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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
Child Slaves & Other 
 
 oems 
 
 Sp Sol. L. Long 
 
 1909 
 
 THE COURIER PRESS 
 
 WINFIELD, KANSAS 
 
Entered according to Act of Cngress in the year 1909 
 
 Bv SOL. L. LONG 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington 
 
 © 
 
 A 
 
 AU a -271909 
 
 a* ^V22S4 
 
T^reface 
 
 I make no apology for this volume. I am not menda- 
 cious enough to offer the conventional apology. The verses 
 are not perfect. Neither is their author, nor is any one who 
 shall read them. They will be criticised, both as to form 
 and substance; but not by the one who has sailed my sea, 
 and criticism by one who has nb| sailed my sea is hearsay 
 and immaterial. ^.. 
 
 It 'is well and commendable to strive toward perfection, 
 but wherein is the sense, rhyme, or reason, in apologizing 
 for not reaching it; when one knows, and the world knows, 
 to a dead moral certainty, that perfection cannot be reached. 
 All apologies for any sort of mental effort are either un- 
 conscious, or premeditated, peans of egotism. 
 
 Men have attempted to define poetry. It cannot be de- 
 fined; and this, because it is an attempt to interpret life and 
 life is eternal and being so is indefinable; not to be com- 
 prehended, much less reduced to rule. Life can only be 
 guessed at in part and poems, prose or verse, are only the 
 writer's fleeting and imperfect glimpses of that elusive, eter- 
 nal thing of which all things here are shadows on a screen, 
 mere echoes of things real. Poets are only voyagers who 
 have sailed life's present seas and noted their rocks, reefs, 
 dangerous coasts and safe harbors, and poems are the log- 
 book of the voyage. 
 
 Whether or not any poem be of any sort of value to 
 you; whether or not it appeals to you at all, depends upon 
 whether or not you have sailed, are sailing, or about to sail, 
 one of the seven seas of life voyaged by the one by whom 
 the poem was produced. If you have not sailed the sea 
 from whence the chart was drawn it will appear worthless 
 — you w^ill not understand it. If you are sailing such sea, 
 it will be of value before the end of the voyage. 
 
 Never was a measure written, from the obituary in the 
 country weekly, to the most sublime epic; from the fan- 
 
tastic things the youth conjures up and writes for the eyes 
 of her who inspired them, to the measure that seems to lift 
 the veil of the Eternal world, but what possessed some of 
 the divine harmony which holds the spheres in place. Im- 
 perfect? All to a degree. Deformed? Much. Worthless? 
 None. Nothing was ever penned but that somewhere, some- 
 place, w^as some one to w^hom it would appeal — some one 
 who was hungry for that sort of food. The mere searcher 
 after mechanical perfection will overlook this, but the one 
 v^ho has gcized long into the unfathomable depths of the hu- 
 man soul will know it to be true — know it as he does his 
 mother's language. 
 
 Save in very few instances the productions herein are 
 just as they were first penned. It is my experience that the 
 working over of verses, after the time when they had to be 
 written has passed, results in mechanical perfection and 
 spiritual deformity. 
 
 I have, as near as practicable, followed the order of 
 production in the arrangement of the verses in the book, 
 and this for two reasons: One, to enable the solemn search- 
 er after small things to obtain a text from which to moral- 
 ize on the development, or degeneracy, of the bard— pro- 
 vided, always, that he, or she, conclude there was a bard 
 — and for a second, stronger and main reason: because 1 so 
 desire to place them. 
 
 Whatever others may say, I know that these are echoes 
 — but echoes only. No chord is herein touched but wha* 
 the writer has heard, in the surrounding vastness, louder, 
 more triumpthant, more despairing, more tender, more 
 hopeful, more entrancing strains, and not only heard them 
 but saw the hand that swept the harpstrings. 
 
 Holding these views, any apology for the verses would 
 be an insult to the reader and a stultification of myself, and 
 1 am not conventional enough to do either. If I am to lie 
 of record 1 shall make it an original and not to the hackney- 
 ed and conventional departure from truth. 
 
T^edication 
 
 There are those who labor to strike the shackles from the limbs 
 of men; making them free physically. 
 
 There are those who labor to remove the fetters from the minds 
 of men; making them free mentally. 
 
 There are those who labor to banish trammels from the souls 
 of men; making them free spiritually. 
 
 These three classes are God's great, and only, visible trinity. 
 
 To one of this trinity, who speaks the language of the "Old 
 Frontier;" who has given his life and the strength of his manhood 
 to the cause of human freedom; who has fought, and fought nobly 
 from the cow-camp to, in and through, the legislative halls of his 
 adopted State, for his fellows and a broader manhood, here and 
 now— in this present world; who has been my friend from earl^ 
 manhood; has had faith in me and my work ond has stood by me 
 during the darkness and now holds my hand at the dawn; to 
 
 HON. LOT RAVENSCROFT, 
 
 of Ashland, Clark County, Kansas this volume is dedicated by 
 
 'Vhe Jluthor. 
 
The Child Slaves 
 
 God of life! I see the children, 
 
 Maimed of brow and sunk of chest. 
 They are toiUng in the east-land; 
 
 They are toiUng in the west. 
 Lifting to thy sky wan faces, 
 
 Numbly longing to be free! 
 Standing, helpless, in thy presence. 
 
 As memorials to thee. 
 
 God of Ufe! 1 see the children; 
 
 Drooping hke the plant which dies! 
 1 can see no gleam of promise 
 
 In their sad and vacant eyes. 
 Eyes from which is gone the lustre; 
 
 Gone the hall mark of the soul! 
 For which lack some one must answer 
 
 When Thine angel calls the roll. 
 
 God of life! 1 see the children; 
 
 Shrunk of Umb and tendon cramped. 
 Pace a sentry's beat, through darkness. 
 
 Where the hosts of Greed are camped! 
 Talon handed; primal visaged; 
 
 Signs of that dread curse which waits 
 Till our coveteousness, gold drunken. 
 
 Draw it, cased, within our gates. 
 
 God of Ufe! I see the children 
 
 Murdered in the paths of peace; 
 
 Crowded to the grave by legions. 
 That earth's tinsel may increase! 
 
CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Children like He, ■whom Thou sent us, 
 Gathered round Him one far day. 
 
 Saying: "Wouldst thou enter heaven? 
 Let these show to thee the way." 
 
 God of life! 1 see the children. 
 
 Kept, by fraud, from life's chief goal. 
 Of all things of earth the cheapest 
 
 Seems to be an human soul; 
 Of less worth than passion's promise. 
 
 Bantered 'neath an evil star — 
 God of life! our crimes against them 
 
 Nearer hell are, than is war! 
 
 Character 
 
 If good be near you, and you find 
 
 Your life toward it is inclined. 
 
 Be to past lives and precepts blind; 
 
 Unto it your own pathway trace; 
 
 Look for no footprints; see no face 
 
 Of other; nor trust to the grace 
 
 Of gods or men, if you would stand 
 
 With aught save borrowed wealth in hand. 
 
 Thus it will be an wholly new 
 
 And strange discovery to you; 
 
 Wherewith you may all worlds subdue. 
 
 And by subdueing grow to be 
 
 A soul, broad-shouldered, grand and free, 
 
 Untrammeled as the restless sea; 
 
 So that, departing, men may scan 
 
 Your hfe and say: " There lived a man." 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Stained 
 
 I stand at the station as the gray light of dawn 
 Comes stealing and deepening and widening on, 
 And the trains, heavy laden, go rumbling by 
 As the heralds of sunrise leap into the sky; 
 While the outlines of things are from dimness released 
 And show sharply against an incarnadine east; 
 In the hush of the morning appears, doubly plain, 
 On each object of vision a dark crimson stain. 
 
 There is blood on the railsl In the smoke and the din 
 Of the mills where they rolled them, they ladled it in; 
 There is blood on the wires! in the place they were drawn 
 'Twas by piracy filched from the brain and the brawn 
 Of strong men, my brethren; men, joint heirs with me. 
 To the fullness of earth, and the sky and the sea. 
 
 There is blood on the engine and blood on the train 
 And the ties, and the bed for them, carry a stain. 
 On the panels and roof of the coach where I ride 
 Are stains which no varnish nor gilding can hide! 
 And the click of the wheels, as they rapidly roll. 
 Repeat: " We have value; there's none to a soul." 
 
 There is blood on the stones which men crush in the street. 
 And stains on the pavement that rings 'neath my feet; 
 The parks, brightly lit, where suave indolence strolls 
 Are garnished by anguish and unshriven souls. 
 There are stains on the buildings men raise in contempt 
 Of their God — and his house is not wholly exempt! 
 
 The fountains along the highway have their source 
 In the Moloch of Greed, in the temple of Force, 
 
10 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 And mixed half and half with their thirst quenching streams. 
 Is the ichor of life and the substance of dreams; 
 In proof that the pagan but changes his name 
 And remains, as to ends, and in essence, the same. 
 
 There is blood on the fields where the meadow larks sing; 
 *Tis the record of God of where king strove with king; 
 Where ignorance and hate, little knowing for w^hy. 
 Have warred, bUndly warred, 'neath a pitying sky; 
 And the blood of the w^orker, for idlers increase. 
 Baptizes the walls of the temple of peace. 
 
 There is blood on the carpets 1 have in my home! 
 
 From the mills which grind children as grist they have come; 
 
 On the crystal 1 own are deep, dark stains of red. 
 
 And even my books chant a dirge for the dead — 
 
 The dead who to others were dear as the one 
 
 Who from my own side into dreamland has gone. 
 
 There are stains on all things which surround us today 
 
 And I question if water to wash them away 
 
 Is held by the earth, or the deep outer void 
 
 Where recompense waits for they who have destroyed 
 
 The image of God by insidious wiles 
 
 Of commerce; they who, in exchange for the smiles 
 
 Of the wanton of trade and the god of increase. 
 
 Have innocence slain in the temple of peace. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 11 
 
 Qod's (Sscrow 
 
 Down the mystic, Shadow Valley, 
 
 Where the leaves of healing grow; 
 Where the strong and the decrepit 
 
 And the aged and children go; 
 There are half remembered visions 
 
 Waiting, that they may entrain 
 With the things which we have strangled 
 
 In our maddened rush for gain. 
 
 There are brains, benumbed by fancies; 
 
 There are brains distraught and wild; 
 There are vampire brains, grown w^eary 
 
 Of a world they had defiled; 
 There are brains, which love has fashioned; 
 
 There are brains, deformed by woe; 
 Down the mystic. Shadow Valley 
 
 Where the leaves of healing grow. 
 
 There are eyes, too soon grown weary 
 
 Of the sunset and the dawn; 
 Eyes, from which the present visions 
 
 Drove the dread of farther on; 
 There are eyes which never glistened 
 
 At the sunset's afterglow; 
 Dow^n the mystic, Shadow Valley, 
 
 Where the leaves of healing grow. 
 
 There are little hands, unwelcome; 
 
 Night-tossed hands, without a name; 
 There are palms, cursed and unholy 
 
 In which stuck the price of shame; 
 
12 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 There are locked hands, locked forever 
 By the things which grovelers know 
 
 Down the mystic, Shadow Valley 
 Where the leaves of healing grow. 
 
 There are fingers, young and rosy; 
 
 There are fingers, gnarled and old; 
 There are children's talon fingers, 
 
 Fashioned by the lust for gold; 
 There are fingers, cramped and knotted; 
 
 Fingers crippled by a blow, 
 Down the mystic, Shadow Valley 
 
 Where the leaves of healing grow. 
 
 By the sword which guards God's Eden; 
 
 By His phantom foot and horse; 
 By the joys of highest heaven; 
 
 By the depths of earth's remorse; 
 We must meet these! They are waiting. 
 
 Waiting there, in God's escrow; 
 Down the mystic, Shadow^ Valley 
 
 Where the leaves of healing grow. 
 
 ^eyond the T^ecos 
 
 Vistas stretching to'ard the sunset; 
 
 Vistas reaching to'ard the dawn; 
 Flowers and palms and palms and flowers; 
 
 Haze wrapped roadways leading on. 
 
 Crag and peak and green shot mesa 
 Flung against a sapphire sky; 
 
 Fall and sweep and rush of water 
 With the brown trail winding by. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 13 
 
 "UheCryofUhe Wild 
 
 God, give me freedom! freedom! 
 
 If but for a day — an hour, 
 
 1 am tired of the chieftain's bondage. 
 
 Of the shackles of mooted power; 
 I am tired of the alien peoples 
 
 I have bartered my soul to save — 
 The one who brings freedom to others 
 
 Is ever himself a slave; 
 A slave to their childish phantoms. 
 
 Their wayward and witless ways, 
 Fashioned by sire and grandsire 
 
 Between darkened walls of days — 
 O God, give me freedom! freedom! 
 
