ml