 Though it be but the spurious thing 
 Possessed by the low browed peasant 
 
 Who daily curses his king. 
 
 God, give me freedom! freedom! 
 
 Let me be, as I once was, free, 
 
 1 am tired of the iron purple 
 
 Of the guardians degree; 
 Let me walk, if for only a moment, 
 
 With the children, the primrose path, 
 Unheeding alike the sunshine 
 
 Of smiles, or the cloud of wrath. 
 Grant this and though thereafter. 
 
 In the galleys, with added pain, 
 I pull the oar of a leader 
 
 And wear the heaviest chain, 
 I'll remember, with joy and gladness. 
 
 The kindness of thy decree — 
 
14 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 This memory will lighten my labors 
 Through all eternity, 
 
 O God, give me freedom! freedom! 
 
 If for only a runner's breath, 
 I'm tired of the moulded heirlooms 
 
 That came at my father's death; 
 Tired of the pride of family 
 
 I must stretch to measure to; 
 Tired of the ancient wheel ruts 
 
 In the lanes I stumble through; 
 Tired of the thoughtless censure, 
 
 Of the one who stands alone. 
 By the sw^art and darkened children 
 
 Of the man of the age of stone — 
 O God, give me freedom! freedom! 
 
 What is your eternity, 
 Or any thing hereafter 
 
 Unless I again be free. 
 
 Qive Us T^esults 
 
 " Give us results! " By what token 
 
 Do you ask that w^e give you them? 
 By the reasoning of Japeth's ruthless clan; 
 
 Or the stealth of the tribe of Shem? 
 By the empty, unrequited. 
 
 Hard hands of the sons of Ham? 
 By the altar fire of marauding sire, 
 
 Or the price of a purchased dam? 
 
 By the Spirit of troubled waters 
 
 Shall we bring you, from over seas, 
 The things which your sodden trader's breed 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 15 
 
 Cry for; from their bended knees? 
 Shall we bring them thence with never 
 
 A care, nor fear, nor tear, 
 For the hearts we break nor the graves w^e make. 
 
 In the face of the reckoning year? 
 
 " Give us results! " Will you herald 
 
 Them forth and grow strangely dumb 
 As to devious ways and artful means. 
 
 If by such, perchance, they come? 
 The wear of the way takes substance 
 
 From the wheel and adds thereto. 
 In flake and streak, the things which speak 
 
 Of the mire it traveled through. 
 
 " Give us results! " Aye give us 
 
 Results; but let them be 
 The unstained ones which only come 
 
 When the soul and the hand are free! 
 The results of the Great King's highway — 
 
 The way where men are made; 
 Not the soiled ones by which Cain's sons 
 
 Chain Death to their shoulder blade! 
 
 plunders 
 
 Today I saw a little waif, one of the submerged millions. 
 
 With unshod feet walk down a street 
 
 Where men guard useless billions; 
 
 To make a Moloch of their trade, and to their shrine of barter 
 
 Bring man and matron, boy and maid, a custom cursed 
 
 I looked upon her weazened face, [martyr; 
 
16 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 From which the light of childhood 
 
 Had faded, leaving no more trace 
 
 Than zephyrs in the wildwood; 
 
 And while 1 looked the heavens lowered 
 
 And nature's forces thundered; 
 
 "This is the cruse where wrath is stored, 
 
 Because mankind has blundered." 
 
 Today I saw in dimlit piles, with many a steel-barred case- 
 Men walk alone and there atone [ment, 
 For some forbear's abasement; 
 
 By process I cannot describe, an unrequited labor 
 They learn the tongue of Ishmael's tribe, that knows no 
 I looked upon them moving near — [friend nor neighbor; 
 Guard-led and guard-surrounded — 
 Unto the Chapel, there to hear 
 Confusion worse confounded; 
 And while I gazed a still voice came 
 Saying; "Why have you wondered? 
 That this should be done in my name 
 Is proof that men have blundered." 
 
 1 scanned the record of my past for promise of the morrow, 
 
 And found each page, in youth or age. 
 
 Blotted by some great sorrow; [binded 
 
 By some fell hand unseen, unknown, a burden has been 
 
 Upon my shoulders and alone I've walked life's highway 
 
 I stumble in the way, and where [blinded. 
 
 1 should walk prince and sovereign 
 
 I crawl, a vassal, bowed with care, 
 
 For usurpers to govern; 
 
 I often question in my dole 
 
 Why joy is from me sundered. 
 
 But all the time my weary soul 
 
 Knows somewhere men have blundered. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 17 
 
 '^he Joyless ^en 
 
 They have scraped the fins from the mountainside 
 
 And burrowed it Uke the mole; 
 They have warped and lashed great iron staves 
 
 To a prostrate totem pole. 
 They have raised the trail across the marsh 
 
 And eased it over the hill; 
 They have stalked the mountain, as caribou 
 
 Are stalked by the ones who kill. 
 
 They have planted their uncarved totem poles 
 
 Like stakes for the salmon's run. 
 And crowned them with a giant's bead 
 
 That glistens in the sun. 
 They have planted them thick, from shore to crag, 
 
 In long and w^inding strings. 
 And bound them firmly, crown to crown, 
 
 With the iron sinew that sings. 
 
 Flung sinuous, like a driver's lash, 
 
 Or like the land fowl flies, 
 Is the hot, black breath of the wondrous sledge; 
 
 Their sledge of iron that cries; 
 That cries Uke a wounded walrus bull 
 
 When the spear has pierced his side, 
 And pants, as the lead dogs pant, for the weal 
 
 Of a tribe unsatisfied. 
 
 And down where the walrus used to bask 
 They've builded themselves a town — 
 
 These men with the cold, stern, somber face, 
 Who work when the sun is down. 
 
18 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 And down where the salmon berries grew 
 
 And ripened beneath the skies, 
 They've builded a hut for the wondrous sledge — 
 
 Their sledge of iron that cries. 
 
 They are wondrous men, these joyless men; 
 
 These men from the summer lands; 
 Who give their lives with a smile and cheer 
 
 To feed the work of their hands! 
 These men w^ho conquer the frozen seas 
 
 And harness the powers of air; 
 Who war with the land and curse their god 
 
 Should he loose the thongs of their care. 
 
 They have stretched their hands toward the stars 
 
 And plucked them from the skies. 
 And hung them low to light the trail 
 
 Of their sledge of iron that cries. 
 They have broken the pack in the windward straits 
 
 And cloven the heart of the floe; 
 They have chained the glacier to its bed 
 
 And made a toy of the snow. 
 
 The walrus cries from the far off ice 
 
 And the seal moans by the sea; 
 The new has come with these joyless men 
 
 And the old goes out with me. 
 They will harry the silence out of the north 
 
 And w^innow it in between 
 The hoar, white edge of my father's land 
 
 And the edge of their land of green. 
 
 They will break the peace of a thousand years, 
 
 With bugle, and horse, and drum; 
 To pave the way that they may pray 
 
 For the peace of a time to come. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS !9 
 
 They will parcel the land by the river's thread 
 
 And hold it by stake and stone; 
 They will speak to the hungry, with the wind, 
 
 And watch how the smoke is blown. 
 
 They will break the thongs of their father's pledge 
 
 To kill on the border line; 
 They will bring us their Book, to buoy our souls. 
 
 And sink us with their wine. 
 They will take our fathers burden off 
 
 And bind upon our back. 
 One strange and new, which we cannot bear. 
 
 And curse us for our lack. 
 
 They will take the gods that we have known — 
 
 Our gods of sea and land — 
 And give us their own, whom even they 
 
 Seem not to understand. 
 They will take the legends from my tribe; 
 
 Unpeople river and brook. 
 They will break the law of a thousand tongues 
 
 And judge us by a book. 
 
 They will dim the law of the otter's slide 
 
 With precept of their own. 
 And barter the lire of a fevered soul 
 
 For the glow of a polished stone. 
 They will raze the mountain and lift the earth 
 
 And ravage the far, vast skies; 
 For the w^eal of the sinew that sings and sings 
 
 And the sledge of iron that cries. 
 
 The lead dogs will forget the trail — 
 
 The legends of my clan 
 Will die, as youth born visions die, 
 
 For there will be no man 
 
20 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Of all my tribe to hand them on; 
 
 Much less one to receive 
 Them from another — they teach ill 
 
 Who do not first believe. 
 
 I have watched beside my father's grave; 
 
 But none will watch by mine. 
 I have learned my dogs the trail; their whelps. 
 
 Like the white bears cubs, will whine 
 Unmastered; things which came 
 
 With peace will go with stress, 
 And in the lodge of the joyless men 
 
 Is much of forgetfulness. 
 
 The squaws will halt at the trader's door; 
 
 Our strong young men will draw 
 Nigh to his oracle and for 
 
 A precept trade their law. 
 There's portents of misfortune, dire 
 
 Mischance and fearsome things, 
 That come with the iron sledge that cries 
 
 And the wondrous sinew that sings. 
 
 Vhe Call of the West 
 
 I have heard the West a-calling; 
 
 Clearer, sweeter than a bride's, 
 Comes a voice from out the vastness 
 
 Where the man-grown boy abides; 
 Where the swreet, the strange, the splendid. 
 
 Lion-hearted, noble boy, 
 Like a prince rides ways of manhood. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 21 
 
 Bearing with him youthful joy; 
 Bearing with him all the jewels 
 
 Of a mother's sympathy. 
 And a Faith, unavred, unfaltering. 
 
 In his God and Destiny; 
 Strong to ride the dusty highway; 
 
 Strong to linger by the stream; 
 Strong to know his own and claim it; 
 
 Strong to do and strong to dream. 
 
 1 have heard the West a-calling; 
 
 Whatsoever bauble prize 
 Waits for me, its needs must seek me 
 
 Underneath the Western skies — 
 Seek me where the bouyant promise 
 
 Of the earth, the sky, the air. 
 Is not veiled; where hearts are stronger 
 
 Than the spirit of despair. 
 It must seek me, if it find me. 
 
 In the free and boundless West; 
 Where the base, the false, the hollow. 
 
 Find no place where they may rest; 
 Where the winds give wider learning 
 
 Than is held by any school, 
 And "survival of the fittest," 
 
 Not "the strongest," is the rule. 
 
 What if there be bleak prairies? 
 
 What if desert wastes of sand? 
 What if God's own workshop stillness 
 
 Like a mantle cloaks the land? 
 What if strong suns blister daily? 
 
 What if winds be chill at night? 
 There, at least, no forced convention 
 
 Makes grotesque all primal right; 
 
22 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 There the hands, however wayward, 
 
 Have not learned to grasp and hold 
 Only things which stand as tokens 
 
 Of the man-made power of gold. 
 There the heart leaps free and youthful; 
 
 Stranger to all bars and bounds — 
 O, I've heard the West a-calling 
 
 And there are no other sounds. 
 
 ji Souvenir 
 
 *Twas a summer long ago 
 
 That I wrote a billet deaux — 
 
 Youth-fed summer — when the world was on its knees. 
 
 And 1 hid it near the stream — 
 
 Grave and cradle of our dream — 
 
 And you got it and you read it Belle Marquise. 
 
 Though you turned and gave your hand 
 
 To a league or tw^o of land; 
 
 Leaving me to bear my burden over seas; 
 
 You have kept it through the years, 
 
 With their cares and fears and tears; 
 
 You have kept it and you read it Belle Marquise. 
 
 Though rebellion and unrest 
 
 It awakens in your breast 
 
 As you drain the cup you've chosen to the lees; 
 
 Though it jeopardize your name 
 
 You will keep it from the flame — 
 
 Aye, you'll keep it and you'll read it Belle Marquise. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 23 
 
 ^estamentry 
 
 I'd rather give you a free mind. 
 
 My boy, to have and hold. 
 Than all the lands in all the earth, 
 
 Or all its worthless gold. 
 
 Then take your father's words, my boy. 
 Let them be food and drink. 
 
 Act as the freemen ever act, 
 Think as the freemen think. 
 
 Let no name bind you to the past, 
 
 Nor conjure from afar; 
 Avoid, as though a pestilence. 
 
 The fever born of war. 
 
 A hut beside a summer stream. 
 
 Beneath the arching skies, 
 Is better than a palace, boy, 
 
 Where mind and manhood dies. 
 
 Gather the flowers along the way. 
 Rest 'neath each pleasant tree; 
 
 'Tis well to be forehanded, boy. 
 But better to be free. 
 
 Rather than, in the purple clad. 
 Reap where you have not sown. 
 
 Go barefoot, but go like a Prince, 
 To claim your right, your own. 
 
 There's little in the boast of kings, 
 
 There's little in a name. 
 The velvet hand is oftenest 
 
 The tainted palm of shame. 
 
24 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Be strong, be grand, the puny things 
 That hold weak minds in awe. 
 
 Are not for you, therefore, be free, 
 Obey the primal law. 
 
 Are not for you — and why? forsooth, 
 Behind both you and me, 
 
 A thousand generations stand 
 Of common folk and free. 
 
 ^he Hero 
 
 Disaster's track behind his back and sodden sky ahead; 
 
 Yet through the wrack he will not slack his hand, though 
 hope be dead; 
 
 He will not quail, though Fate may rail and Fortune guard 
 her bars; 
 
 He knows the trail to his entail swings past them, to the 
 stars; 
 
 The pace may kill, but upward still, his feet, flame shroud- 
 ed, tend 
 
 Toward the hill from which he will unto reward ascend. 
 
 The clouded mind will worship kind; it has done since the 
 
 morn 
 In which the wind came strong behind the sun and Cain 
 
 was born; 
 Though it conceive, and real believe, a mirage, big with dole; 
 Though it may grieve and pluck his sleeve, upon his fran- 
 
 chised soul 
 Is the red mark of they who hark not to the halt and lame; 
 Nor to the dark, but fan their spark of life into a flame. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 25 
 
 More than on steel the old world's weal hangs on his potent 
 
 arm; 
 And true and leal through each ordeal he guides and 
 
 shields from harm. 
 It is his fate, without the gate, unguarded and alone, 
 To toil and wait, that church and state may come into 
 
 their own; 
 His campfire's gleams, in conquering streams, fling back 
 
 the Cossack shade 
 That round it teems, and of his dreams a future age is made. 
 
 The torch, the night, cannot afright: he is not fear ordained. 
 He sees the Hght, hid from sight of hunchback souls and 
 
 chained! 
 Gethsemane is for the free; not for the shackled slave, 
 And through it he presents a plea which bars death and 
 
 the grave. 
 The copper's toss that wins earth's dross, he counts an idle 
 
 thing; 
 As gain, not loss, the middle cross, if he die there a king. 
 
 What "Profit? 
 
 They have cut the plains in a thousand fields 
 
 And parcelled them out among 
 The brood who love the clang of steel 
 
 And the sound of a brazen tongue; 
 The ones by whom a flower's perfume 
 
 Is flouted and scorned and spurned; 
 Whose nostrils can only sense the reek 
 
 Of the earth; when a furrow is turned. 
 
26 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 They have given to them a parchment power; 
 
 By v^hich they may have and hold 
 The right to follow^ a plow^ in peace, 
 
 Until they are bent and old; 
 The right to rest in a fetid room, 
 
 Shut in from the arching sky; 
 To say to their fellow: "All this is mine; 
 
 By the power — ", of a printed liel 
 
 They will lock the door of their empty souls 
 
 And lean on the things outside, 
 And gladly walk in the way of pain 
 
 If the ones who praise may ride! 
 They will wear the shackles of class and caste; 
 
 Of their acres; their herds; their flocks; 
 If they may ride to the grave in state 
 
 And sleep in a polished box. 
 
 They will trade the strength of their manhood's year* 
 
 And barter their w^omanhood. 
 For a cup of gall, from a velvet hand. 
 
 If they be but told: " *Tis good." 
 They w^ill pour their sweat at Mammon's shrine 
 
 And give him their flesh and blood. 
 And rail at the Hindoo mother who flings 
 
 Her child to the Ganges* flood. 
 
 They have cut the plains in a thousand flelds — 
 
 But where does the profit lie 
 If wealth increase a thousand fold 
 
 And mind and manhood die? 
 What profit to earth; or what to man. 
 
 Is there in a thousand fields, 
 If the opiate and the gear of a slave 
 
 Are all that the thousand yields? 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 27 
 
 For What? 
 
 We met; he is more gray today, 
 
 Five added years have worn 
 His hfe along the dusty way 
 
 Where hope dies and is born. 
 
 Upon his brow and in his face 
 
 Was then small sign of care 
 And only just a ghostly trace 
 
 Of silver in his hair. 
 
 Today it took a second sight 
 
 To catch a glimpse of gold; 
 A gleam like the faint hint of night 
 
 Which shadows sometimes hold. 
 
 He spoke, as when greeted last. 
 
 Of something, "just ahead," 
 I did not question of the past; 
 
 I knew that it was dead. 
 
 Knew by the lines which seamed his brow 
 
 And spoke of tears unshed; 
 Knew by his leaping from the now. 
 
 Toward the, "just ahead." 
 
 And as I called that other year 
 
 To mind, my wonder rose; 
 That he should wear life's galling gear 
 
 For only board and clothes! 
 
 That he should barter present joy 
 For phantoms, "just ahead — " 
 
 Should trade the free heart of a boy 
 For withered things and dead. 
 
28 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 What Matters 
 
 It matters not what was his name, 
 
 Nor where his place of birth. 
 Nor by what lineage he came 
 
 Unto this present earth; 
 But that his soul was strong and true, 
 
 Broadshouldered, grand and free. 
 It matters, and will matter through 
 
 Our God's Eternity. 
 
 It matters not his father's place, 
 
 Nor what his mother's dower. 
 Nor contour of a grandame's face, 
 
 Nor yet a grandsire's power — 
 Whether barefoot, half clad and loathed. 
 
 He may have trod the Hng, 
 Just so, however shod or clothed. 
 
 He trod it like a king. 
 
 It matters not what was his tongue. 
 
 Nor that he understood 
 The whyfore of the shrines among 
 
 His common brotherhood; 
 But that he stooped to play the knave. 
 
 Or filled the narrow span 
 Between the cradle and the grave 
 
 With stature of a man. 
 
 It matters not Faith held the helm. 
 Or whether doubts and fears 
 
 Came, like a tidal wave, to whelm 
 And buflfet through his years; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 29 
 
 But that with tempest hovering near. 
 
 Mid spray and wrack of sky. 
 Duty need call but once to hear 
 
 The answer: "Here am I." 
 
 It matters not if oft he fell, 
 
 Or stumbled overmuch, 
 Or wavered on the brink of hell, 
 
 Or felt the Spoiler's clutch; 
 If falling gave him charity 
 
 And wavering brought him will 
 To from the deadening clutch shake free 
 
 And stumble upward still. 
 
 It matters not if swift his soul, 
 
 Or laggard on the way, 
 Toward the universal goal 
 
 Which all must touch some day; 
 If he have kept his child heart pure 
 
 And did the best he could; 
 Have learned to suffer and endure 
 
 For all his brotherhood. 
 
 He Was My Friend 
 
 He was my friend. He never knew the cost 
 
 Of his faith in me. Whatsoe'er he lost 
 
 By reason of his fealty, was to him 
 
 An undiscovered country. Enemies, who tossed 
 
 My name upon the flotsam covered breast 
 
 Of public rumor, fed by minds as dim 
 
30 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 As those which first, above the murky rim 
 
 Of dawning reason, saw, between the w^est 
 
 And east, man's star of promise and of destiny, 
 
 Were his foes also; foes unto the end; 
 
 With whom he made no truce; he was my friend 
 
 Who gave me freedom; as himself was free. 
 
 He was my friend, and in return I gave 
 
 Him freemen's homage. Homage of the slave 
 
 Is not the tribute w^hich friend takes of friend, 
 
 No more than would the valient and the brave 
 
 Take tribute from a woman, whom his arm 
 
 Had plucked from dangers; dangers which portend 
 
 Her utter ruin and a wanton's end. 
 
 I would have suffered evil, if thereby all harm 
 
 Could have been barred from out the sacristy 
 
 Of his pure soul, and since beyond my ken 
 
 He now has passed, this present life has been 
 
 More fearsome to me than Eternity. 
 
 Chance 
 
 I met him under a foreign sky; 
 
 The scion of a moribund race; 
 But full of the fire that will not die 
 
 And the lines of the thoroughbred in his face. 
 
 It was all by seeming chance we met. 
 
 And seeming chance that I took his hand — 
 
 " Mere hap," the w^orld would say, and yet, 
 We two seemed dimly to understand. 
 
 He was alien in land and blood to me 
 And unto his kin and his country leal; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 31 
 
 But his mind was broad and his soul was free 
 
 And each of us held the same ideal. 
 What mattered it then, the creed he held? 
 
 What mattered it where his altars were? 
 He was a spirit born brother of mine, 
 
 With a soul like the Infinite, strong and rare. 
 We, haltingly, spoke in a foreign tongue. 
 
 Some meagre words at our command, 
 But out of the pauses between them sprung 
 
 A language which each could understand. 
 What mattered it then, a king's frontiers 
 
 Or the boundary stones by a people set? 
 We met, full heirs of all lands and years, 
 
 And when we parted our cheeks were wet. 
 
 The Warriors 
 
 From the chief who won and held his crown 
 
 By the strength of a wooden spear, 
 Up to the king who bounds his realm 
 
 With a moveable frontier; 
 The spirit of war has walked with man 
 
 And footsore, in his dole. 
 He views it not as the aftermath 
 
 Of the struggle of his soul. 
 
 Behind each war that wastes the blood 
 
 And the treasure of mankind. 
 Is the sharp, fierce pain of a soul's travail 
 
 In the bivouac of the mind; 
 The cause may rank as a woman scorned 
 
 Or a people defied, indeed! 
 We speak of the color of bud and bloom, 
 
 But the hue is in the seed. 
 
32 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Caveat 
 
 Give your life's wine freely 
 
 To the mob in the World's broad road; 
 The haunting fear, lest they fail to cheer, 
 
 Will be ever your keenest goad; 
 Sell them the soul God gave you; 
 
 They will rend it at their feast! 
 Then should you fare to the lion's lair 
 
 Call not the lion; "beast!" 
 
 Go bear their self-formed burdens; 
 
 Go walk the way of the Cross 
 For them and theirs and they and their heirs 
 
 Will exult at your loss! 
 There are wolves in the open country, 
 
 And lank, lean wolves in town; 
 That will lick your hand when you upright stand 
 
 And fang you when you're down! 
 
 Desire for the bay and laurel 
 
 Is good; but, O friend, beware! 
 It is not fame, their wild acclaim. 
 
 And their greasy caps in air. 
 Serve them, if so it please thee. 
 
 But their path is scattered o'er. 
 Unmarked by stones, vvrith the crumbling bones. 
 
 Of they who have served before. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 33 
 
 When "^is <^ine to Journey Outtoard 
 
 Lord, when you command; "Attention!" and then; "For- 
 ward! forward march!" 
 
 And I catch the step in passing underneath the shadow 
 arch; 
 
 Let the hghtnings flash before me, let the deep voiced 
 thunders roll. 
 
 Keeping time and setting measure for the cadence of my 
 soul, 
 
 And I'll walk the Shadow Valley — walk it like a lance at 
 rest; 
 
 Walk it as all they have walked it who've been nurtured 
 by the West. 
 
 When 'tis mine to journey outward — aye, to journey out 
 
 and far. 
 To Thy city where the records of my days and actions are; 
 Let it not be in the stillness, or when summer winds rush 
 
 warm, 
 Take me, if it be Thy pleasure, in the wildness, in the 
 
 storm; 
 And I'll hail it with all gladness, mounting on the shrieking 
 
 wind. 
 With no sigh, nor tinge of sadness, for the world I leave 
 
 behind. 
 
 I forget sometimes of mornings; I remember not at noon; 
 I am listless in the evening when the night birds call and 
 
 croon; 
 But your storm clouds, massed menacing, in the flashings 
 
 dimly gray 
 And their twisted, azure columns, moving ever and away; 
 
34 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Call me back to life and duty — strengthen memory's 
 
 weakened span, 
 Till I stand, unawed, before Thee in the stature of a man. 
 
 When the days are calm and peaceful and a stillness, like 
 
 a shroud, 
 Wraps the earth, 1 long for livid flashings, mirrored on a 
 
 cloud — 
 Long for night and wind and tempest, flying scud and 
 
 drive of rain. 
 And the tall oak of the forest writhing like a thing in 
 
 pain — 
 There is that within the tempest which is spirit kin to me; 
 That which lifts me nearer heaven, draws me closer unto 
 
 Thee. 
 
 Call me then, if so it please Thee, when the winds are 
 
 fierce and high 
 And Thy forces rush to battle, in the domain of the sky; 
 When the clouds, in shapes fantastic, dash themselves 
 
 through upper air. 
 And the tempest, with wild voices, crowds its terror 
 
 everywhere; 
 Call me then, and I will count it as the chiefest of my 
 
 gains, 
 And will tread the way appointed like a born Prince of 
 
 the Plains. 
 
 ^/ze Qenius 
 
 Give him the wild, strange fever 
 
 That only the few have known. 
 And he'll learn the tongue of the wandering stars 
 
 And walk by himself, alone; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 35 
 
 Yea, he will be a stranger, 
 
 An alien in the land. 
 His heritage — the rabble's curse. 
 
 For none of them understand. 
 
 Give him the wealth of India, 
 
 He will scatter it far and wide; 
 For the grief of the world is his to know. 
 
 While its joy must be denied; 
 His heart is the old world's magnet 
 
 To gather each tear and moan. 
 And the pulsing heart of the hopeless poor 
 
 Is an answering beat to his own. 
 
 Give him the wreath of laurel. 
 
 He will smile, but he knows that he ^ 
 
 Is the sum of the past and present. 
 
 And beyond, to eternity; 
 Yea, he must feel the future 
 
 As the coarser feel the now; 
 His is the great collective brain 
 
 And the individual brow. 
 
 Give him the love of woman; 
 
 Go bind him and none can tell. 
 Whether he'll walk with the Saints of God, 
 
 Or sink to the deepest hell; 
 Yet it were better to bind him. 
 
 Far better, for be it known; 
 If 'tis sorrow to walk the way as twain 
 
 It is black despair alone. 
 
 Give him an open entrance. 
 
 Or a door of the clearest glass; 
 For he cannot know the knock of they 
 
 Who come with the things that pass; 
 
36 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 Yea, he stands a giant 
 
 In learning, both strange and wild, 
 But in the lore of the counting house 
 
 The man is only a child. 
 
 Give him a place among you, 
 
 Or banish him far away, 
 His dreams will live when the things you raise 
 
 Are crumbling to decay; 
 Yea, he is only a dreamer, 
 
 A child of a world-old pain, 
 But though the earth dissolve in mist 
 
 The dream will ever remain. 
 
 jind the Jngel Said 'Write' 
 
 Life is not for wounding, brother; 
 
 Better heal the thoughtless hurts. 
 That are given by the rabble. 
 
 Ignorant of just deserts. 
 Aye, too often do we censure 
 
 When we do not understand 
 All the force behind the failings — 
 
 Brother, w^rite them on the sand. 
 
 Write it on the sand my brother; 
 
 Whatsoe'er the action be. 
 Emanating from thy fellow. 
 
 Standing between he and thee. 
 Only God may keep the record; 
 
 Only He may understand 
 Action, and if any fault thee; 
 
 Brother, write it on the sand. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 37 
 
 The Sound of The Master Chord 
 
 In the mellow, sound swept transept. 
 
 Of the hall of melody. 
 Gathered once all of the gifted 
 
 In the embrace of the sea; 
 And a thousand harps re-echoed 
 
 All the music of the spheres. 
 Weaving into pulsing garlands 
 
 Melodies from all the years. 
 Long each gathered there had labored 
 
 To produce a perfect strain; 
 To distill a mystic essence 
 
 From earth's pleasure and earth's pain. 
 Suddenly each harp was silent, 
 
 For without, upon the sward. 
 Stood a child who, smiling, sounded 
 
 On strange pipes, the Master Chord. 
 
 Once a maiden, housed securely 
 
 With the favored few apart. 
 Listened to a thousand suitors 
 
 Tell the old tale of the heart; 
 But she scorned them all, and rising. 
 
 Wondering at her disdain. 
 Each, within the vaults of manhood. 
 
 Locked his secret and his pain; 
 But a swineheard called unto her. 
 
 From the highway: "Follow me! " 
 And she looked not back but answered: 
 
 "Unto all eternity," 
 And they wondered that she followed 
 
 Through bleak ways and called him: "Lord, 
 
38 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 But within her heart had sounded, 
 Once for all, the Master Chord. 
 
 Once a youth, hot and impeteous, 
 
 Set his lance at rest and hurled, 
 With his gage, the young man's challenge 
 
 In the face of all the world. 
 Many answered and he met them 
 
 In the lists and on the field, 
 And they knew him as one worthy, 
 
 By his scars and dented shield; 
 But one day, w^ith princes shouting 
 
 And his lady's eyes aflame; 
 With his sovereign loudly caUing, 
 
 Over all the din, his name, 
 Suddenly he wheeled and ordered 
 His victorious pennant lowered, 
 For, within his heart had sounded, 
 
 Above all, the Master Chord. 
 
 Once a warrior led his legions 
 
 'Till they conjured in his name; 
 'Till each one was willing, eager, 
 
 That his chief should ride to fame 
 Over him, as but a unit 
 
 In the broad, triumphal way. 
 Leading unto future conquests 
 
 From the victories of today. 
 And they cried: "Be thine the glory. 
 
 Though our ranks be thinned and torn. 
 Give command, for us the carnage; 
 
 For this purpose were we born," 
 And they promised him an empire, 
 
 But the warrior sheathed his sword. 
 For, above their shouts had sounded. 
 For his ears, the Master Chord. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 39 
 
 Jus Singulare 
 
 I cannot be another; this would be 
 
 Stagnation, mental death, more to be feared 
 
 Than sure annihilation, which for want 
 
 Of knowledge of all Nature's teachings, some still say 
 
 Shall come hereafter. Nay, although it please but one. 
 
 One, and one only, of all they who walk 
 
 The earth with reason, I must only be 
 
 Myself alone. All of the glorious deeds 
 
 And noble actions, holy impulses. 
 
 Of great and pure of all the ages past. 
 
 Or freighted present, must be only held 
 
 As finger boards that point, not for the place 
 
 Where I must pitch my tent. I cannot dwell 
 
 With them: nor lead, nor follow, lest I should 
 
 Become but a mere mirror, and not the 
 
 Creative thing that God intended, else 
 
 He had refrained from making separate 
 
 And individual beings, 'round each twain 
 
 Of which, (although twin brethern, born and reared 
 
 In the same home) throwing a separate 
 
 Environment. Nay, if I would have life. 
 
 And add unto myself the potency 
 
 Which makes men strong to endure and abide 
 
 Through two eternities, I cannot be 
 
 Sage, prophet, nor another; I must be 
 
 Myself alone. All of the borrowed things 
 
 Some day, in augmented greatness shall 
 
 Return unto the fount or place from whence 
 
 They came. Things of our own, though they be mean, 
 
 And paltry, yet the same are ours, and ours 
 
 Alone. In all the universe of God 
 
40 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Exists no power able to wrest them from 
 Our hands; and no strong voice can say; 
 "These which thou claimest are another's goods, 
 By right of prior ownership." Let me 
 Be w^hatsoe'er the powers within me shall 
 Decree; be that the far, thin air, or the 
 Dark ways of subterranean cavern; the 
 Free flight of eagles, or the chained life of 
 The clod, but let me be myself alone. 
 
 I cannot be another; I must be 
 
 Myself alone, if I would triumph o'er 
 
 The second death, and all things else that fright 
 
 Small minds and halting reason; which came to 
 
 The earth prenatally deformed. 1 must 
 
 Weave into all the fabric of my soul 
 
 Things which with nmy unaided hands I have 
 
 Planted, nurtured, harvested. In the loom 
 
 The God of Nature gave me, I must place 
 
 The warp of my intentions, and so watch 
 
 The shuttle of my thoughts and deeds, that when 
 
 'Tis finished, though grotesque and crude, or fit 
 
 For angels' courts or princes' feet, no one 
 
 Can say that there exists its like in all 
 
 The realms infinite; the warp and w^oof 
 
 And pattern must be mine — and mine alone. 
 
 What Can I Do? 
 
 What can I do for you, my brother; 
 
 Caught in the eddy of Mammon's power; 
 Learning the fairest desires to smother; 
 
 Loosing your child-heart, hour by hour; 
 What can I do? 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 41 
 
 What can I do, O, worker, weary 
 
 Of the ceaseless tramp, in the circUng way. 
 To dispel the clouds, low-hung and dreary. 
 
 And help you live like a man today; 
 What can I do? 
 
 What can I do; O, you who are treading 
 The strange winepress of anothers gain; 
 
 To lessen your fear; your slavish dreading; 
 To loose the bands of your numbing pain; 
 What can I do? 
 
 What can I do; O, hopeless woman. 
 
 To bring your visions and dreams anew? 
 
 To teach you that they whom you fear are human 
 And under the self same law as you; 
 What can I do? 
 
 What can I do, O, you w^ho are playing, 
 With toys of empire for smiles of kings. 
 
 To teach you that it is a truthful saying 
 That all save men are passing things; 
 What can I do? 
 
 What can I do; O, blinded nation, 
 
 That struggles a tottering throne to save, 
 
 To teach you there is no rank or station 
 In the democracy of the grave; 
 What can I do? 
 
 Could I be the bearer of freedom sent thee; 
 
 The freedom which purges all things of dross; 
 O, could I but bring you the souls nepenthe 
 I would willingly walk the way of the cross! 
 What can I do? 
 
42 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Affinity 
 
 One day a gifted soul arose 
 
 And he spoke as a seer in stress, 
 But the hearers turned to their repose, 
 
 For his words were meaningless; 
 But over the emerald sea, away 
 
 From kin and his fatherland. 
 They called him great, and good, for they 
 
 His words could understand. 
 
 One day a singer paused and trilled 
 
 A song, and every note 
 Was clearer than had ever filled 
 
 The wild-wood songsters throat; 
 Some few came from the market place 
 
 And wondered w^hy the song, 
 And watched the changes in his face. 
 
 As children view a throng. 
 
 Again one day he sung the song. 
 As he thought, to stranger ears; 
 
 But they cried: "Why have you tarried long? 
 We have w^aited weary years; 
 
 We have waited long and tiresome days. 
 To worship at your shrine, 
 
 To hear you, to our hymn of praise, 
 Make answer: 'Brethren, mine." 
 
 One night filled with promethean fire. 
 
 An artist hand aw^oke 
 The slumbering soul of a minstrel's lyre. 
 
 With more than a master's stroke; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 43 
 
 But the listeners turned, their souls attuned 
 
 To strains in a minor key. 
 And the player wandered, for none communed 
 
 With one so strange as he. 
 
 Again, in like similitude, 
 
 He struck the slumbering lyre. 
 And into the eyes of the multitude 
 
 There leaped an answering fire; 
 His hand sw^ept defter, for he felt 
 
 Each stroke and shade of tone 
 Vibrate their heartstrings, and he knelt 
 
 And answered with his own. 
 
 Ashes, Only Ashes 
 
 Ashes, only ashes — 
 
 Once a youth gave ear and credence 
 To the voice that calls each name. 
 
 And he took the white-hot pathway 
 Leading to the Hall of Fame; 
 
 And he passed within its portals - 
 Hand-carved portals, towering high — 
 
 While the rabble gazed and shouted; 
 "There's a new star in our sky." 
 
 And w^ithin were thrones and scepters. 
 Jeweled stoles and mural crowns; 
 
 Ermine robes and parchment honors; 
 Gold insignia; broidered gowns — 
 
 But a sound came; of light footfalls 
 Tinkling on a puncheon floor. 
 
 And he knew all these were ashes — 
 Ashes only — nothing more. 
 
CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Ashes, only ashes — 
 
 Once a man from out a casement, 
 In a stately marble pile. 
 
 Gazed upon his world and questioned: 
 "Is it really worth the while?" 
 
 He had bartered things eternal 
 For a mouldering estate; 
 
 As a witless world counts greatness 
 He had striven to be great. 
 
 His, the steel sinews of commerce; 
 His, a sail on every tide; 
 
 His, a hostelry for servants, 
 Where his starved soul could abide — 
 
 But he missed the old-home flowers 
 Growing just outside the door, 
 
 And he knew all these were ashes — 
 Ashes only — nothing more. 
 
 Ashes, only ashes — 
 
 Once a woman cursed in fourfold, 
 Cheek, and lip, and hair, and eye. 
 
 Listened to the supplication: 
 "Smile upon us, lest we die." 
 
 And the years brought gold and jewels. 
 Place and power and acclaim; 
 
 And the ones who guided nations. 
 Stooped to conjure in her name; 
 
 Hers, wide halls and murmuring fountains; 
 Tufted floors and gilded stairs; 
 
 Echoing to incessant tramping 
 Of the strong men of affairs; 
 
 But she longed for other footfalls 
 And the olden love they bore; 
 
 For she knew all these were ashes — 
 Ashes only nothing more. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 45 
 
 ^lack Sheep 
 
 "Black sheep!" yes, so ye name them in your self-com- 
 
 plaisancy; 
 Because of some strong impulse, within them, to be free; 
 Because they chose the pathway which skirts the brink of 
 
 hell 
 Rather than list to tinklings of some sleek leaders bell; 
 Incessant, maddening tinklings; than wine fed dreams 
 
 more vain; 
 As vacuous as the vaporous clouds which follow after rain. 
 
 "Black sheep!" aye, by what standard, ye kept ones, judge 
 
 ye them? 
 Mayhap ye are not worthy to touch their garments hem! 
 By what chart of experience do ye say their ways are wild, 
 Or teach that stars they follow are baleful, dream be- 
 guiled? 
 Are there no ways permitted to any, save the ones 
 Ye travel? may it not be that some dim stars are suns? 
 
 "Black sheep!" come forth ye censors and stand at my 
 
 right hand 
 And answer me: have one of you the power to understand 
 Why ye have never wandered from your accidental way? 
 Aye, in your frozen spotlessness, declare, why do ye pray; 
 "Forgive us our tresspasses?" can it be ye cannot see 
 That the turpitude of tresspass is not measured by degree? 
 
 "Black sheep!" mayhap the cloud of wrath ye deem hangs 
 o'er their w^ays 
 
 Is but the veil of your own eyes; woven of toneless days. 
 
 Mayhap a shepherd guards their path, one whom ye can- 
 not see. 
 
46 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Because your eyes are holden by your dogma of degree. 
 "What if their bones shall bleach for aye in some ghost 
 
 haunted glen; 
 'Tis not that death has called for them, nor how, nor 
 
 where, nor when. 
 
 "Black sheep!" mayhap, but O they know the chasm and 
 the pass; 
 
 The canon where the torrent foams; the glaciers dred 
 crevasse; 
 
 The wan and ghostlike arms of pine, flung upward to'ard 
 the sky; 
 
 The eagle's shadow on the rocks; the gray wolf's hunting 
 cry; 
 
 The stone which loosens neath the foot; the treacherous 
 tuft of sod; 
 
 The barren crags; the sheer rock walls, the summits near- 
 est God! 
 
 Because of Th 
 
 IS 
 
 "O, I love you, love you, love you!" whispered neath the 
 
 palm or pine, 
 Brings an argosy of magic, golden sail. 
 And sends one into the forest and another to the mine, 
 And another cruising down a far sea trail; 
 Tis because of this we labor, 'tis because of this we toil; 
 Tis because of this the wars of earth have been; 
 Tis because of this the ocean's bosom bears a pirates spoil 
 And her floors are strewed with whitened bones of men. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 47 
 
 "O, I love you, love you, love you!" when the blood is 
 
 young and warm; 
 Makes us see an angel face against the pane, 
 And v^e kiss a hand toward it, as we w^rap ourselves for 
 
 storm, 
 And go down the ways to battle for her gain; 
 Tis because of this there's noontide; 'tis because of this 
 
 there's night; 
 Tis because of this that brows both slant and tower; 
 Tis because of this advancing bugles sound to left and 
 
 right; 
 Tis because of this we glory in our power. 
 
 *'0, I love you, love you, love you!" whispered any time, 
 
 or where, 
 Haltingly, or with a cadence deep and strong, 
 Has the thrill of martial music and the peace of mother's 
 
 prayer. 
 And beneath its spell no way of earth is long — 
 Tis because of this there's value; 'tis because of this there's 
 
 joy; 
 
 Tis because of this all things of worth have been; 
 
 Tis because of this the graybeard journeys outward, as a 
 
 boy; 
 Tis because of this that heaven waits for men. 
 
 At the Bars 
 
 Coming out the w^oodland lot. 
 
 In the aftergloam; 
 Sauntering down toward the gate; 
 
 Swallows flying home; 
 
48 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 Red star just a showing plain — 
 
 Reckon it is Mars — 
 Cows are coming to'ards the lane- 
 
 There's Nelly at the bars. 
 
 Lazy hum is in the air; 
 
 Mournful whip-poor-will 
 Piping doleful to his mate, 
 
 Just across the hill — 
 Cows are turning in the lane; 
 
 Half a dozen stars 
 Twinkling out and back again, 
 
 And Nelly at the bars. 
 
 Little fleecy cloud o* dust 
 
 Trailing long behind; 
 Raising, like thick gossamers, 
 
 Twisted and entwined — 
 Seems like Edens' come again; 
 
 Nothing taints nor mars — 
 Cows are coming down the lane 
 
 Just lounging to'ard the bars. 
 
 Just the peace of eventide; 
 
 Just the silvery moon 
 Mounting upward silently; 
 
 Just the pigeon's croon — 
 Someone flutters like a bird — 
 
 Eyes as bright as stars — 
 Nelly whispered just a word — 
 
 Cows are through the bars. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 49 
 
 The Burning of the Leaves 
 
 We are drawing, drawing near. 
 
 To the yellow and the sere. 
 
 And the burning of the leaves, 
 
 Autumn leaves; 
 And I wonder what you'll bring, 
 
 That you've gathered since the spring. 
 To the burning of the leaves. 
 Fallen leaves. 
 
 I have brought with me tonight. 
 
 Petals of a lily white. 
 To the burning of the leaves. 
 
 Autumn leaves; 
 I'm consigning to the fire 
 
 Withered roses of desire, 
 At the burning of the leaves, 
 Fallen leaves. 
 
 All the promise of the spring. 
 
 All the summer's wondering. 
 At the burning of the leaves, 
 
 Autumn leaves; 
 Dance beside each ray of light. 
 Catch and spin it into night. 
 At the burning of the leaves, 
 Fallen leaves. 
 
 Will their essence linger near 
 
 And within the coming year. 
 Enter into other leaves 
 Vernal leaves; 
 
50 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Or will hands behind the veil 
 
 Speed an outward laden sail. 
 To the burning of the leaves, 
 Fallen leaves; 
 
 Though you may not understand 
 Why my heart incited hand — 
 At the burning of the leaves, 
 
 Yellow leaves: 
 Steals to thine and trembles so — 
 Clasp it once, then turn and go, 
 From the burning of the leaves. 
 Fallen leaves. 
 
 Only a Wave of the Hand 
 
 Only a wave of the hand, Marie, 
 
 Only a wave of the hand; 
 Then to the trail w^here the way is free. 
 
 And back to the summer land; 
 The trail that swings from the hoof swept plain, 
 
 Over the far divide. 
 And I wonder if there is a bit of pain 
 
 For me, on the other side. 
 
 Just a wave of the hand, Marie, 
 
 We part as the ships that pass; 
 The hand of the lad will remembered be. 
 
 As well as the hand of the lass; 
 The rose tipped fingers will come in dreams, 
 
 When the sun is in the sky — 
 Only a wave of the hand, it seems, 
 
 Is better than just, "good-by." 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 51 
 
 Only a wave of the hand, Marie; 
 
 I could hear you call, I ween, 
 I know you are near, but 1 cannot see 
 
 For the dull, thick mist between — 
 *Tis strange how quick and how black as night. 
 
 From the level lands below, 
 The fog drifts in — it was clear and bright 
 
 But a moment or two ago. 
 
 Just a wave of the hand, Marie, 
 
 Just a wave of the hand; 
 Then to the trail where the way is free, 
 
 And back to the summer land; 
 The trail that swings from the hoof swept plain, 
 
 Over the far divide. 
 And I wonder if there is a bit of pain 
 
 For me, on the other side. 
 
 God Thought so Too 
 
 1 saw her at her evening camp 
 
 Calm, patient, and serene; 
 Upon her brow was heaven's stamp 
 
 Which marked her as a queen. 
 I did not question of her years — 
 
 Years meaningless to me — 
 I thought; from all their fears and tears 
 
 She has won victory; 
 A wreath unfading she has won; 
 
 There's nothing more to do; 
 Save close the book and say; "well done. 
 
 It seems God thought so too, 
 
52 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 He had fought nobly, from his youth, 
 But little wealth had wrung 
 
 From earth and air; save wealth of truth — 
 For this he was unsung. 
 
 The fortitude with which he faced 
 Life's duties led its curse 
 
 A captive; sealed him as first caste 
 Of all the Universe. 
 
 I thought; there's little now remains 
 For you to dare or do; 
 
 Save seek the Treasury of your gains- 
 It seems God thought so too. 
 
 I knew him when our lives were young 
 And every prospect fair; 
 
 Unmarred by envy's scorpion tongue; 
 When each of us was heir 
 
 Unto all covenants, sealed w^ith hope. 
 Which to'ard the heavens incline — 
 
 A prince he walked where others grope 
 Prince of the seldom line! 
 
 When Perfidy, from out the sheath 
 Of secrecy, withdrew 
 
 Her sword, I thought; how sweet is death- 
 It seems God thought so too. 
 
 Mayhap * 
 
 Mayhap my friend was weary 
 And did not struggle sore; 
 
 Mayhap some spring song sounding, 
 From some celestial shore. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 53 
 
 Lured him from tinsel spangles; 
 
 From candle, book, and bell; 
 From echoes and from shadows. 
 
 With substance real to dwell. 
 
 Mayhap his soul was forward 
 
 And blossomed ere the noon 
 And who shall say the reaper 
 
 Came heedless, or too soon? 
 Who shall affirm that profit 
 
 Is with the bended grain. 
 Which sickleless grows golden 
 
 And sapless? Is this gain? 
 
 Mayhap beyond his sunset. 
 
 He saw a glorious dawn; 
 And feeling strong to meet it, 
 
 He hurried, gladly, on. 
 Mayhap the droop of pinion 
 
 Greeting our shortened sight. 
 Was but prelude to power. 
 
 For higher, grander flight. 
 
 Mayhap my friend was weary 
 
 Of cares, and fears, and tears. 
 And yearned, with ceaseless longing. 
 
 To touch the peaceful years; 
 And having seen their dawning 
 
 Flush golden in his sky. 
 Sped on toward their portals; 
 
 As homing pigeons fly. 
 
 * Upon receiving news of the death of my poet friend, Roy 
 Farrell Greene. God rest his soul. 
 
54 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 The Scattered Nation 
 
 O, my people, scattered nation; 
 
 Sojourners in every clime; 
 Though your harps hang on the willows, 
 
 God is with you all the time. 
 
 You have drank earth's bitter w^aters, 
 
 Felt adversity's chill blast. 
 But for all your sons and daughters 
 
 There remaineth rest at last. 
 
 You have strengthened every nation. 
 And your blood has been a sign. 
 
 When 'twas poured as a libation, 
 Of that nation's sure decline. 
 
 Cursed have been they who cursed you; 
 
 Blessed have been they ■wh.o blest. 
 And rewarded they w^ho nursed you, 
 
 With the jew^el of God's rest. 
 
 Mighty men from out thy fountain 
 Have their inspiration draw^n. 
 
 And the Stone hewn from thy mountain 
 Keys the archway of God's dawn. 
 
 Despite Envy's degradations. 
 
 From thy loins have sprung kings; 
 
 Rulers of strange tongues and nations. 
 Sovereigns of Eternal things. 
 
 O, my people, scattered nation; 
 
 Sojourners in every clime; 
 God will bring your restoration 
 
 In his own good day and time. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 55 
 
 Christ on the Frontier 
 
 [After a long and threatning controversy as to their boundary lines, 
 Chile and Argentina have come to an agreement. Their new frontier 
 is well guarded. They have erected on it not a cordon of fortresses 
 but a single statue of Christ. — Letter to Atlanta (Ga.) News ] 
 
 When the Teuton, Slav and Saxon, in their all absorbing 
 
 quest. 
 Take the slope toward the sunset where, perforce, each 
 
 race must rest, 
 And the God of Justice leaves them, more in anger than 
 
 in ruth. 
 Then the execrated Latin will renew his vanished youth; 
 Even now his bow of promise dimly spans the coming 
 
 years. 
 With the Christ of ancient story standing guard on his 
 
 frontiers. 
 
 As the Roman towered above the degradation of the north. 
 So his children bide in darkness, while a giant sallys forth, 
 Clad in all Rome's ancient glory, fierce, impatient of res- 
 traint, 
 Mixing with his strong new wine the toxic hemlock of at- 
 taint; 
 And the pendulum of time that swung them far in dark- 
 ened years. 
 Stops, and starts again to power, with the Christ on their 
 frontiers. 
 
 Behind each eternal precept there is an eternal life. 
 
 And a truth, which makes for greatness, is as jealous as a 
 
 wife; 
 This is learned not, save in silence, introspective, and away 
 
56 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 From all artificial standards, where the chastened soul may 
 
 play 
 On untrammelled harp a strain, of which the weary sentry 
 
 hears, 
 At low twelve, a faint dream echo, sounding down his 
 
 King's frontiers. 
 
 So in silence they have learned it; between plains of 
 Argentine 
 
 And the rugged lands of Chile, stands the Christ of Pales- 
 tine; 
 
 The hoarse gutteral of the pine is drowned by whisperings 
 of the palm, 
 
 And no fierce, defiant bugle breaks upon the morning calm. 
 
 As an earnest of the widow's sighs and of the orphan's 
 tears 
 
 That must follow, as a Price, when arms establishes fron- 
 tiers. 
 
 We, the Bible reading nations, wrho with zeal, and might 
 
 and main. 
 Have strange peoples proselyted — w^hen we found it to 
 
 our gain; 
 We, who send afar our substance, for the glory of the 
 
 Lord 
 Who, beside the brook of Cedron, gave command: "Put 
 
 up thy sword," 
 We, the self appointed fountains of all hypocritic tears. 
 Who w^ith Christ extend our commerce and with Meixims 
 
 our frontiers — 
 
 We, of whom weak tribes have learned — and learned it to 
 
 their lasting hurt 
 That their lands and not their souls were what we labored to 
 
 convertl 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 57 
 
 Learned that our interpetation of the Sermon on the 
 Mount 
 
 Was a prelude to our bugles — that our Bible did not count 
 
 Any more than their appeals, their protestations or their 
 tears, 
 
 When we once set out determined on extending our fron- 
 tiers— 
 
 We will learn — there's no avoidance — that the law of rec- 
 ompense, 
 
 Which rules over righteous action, governs also false pre- 
 tense; 
 
 Learn the bar of last resort is not the blood drunk court of 
 kings; 
 
 That the great law of Remission deals not with material 
 things; 
 
 Learn that power which is abiding, which shall widen 
 through the years, 
 
 Comes not with the clash of armies, but with Christ on the 
 frontiers. 
 
 Here's to you, O New World Latins, firey children of old 
 
 Spain, 
 Yet unused to measuring Justice by the shortened yard of 
 
 gain. 
 You have caught the early reverence we have lost and to 
 
 our face 
 Shamed us in our pirate greed and in our tawdry pride of 
 
 race; 
 You've remembered in your penance, in your bitterness 
 
 and tears. 
 That a power above the Maxim finally fixes all frontiers. 
 
58 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 Counting Out 
 
 Sat a child, with wondering eyes, 
 Half remembering Paradise; 
 Answering back the wren and thrush 
 Piping to her through the hush 
 Of the morning; counting slow, 
 In a measured tone and low: 
 "Intra, mintra, curley corn; 
 Apple seed and apple thorn," 
 
 Sat a maiden in w^hose breast 
 
 Was awakening an unrest 
 
 Which, until her soul were free, 
 
 Would remain a mystery; 
 
 Singing idly o'er and o'er — 
 
 Why she knew not, nor wherefore — 
 
 "Intra, mintra, curley corn, 
 
 Apple seed and apple thorn. 
 
 Wire, briar. Umber lock, 
 
 Three geese in a flock, — " 
 
 Little joys and little sorrows; 
 Little errors; little truth; 
 Spirit kin to summer starlight. 
 Aye, a glorious thing is youth. 
 
 Sat a wife alone, the past 
 Rose before her and w^as cast 
 On her screen of memory; 
 What in virgin musings she 
 Fully purposed should occur. 
 Strangely had eluded her. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 59 
 
 "Intra, mintra, curley corn, 
 
 Apple seed and apple thorn. 
 
 Wire, briar, limber lock, 
 
 Three geese in a flock; 
 
 One flevsr east and one flew west 
 
 And one flew o'er the cuckoo's nest." 
 
 Sat a mother at her work. 
 Where the quarter shadows lurk, 
 Weaving on life's mystic loom 
 Fabrics that with light and gloom 
 Interspersed are— warp and w^oof 
 Of conjecture and of proof; 
 "Intra, mintra, curley corn, 
 Apple seed and apple thorn. 
 Wire, briar, limber lock. 
 Three geese in a flock, 
 One flew east and one flew west 
 And one flew o'er the cuckoo's nest. 
 One Two — —Three " 
 
 Greater joys and greater sorrows; 
 Thus it is and thus will be; 
 Somewhere we w^ill know^ the reason. 
 Glorious is maturity. 
 
 Childless now^, with w^eary eyes. 
 Catching gleams of Paradise, 
 Seeing things the aged see 
 Just this side Eternity; 
 Child and maiden, mother, wife, 
 Counting out degrees of life: 
 "Intra, mintra, curley corn, 
 Apple seed and apple thorn, 
 Wire, briar, limber lock, 
 
60 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 Three geese in a flock; 
 One flew east and one flew west 
 And one flew o'er the cuckoo's nest. 
 One Two Three Out!" 
 
 Clearer sight and understanding 
 
 Cometh with the years increase; 
 
 "One — Two — Three — and Out — " beyond this 
 
 Lies the realm of rest and peace. 
 
 Hear, O, Israeli 
 
 Hear, O, Israel, the chosen! 
 
 Ye who hold the shibboleth! 
 Part the things of Cain's succession 
 
 From the heritage of Seth. 
 Hear, my people! hear, my brethren! 
 
 Listen to me as I speak; 
 Shun the gods of mart and Mammon; 
 
 After these the gentiles seek. 
 
 Yours, the flowers, widely scattered; 
 
 Theirs, the wreath of beaten gold; 
 Yours, the things, reborn at springtime; 
 
 Theirs, all that which waxeth old; 
 All the things which anchor earthward; 
 
 All the passing things, and weak; 
 Are not yours by God's intendment; 
 
 After these the gentiles seek. 
 
 Yours, the sunrise, framed in vastness; 
 
 Theirs, the canvas, bordered round 
 With the yellow pride of grovelers, 
 
 Filched, with anguish, from the ground. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 61 
 
 Theirs, the broad highway of shoutings; 
 
 Yours, the still path of the meek; 
 Strive not for the things which echo; 
 
 After these the gentiles seek. 
 
 Yours, the commonwealth of brethren; 
 
 Theirs, the bent, suppliant knee; 
 Yours, the worship of the Father; 
 
 Theirs, of station and degree. 
 Yours is not the hand of pow^er. 
 
 Wherewith you may vengeance wreak; 
 Yours is not the spoils of conflict; 
 
 After these the gentiles seek. 
 
 Hear, O, Israel, the chosen; 
 
 Ye who hold the shibboleth; 
 Part the things of Cain's succession 
 
 From the heritage of Seth. 
 Hear, my people! hear, my brethren! 
 
 Listen to me as I speak; 
 Shun the gods of mart and Mammon; 
 
 After these the gentiles seek. 
 
 No jippeal 
 
 Men builded a city, rich and grand, 
 
 Far back in the morning years, 
 
 Aud the king they chose, with an iron hand, 
 
 Flung far their strong frontiers; 
 
 The trumpet's blare and the cymbal's ring 
 
 Drew from fair lands and far. 
 
 Strong men, who stood before the king 
 
 With swords and shields of war. 
 
62 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 But the bat drove music from their halls, 
 
 And the jackal made his lair 
 
 In their streets, and slunk by the throne room walls 
 
 And sniffed at the great king's chair; 
 
 For the things which make for righteousness 
 
 Unlearned w^ere, or forgot, 
 
 And there came in their hour of forgetfulness, 
 
 A voice which men answer not. 
 
 Again on the shores of a summer sea 
 
 Men halted and tarried long 
 
 And raised a city which long shall be 
 
 The theme of tale and song. 
 
 The learned of earth, as thitherward 
 
 They journeyed, cried: "We go 
 
 Where the pen outranks the warriors sword 
 
 And the chisel the archer's bow. 
 
 They builded, of thought, an empire w^ide, 
 
 And butteressed it strong v/ith dreams; 
 
 And they named their gods of the mountainside, 
 
 Of the forest, sea and streams; 
 
 But the kingdom crumbled and rose the wail; 
 
 "Thou fair, why did you die?" 
 
 And none replied — hid was the trail. 
 
 Where the unknown God passed by. 
 
 AH down the long, meandering way, 
 
 From the plains of Hindustan 
 
 To where the rear guard rests today, 
 
 Are the crumbling works of man; 
 
 Standing, like sentries marmoreal. 
 
 Marking each onward march. 
 
 On the long trail from stone to steel. 
 
 From lintel unto arch. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 63 
 
 In fallen pillar, ruined place, 
 
 I wonder will he read 
 
 The story of his stiff necked race, 
 
 And reading, will he heed? 
 
 Will crumbling column, rising grim. 
 
 Against an eastern sky. 
 
 Be mute memorials to him. 
 
 Of the time his God passed by. 
 
 Have I ^een So Long Time With You ? 
 
 Have I been so long time with you and yet thou hast not 
 known 
 It was I who walked the highway by your side? 
 Have you failed to catch my anguish in the widow's 
 stifled moan; 
 Or to see me in the brother you denied? 
 
 Have you failed to see my advent, in a thousand Bethle- 
 hems. 
 In the mother's gaze of rapture— in the cry 
 Of a soul to whom the earth, w^ith all its crowns and 
 diadems, 
 Was far stranger than the stars that dot the sky? 
 
 Have the Jordan's waters w^aited while you sought a 
 crumbling crown? 
 Do you view the sacred river from afar? 
 Have you failed to see the w^hite dove in the souls which 
 flutter down 
 From the heights to dark sloughs where your breth- 
 ren are? 
 
64 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Have you blindly groped in darkness, after life and after 
 me? 
 Have you missed the gold and garnered only dross? 
 Have you failed to feel my presence in your ow^n Geth- 
 semane, 
 Or to see me in your fellow on his cross? 
 
 Have you failed to see me walking, in the sunshine, in 
 the storm — 
 Read my word among the flowers — on the hills? 
 I have whispered to you often when the summer winds 
 rush warm 
 And my voice is in the blast that numbs and chills. 
 
 Have you failed to see me standing in a thousand Judg- 
 ment halls, 
 While a thousand Pilates weaver at the cry 
 Of the rabble, pressing round them, while upon their 
 ears there falls 
 The brain darkened shout: "Deliver!" "Crucify!" 
 
 Have you failed to see the nail prints, in the hands and in 
 the feet. 
 Of the one who walked the highw^ay by your side? 
 If you have your knowledge of me is not, cannot be, com- 
 plete. 
 And your soul is small and easy satisfied. 
 
 Have 1 been so long time with you and yet thou hast not 
 known 
 That you served me when you served the least of these 
 My brethren, who are with you, and are brethren of your 
 own. 
 More than when you agonized on bended knees! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 65 
 
 Vd Like to Be a Boy Again 
 
 I'd like to be a boy again, with nothing else to do 
 
 But chunk the holes in the rail fence— the holes the pigs 
 
 crawled through; 
 When I could watch the apple blooms, that sister said was 
 
 sweet. 
 An' tell her they'd look better when they's big enough to 
 
 eat. 
 When 1 could look upon the world complaisant as a clam; 
 When Dad did all the worrying, assisted some by Mam; 
 When, barefoot, 1 could feel jes Uke I didn't weigh an 
 
 ounce. 
 When I could jes sail down the road an' hit the grit an' 
 
 bounce. 
 
 I'd like to hunt and find the cows and drive 'em to the 
 
 bars 
 An' set close to them an' pretend Uke I was countin stars; 
 Then jab Boss with a stick an' see her scatter Mary Ann 
 An' milk around the lot, an' hear Bill Jones, the hired man. 
 Say: "What's a-aihn' ye, ye fool? So, Sookey! Gosh! 
 
 Dod Rot!" 
 When Boss would make a wild sashay and carom off of 
 
 Spot; 
 Then, barefoot, I would feel jes Uke I didn't weigh an 
 
 ounce. 
 An' jes go saiUn' out of there— jes hit the grit an' bounce. 
 
 I'd like to kick the dew off of the pursley by the barn, 
 An get the cow-itch in my toes an' tie 'em up with yarn; 
 I'd Uke to hunt up bumblebees, an' start a scrumptious 
 fight, 
 
66 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 An hear Mam say, when I got home: "You shorely are a 
 
 fright;" 
 An* have her tell Dad what I'd done, an' see him stand 
 
 an' glower, 
 Then take me to the wood-shed for a strenuous half-hour, 
 An' then I'd sorter feel jes like 1 didn't weigh an ounce, 
 I'd jes jump up and down an' howl — jes hit the floor an' 
 
 bounce. 
 
 I'd like to learn my sister's lamb the ways of older sheep. 
 An' watch him lift her feller, an' hear Sis storm an' weep; 
 An' have her tell me I'd humil-i-a-ted her an' spoiled her 
 
 pet. 
 An' hear my Gran'ma say: "That boy will reach the 
 
 gallus yet." 
 It's worth something to be a boy an' have a fine-toothed 
 
 comb 
 Used on you every night as soon as yon from school got 
 
 home; 
 Then shuck your shoes an' feel jes like you didn't weigh 
 
 an ounce, 
 An* jes go sailin' down the road — jes hit the grit an' bounce. 
 
 I'd like to grab the handle of Mam's old pop-gun churn, 
 An' play with it from daylight till Dad called me to turn 
 The grindstone, while he bore on hard, to grind the mower 
 
 knives; 
 B'jinks, the boy division is the best part of our lives. 
 Oh, I'd hke to be a boy again, an' back to the old 
 
 place. 
 Where 1 could manicure ten cows and then go out and 
 
 chase 
 A plow that weighed a hundred tons, and then some, if 
 
 an ounce — 
 A plow that hunted stones and roots tg get a chance to 
 
 bounce. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 67 
 
 A Hobo's Reverie • 
 
 This is a book; it contains no name 
 
 Save the one in print. From off the train 
 
 Some fellow threw it. I suppose he thought 
 
 That he was doing the thing he ought. 
 
 Perhaps he saw and pitied me — 
 
 The poor, bound soul, to pity the free! 
 
 Perhaps he owns broad acres, fair 
 
 And fertile; but if so gaunt care 
 
 Is part of his holdings — as for me 
 
 The world is wide and my soul is free! 
 
 He has deeper learning, no doubt, than I, 
 
 But, mayhap, he gleaned it at cost or eye; 
 
 If so he could not trade with me 
 
 His all for the eye with which I see! 
 
 This is a book; well, I will see 
 
 What sort of a messags it brings to me — 
 
 Uh, huh; the first page that 1 scan 
 
 Says: "Origin and End of Man." 
 
 What's either to him, or me, I say. 
 
 When neither of us own today; 
 
 Nor the present hour, nor the coming breath? 
 
 Not knowing Life, he inquires of Death! 
 
 I suppose that this is a part of the lore 
 
 That the poor slave traded his eyesight for! 
 
 If so it be, then the fact remains; 
 
 That I, not he, am the one with gains. 
 
 This is a book; in the world of dross, 
 Where so much depends on a copper's toss, 
 Tis, doubtless, accepted philosophy 
 
68 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 But there's more real truth in that ancient tree 
 And that saphng there, and the grass and vine, 
 And I count all these as books of mine, 
 I shouldn't wonder if scores of men 
 Were sick of soul in the toiler's den — 
 For den it is and their sole reward 
 For toiling there is — clothes and board! 
 I live, though my garments let in the air 
 And are only memories of what clothes were. 
 
 This is a book; well, 1 suppose, 
 
 That he and his world pity all hobos 
 
 In winter they're safe from the storm's rude shock; 
 
 Our haven is oft but a sheltering rock; 
 
 But we would not trade our scanty fare 
 
 And the wild, free life, for theirs and their care. 
 
 They have their music, dear bought and grand; 
 
 But we have the birds and the voice of the land — 
 
 The voice of the land, which they cannot hear. 
 
 Because they have dulled their inner ear 
 
 They need not pity us, nor curse. 
 
 For ours is the wealth of the universe. 
 
 This is a book; tonight when 1 build 
 
 My fire and my coffee can is filled 
 
 And set on the glowing coals to boil, 
 
 As a sacrifice to bootless toil, 
 
 I will offer this volume to the flame — 
 
 This thing with the round, full, sounding name — 
 
 Lest I should read and become a slave 
 
 And trembhngly go to the chattel's grave; 
 
 Like the slaves who, to things they think they own, 
 
 Have right of possession — and that alone: 
 
 A right which another more strong than they 
 
 May come tomorrow and take away. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 69 
 
 He Would Smoke 
 
 He strove to help his fellows and he sacrificed, 'tis said; 
 He never kept his boquets till the friend he loved was 
 
 dead; 
 He loved the little children and the aged and infirm 
 And did not think that all mankind were brethren to the 
 
 worm; 
 He w^as honest in his dealings — he w^as honest w^hen he 
 
 spoke; 
 But the Devil surely had him, for — the reproabate would 
 
 smoke. 
 
 He discharged every duty, as God gave him to see 
 Each duty, and he ever prayed that all men might be free; 
 He loved his brethren dearly he had charity for all; 
 Was ever ready to help up the w^avering ones who fall; 
 He bore life's burdens smilingly, with heart as strong as 
 
 oak; 
 But the Devil surely had him, for O, horrors, he would 
 
 smoke! 
 
 His purse flew open when the cry of misery was heard; 
 He gave his substance freely, for he understood God's 
 
 word. 
 The storm was never fierce enough, nor dark enough the 
 
 night 
 To heep him from a friend in need, or one on whom the 
 
 blight 
 Of circumstance had fallen, or who felt the numbing 
 
 stroke 
 Of disaster, self-invited — but, the castaway would smoke! 
 
70 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 What mattered if he struggled to be gentle with all men? 
 What mattered if he, like the Jew, kept the commandments 
 
 ten; 
 With the eleventh added? What mattered it if he 
 Strove to possess the spirit of the man of Galilee? 
 What mattered if at human woe his great heart all but 
 
 broke? 
 Was he not a child of Satan? Certainly — for he would 
 
 smokel 
 
 The Optomist and the Liar 
 
 O, one was the Gleesome Optomist, and one was the 
 
 Cheerful Liar 
 And the twain of them met one winter night by the side 
 
 of a roaring fire; 
 "It warms my heart," said the Optomist, "to meet you here 
 
 tonight; 
 For this jolly old world that carrys us all is certainly 
 
 wagging right. 
 There isn't a thing that any one needs but what they can 
 
 surely get." 
 And the Liar hung his hat on a peg and turned and said: 
 
 "You bet!" 
 
 "It never rains too much 1 trow and 'tis never dry too 
 long; 
 
 There are no thorns with the roses now and life is a bliss- 
 ful song; 
 
 All women are chaste; all men are true, and friends; as 
 the flowers in May; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 71 
 
 In fact, the children ot Adam walk and act the way they 
 
 pray; 
 Is this not true, my cheerful friend? Come now, your 
 
 thoughts confess." 
 And the Liar smiled a sickly smile and haltingly said: 
 
 "Well, yes." 
 
 At this the crane in the chimney clanged and the Devil 
 
 came down the flue 
 And roared as he struck the hot brick hearth and stood 
 
 before the two. 
 He glowered upon the Cheerful Liar and said: "My son, 
 
 alasl 
 I love you well, as a father should — but, hence! you are 
 
 out of your class!" 
 And the Optomist said: "You can't beat this fire in the 
 
 place from whence you roam," 
 And the Devil said: "What do you think of that? By hen, 
 
 I'm going home." 
 
 ^he G^psy Call 
 
 My soul goes out and travels far 
 
 Beyond the clustered stars; 
 And answ^ering to its Avatar, 
 
 My life beats gainst its bars. 
 
 The gypsy call that comes adown 
 The sunset's shortning beam. 
 
 Finds answer; and I hate the town 
 And love the w^ays of dream. 
 
 My eyes turn from the crumbling chart. 
 Which marks where wisdom lies; 
 
72 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 To greet her living counterpart. 
 Traced on the midnight skies. 
 
 From mummied learning; bootless strife; 
 
 I gladly turn today; 
 For symbols of the deeper life, 
 
 Hung in the milky way. 
 
 The bauble groundlings cavil o'er 
 Comes with the evening damp. 
 
 And all the unrest of the poor 
 Is in the w^inter camp. 
 
 My hope is forest, fen and sod; 
 
 My fear the storm and flood; 
 A revelation from my God 
 
 Is in the bursting bud. 
 
 My music is the w^ild birds trill; 
 
 The beat of wing on air; 
 The chipmunk's chirrup, from the hill; 
 
 The voices everywhere. 
 
 My prayers are: "form me! make me free! 
 
 Give me to understand!" 
 And lo, the answer to the three 
 
 Is in my brain and hand! 
 
 Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep 
 
 I've tasted of the wine of life. 
 
 For which men struggle so; 
 Some of the fierce joy, born of strife. 
 
 It has been mine to know: 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 73 
 
 But, O, I'd trade all and be glad 
 
 For just one little hour 
 Within the home that once I had 
 
 When life was in its flower. 
 I'm weary of the mills I tread; 
 
 I want to stop and play; 
 I want to see my trundle bed; 
 I want to kneel and pray: 
 
 "Now 1 lay me down to sleep; 
 Pray the Lord my soul to keep; 
 Should 1 die before I wake. 
 Pray the Lord my soul to take." 
 
 Today the rabble shouts for me. 
 
 Tomorrow there may come 
 Another in new livery 
 
 And they'll be strangely dumb. 
 Then I shall know the bitterness 
 
 Of one who yields a throne 
 Unto another, through some stress 
 
 Of fortune, not his own. 
 I'm tired of fatlings, custom fed; 
 
 I'm tired of garish day; 
 I want to see my trundle bed; 
 I want to kneel and pray: 
 
 "Now I lay me dow^n to sleep; 
 Pray the Lord my soul to keep; 
 Should I die before I wake, 
 Pray the Lord my soul to take." 
 
 I want to hear the sleepy dove 
 
 Croon; just beneath the eaves; 
 And shudder at the rustUng of 
 
 The aspen's restless leaves. 
 I want to see the full moon swing 
 
74 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Through a pale, sapphire sky; 
 I want to hear my mother sing 
 
 An evening lullaby. 
 They cannot tell me she is dead; 
 
 She's just been long away — 
 I want to see my trundle bed, 
 I want to kneel and pray: 
 
 "Now^ I lay me down to sleep; 
 Pray the Lord my soul to keep. 
 Should I die before I wake. 
 Pray the Lord my soul to take.' 
 
 // Is T^assing 
 
 It is passing with the sunsets; 
 
 Passing, passing with the years; 
 Passing with the faded remnant 
 
 Of a hundred wild frontiers; 
 Passing w^ith its wondrous story 
 
 All unwritten, half untold; 
 For its dreams of men and empire 
 
 Being into Egypt sold. 
 
 Outlaw^ed, banished from its kingdom. 
 
 By the edict of mischance; 
 Going out, like campfire gleamings 
 
 Flow toward where shadows dance. 
 Passing with the ones who made it 
 
 Badge of honor, sign of man; 
 rhey who held by heart's tradition 
 
 To the open dealing clan. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 75 
 
 It is passing with the round-up — 
 
 Beat of hoof and clash of horn. 
 In the storm, and in the darkness. 
 
 When contempt of death was born. 
 Passing with the prairie anthem: 
 
 With the whisper of the land 
 To God's silent, unscarred heaven; 
 
 To the stars that understand. 
 
 It is passing, swiftly passing, 
 
 Down the shifting ways of change; 
 Passing with the broader order. 
 
 Passing with the wider range. 
 Passing on toward the shadows. 
 
 With its losings and its gains; 
 Passing with its tale unwritten — 
 
 The white "Stetson" of the Plains, 
 
 Supplicaiion 
 
 Great God! We are so ignorant; 
 
 Our knowledge is so poor; 
 We cling unto the Cave-Man's cage; 
 We shun the open door 
 Through which we might emerge to walk broad ways all 
 
 hedged with flowers 
 And reach the heights where we could say: "The Universe 
 is ours!" 
 Yet Heedless of our poverty 
 
 And reckless of our shame. 
 We scorn the unbound and the free 
 And blindly follow name. 
 
76 CHILD S^LAVES 
 
 Pause Thou! our minds are clouded so, 
 
 By long forgotten years, 
 That we are like the timid soul 
 Possessed of female fears; 
 And when we should stand in the sun, or man the 
 
 battlements. 
 We seek the subterranean ways, or skulk within our tents, 
 And w^ith our useless gold w^e gild 
 The swart, — grain-furrow^ed face; 
 And call it ''progress" when we build 
 A larger market place. 
 
 Have pity Father! we are weak; 
 
 Our hard-yoked necks are sore; 
 We bear the burden of each one 
 
 We lived and thought before; 
 And wheresoever he was crude; in that in which he failed, 
 Or stumbled, it is unto us, in cumbered fee, entailed, 
 Then judge us only by intent 
 
 And w^here our sin w^e blend 
 With righteousness, which Thou hast lent. 
 
 Look Thou unto the end! 
 
 ^all on the Vacant Lot 
 
 There's crow tracks gathering 'round my eyes and silver 
 
 in my hair; 
 I do not need a lexicon to know what's meant by care; 
 Sometimes w^hen a hot day has brought an added dash of 
 
 gall 
 I w^onder if the game is w^orth the candle, after all; 
 But when I'm home of evenings and the world is half forgot 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 77 
 
 And the boys are playing town ball, down upon the vacant 
 
 lot. 
 I loose my grip on things mature and dream I am a boy 
 And I know the gray worlds treasury still holds the same 
 
 old joy — 
 The weight of years lifts and moves on whene'er I hear 
 
 them shout: 
 "Aw, Skinny, give the willow up! You great, big slob, 
 
 you're out!" 
 
 The brooks do not appear as wide as once they seemed 
 
 to be. 
 Nor murmur half so sweetly on their journey to the sea, 
 I miss the chipmunk's chirrup from the old log on the hill, 
 I've lost the lark and oriole; I've found the whip-poor-will; 
 I cannot see the colors in the sunset and the dawn 
 That once I used to see there and I wonder where they've 
 
 gone; 
 I know my hearing has been dulled by life's commercial din 
 And my eyes; they have been blinded by the books I've 
 
 burrow^ed in — 
 Know it? Of course 1 know it, when a boyish voice rings 
 
 clear: 
 "Hey! Mugsy! Hey, you duffer! Aw, wake up an' put 
 
 'er here!" 
 
 A panorama of the days which cannot be forgot. 
 
 Comes, like rare gleams from Paradise, across that vacant 
 
 lot. 
 And O, 'tis worth the price it costs, e'en though it break a 
 
 chain 
 Of thought, which were it left to form, would split the 
 
 world in twain. 
 And thongh I loose what paltry wealth it may be mine to 
 
 claim, 
 
78 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Although my death may find the world in ignorance of my 
 
 name, 
 I will account it fortune, fame, and everlasting joy, 
 If I retain a remnant of the free heart of a boy — 
 If I can feel the willow bend, when the last ball shall come 
 Across the plate, and hear a cry: "Nobody there! Come 
 
 Homel" 
 
 Heart Songs 
 
 Heart songs; although a peasants lay. 
 
 Compel the souls of kings. 
 And speed the gray earth on its w^ay 
 
 Toward eternal things. 
 
 Heart songs; aye, heart songs will remain 
 
 Handmaidens of the soul 
 When all else tangible entrain 
 
 With heaven's closing scroll. 
 
 Heart songs; although -we mock the air 
 And flount the halting rhyme; 
 
 Yet God is with them everywhere — 
 Behind them all the time. 
 
 Heart songs; O sing them, son of mine. 
 
 While youth is in the veins; 
 Before the red leaf decks the vine: 
 
 Before the autumn rains. 
 
 Songs sweeter than all flowers that blow 
 Heart songs, not songs of brow — 
 
 I could have sung them long ago; 
 I cannot sing them now. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 79 
 
 Heart songs — yet like a rain fed stream 
 
 They riot in my breast; 
 But voice is down the ways of dream; 
 
 Ways centering in the west. 
 
 When I am through with bloom and blight 
 
 And with the toys of men 
 And bathed in some celestial light, 
 
 I know I'll sing them then. 
 
 %!)isitation 
 
 I am come from the tents of the languorous breeze, 
 
 To a camp far in from shore; 
 From a star marked course, through trackless seas, 
 
 To the path to the threshing floor. 
 
 From the tawny tribes where the day awakes; 
 
 Where they curse the traders sail; 
 From the swish of the sea against the strakes, 
 
 To the swirl of the landsman's flail. 
 
 From the speech of the shrouds, in the morning gray. 
 
 To the witless call of the cock; 
 From the poppy isles, perfumed alway. 
 
 To the reek of the merchant dock. 
 
 I am come from the shoals of shifting sand; 
 
 From the mist of the fisher's bank; 
 To the foul fog anchored against the land; 
 
 The fog of caste and rank! 
 
 From the strong ropes clutched in the mast-head block. 
 
 Clewed fast, or running free; 
 To a sapless vine, of ancient stock, 
 
 Hung loose on a leafless tree. 
 
80 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 I am come from a waste where green meets blue 
 
 And dreams travail in birth; 
 From a thousand coral islands to 
 
 The heart of an isle of earth. 
 
 Castles in Spain 
 
 You may scoff at the dream, as the sordid scoff, 
 
 The sordid w^ho worship gain, 
 But behind all things are the forms far off 
 
 That people the Castles in Spain. 
 
 There be those who cling, face down, to the earth 
 
 And never know the pain, 
 Of they who bring into glorious birth 
 
 The forms in the Castles in Spain. 
 
 When the passing earth has claimed its due; 
 
 You will find that none remain 
 As retainers, save those sent by you, 
 
 To the misty Castles in Spain. 
 
 There are tainted things on the old world's breast. 
 
 But there be never a stain 
 On the wealth that lies in the treasure chest 
 
 Of the dream builded Castles in Spain. 
 
 O, brother of mine! 1 tell you this; 
 
 That the world is led by brain. 
 And ruled, in the last analysis, 
 
 By the forms in the Castles in Spain. 
 
 No matter who may be kings today; 
 
 Their's is but a limited reign; 
 The Princes -who hold an eternal sway 
 
 Are in the dream Castles in Spain. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 81 
 
 Revised Version 
 
 One day when Fathuh Adam 
 
 Wuh cuttin de sweet dock 
 Outen de clober medder 
 
 Ole Satan tooked er walk 
 Up to the Eden gahdun, 
 
 An he say: "Well, I b'leeve 
 I'll santer in dis mo'nin 
 
 An call on Missus Eve." 
 
 Den Satan fix he coUuh 
 
 An pat he white cravat 
 An take he red bandanner 
 
 An smoof he tall silk hat 
 An den he put he hat on 
 
 De back part ob he haid 
 An say: "I shorely reckons 
 
 I'll kill dat ooman daid!" 
 
 Den Satan take some mint out 
 
 An chew, an den he spy 
 Mis' Eve on de veranduh 
 
 An he sorter shet he eye 
 An walk right peart up to huh 
 
 An interjuce hisseff, 
 An Eve jess stan a-starin, 
 
 An sorter catch her breff. 
 
 Den Satan bow he fines' 
 
 An say: "How is youh chile; 
 
 Is youh mammy home dis mo'nin?" 
 An Missus Eve she smile 
 
82 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 An say: "O, Mistuh Satan, 
 You's flatterin me I feah; 
 
 But ain' it er nice mo'nin; 
 Step in an take er cheer." 
 
 Den Satan dus' he shoes off 
 
 An step inside de do'h 
 An say: "Youh place am lubly 
 
 I orter called befo'h." 
 Den Eve bring some refreshmen's 
 
 An Satan praise huh pie 
 An Missus Eve ac' proudlike 
 
 An Satan wink he sye. 
 
 Den Satan say: "Dem apples 
 
 I sees dow^n by de gate 
 Am mighty likely pippins, 
 
 But I reckons dey am late. 
 I bets dat wif dem apples 
 
 Youh sure could mak some pies 
 Dat wrould temp' er shinin angel 
 
 To run away frum Paradise!" 
 
 Den Eve say: "Well, 1 flatters 
 
 Mysef Ise er good cook; 
 An I didn' learn it neider 
 
 Frum no mammy ner no book. 
 But den my ole man, Adam, 
 
 He been a-tellin me 
 Dat in de lease de lan'lord 
 
 Hab done resarve dat tree." 
 
 Den Satan say: "Deah lady, 
 Ise er lawyer an de Cote 
 
 Jess renduhed er decision 
 On er promissory note, 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 83 
 
 An it hoi's, by way er dictum, 
 
 Dat sich clauses in er lease 
 Am void, an in violation 
 
 Ob de State's powuh ob police." 
 
 "Derefoah I can suah inform youh 
 
 Dat youh am intirely free, 
 To go out an pick dem apples 
 
 Offen dat ole pippin tree. 
 An suahly, gentle lady, 
 
 Ef I could cook like youh 
 I'd make some pies out ob em; 
 
 Dats zackly whut I'd do." 
 
 Den Satan draw he gloves on 
 
 An take he hat an cane 
 An say: "Mis' Eve I shorely 
 
 Likes the way youh entertain; 
 An I thanks youh mighty kindly 
 
 Foah er pleasant aftuhnoon." 
 Den he santer down de garhdun 
 
 Er whistlin ob er chune. 
 
 Den Eve she take huh dishpan 
 
 An go an climb dat tree 
 An fill dat pan wif apples 
 
 As fine as fine could be; 
 An take dem to de kitchen 
 
 An set dem on er shef. 
 An when Adam comed to suppuh 
 
 She tell him: "Hep youhseff." 
 
 An Adam — well, he ate some, 
 
 An den er angel came 
 A-walkin in de garhden 
 
 An callin' Adam's name; 
 
84 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 An Adam skeered to ansuh 
 Jess den, but by-um-by 
 
 He did — an Ise proud ob him, 
 Foah Adam didn' lie. 
 
 Daddy's Pilot 
 
 Ise been musin', ob my chil'ens; how dey's lef me one by 
 
 one; 
 To mak' home nes's foah dey own sefs; heah a daughter; 
 
 dah a son; 
 How de pirate yeahs hab stole dem, as dey by mah doah- 
 
 way crep*, 
 Twell de liT angel daughter am de only one Ise kep'. 
 I min' how I faulted Mastuh when de Shadder Vale she 
 
 cross; 
 But de ones I tho't Ise keepin' am de only ones I los'. 
 
 She come to us in de spring time when de roses wah in 
 
 bloom 
 An de air full ob bird music an* jes loaded wif perfume; 
 Was'n a mite like de odders; did'n' fuss ner did'n' cry; 
 Why, jes lots ob times Ise ketched huh standin' smilin' at 
 
 de sky; 
 An* I could*n unduhstan* huh from de minute dat she come, 
 Foah she seemed jes like some angel dat had wanduhed 
 
 way from home. 
 
 She would listen to de birdies an den come to me an say; 
 "Daddy, deah, dey's talkin to me in dey funny kin* ob 
 
 way." 
 Den she'd lissen to de crickets an den tell me what dey 
 
 said. 
 An I'd tell huh she had crinkles in huh HI* kinky haid; 
 
AND OTHER P;OEMS 85 
 
 An she'd laugh and say: "O, daddy, doan go makin* fun ob 
 
 me; 
 Foah I knows whut dey's a-sayin; it's as plain as plain can 
 
 be." 
 But de blessed, gentle Mastuh ob de gahdun ober dere, 
 Wanted huh, an' so he took her, foah to mak his gahdun 
 
 fair; 
 An mah heart growed hard an' stony at His heaviness ob 
 
 han' 
 An I stumbled in mah duty, foah I couldn' understan'; 
 An I got to doubtin heabin, an' de earrf, bofe sides de 
 
 Cross, 
 Twell she come an whispuh: "Daddy, I ain gwine away, nor 
 
 los." 
 Since den often in de ebenin' she come trippin down de 
 
 gloam 
 An whispuh to me: "Daddy, Ise a-pilotin' youh home." 
 An* often in de mo'nin* she come glidin froo de mist 
 An' mah heart git strong an' powuhful as mah withur'd 
 
 cheek am kissed — 
 De whole big worl' kaint tell me dat she sleepin' in huh 
 
 grave; 
 Kaint I see huh? Doan 1 heah huh whisperin; "Daddy, 
 
 deah, be brave?" 
 
 An so I ain' a-pinin' nor a-honin' any moah 
 
 Foah I know she growin' lubly on dat bright, sunshiny 
 
 sho'; 
 An' I would'n' mah huh pleasuh by er gittin glum an sad, 
 Foah she come to he'p huh daddy, when he need huh 
 
 mighty bad; 
 An' she hf me neaher heabin ebery single time she come; 
 Wif huh whisperin' to me: "Daddy, Ise a-pilotin' youh 
 
 home." 
 
86 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 Jess Jl-Honin Aftuh Youh 
 
 Ise setin* heah, dress'd in mah bes', 
 
 An de long week's wruk am thro*; 
 Ise restin', lak I used to res', 
 
 An, mah honey, Ise a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
 De ban' am playin' in de park, 
 
 Jess lak it used to do; 
 De stars come a-twinklin' thro' de dark. 
 
 An Ise jess a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
 Dat Cleopatria — Ann — Marie 
 
 An dat sassy Nanny Loo; 
 Been makin' deir sheep's eyes at me; 
 
 But I done kep a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
 I walked to church de odder night — 
 
 Walked right between dem two; 
 It wah dark an I had to hoi' dem tight. 
 
 But I done kep a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
 I wah up putty late wif widder Smif 
 
 She got tellin' whut she do 
 If er comet hit dis earf ker-biff, 
 
 But I jess kep' a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
 When I lef de Pahson's t'odder night, 
 
 I kissed his daughter. Sue, — 
 Jess had to do hit, ter be polite. 
 
 But I jess kep a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
 Youh cousin accused me ob lookin' glum, 
 
 An youh sistuh said Ise blue — 
 Dey's bofe mighty nervous, an I nussed em some 
 
 But I jess kep a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 87 
 
 Youh Mammy's well an' so is youh Pap; 
 
 An' de res'; dey's all well too — 
 Ise hol'in youh bes' fren' on mah lap 
 
 An, honey, jess a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
 Dis bein' bergaged am nice youh see 
 
 An I know^s whut youh'll do; 
 You'll come home an make it pleasant foah me, 
 
 Caze Ise jess kep a-honin' aftuh youh. 
 
 But doan youh go to hurrin* home, 
 
 Foah I can worry through 
 Lak Ise been a doin'; but twell youh come 
 
 I'll jess keep a-honin aftuh youh. 
 
 Poppies 
 
 I planted some blood-red poppies, 
 
 When the buds w^ere bursting forth, 
 In the days of pregnant nature. 
 
 When the sun was drifting north; 
 I planted them by the doorstep 
 
 And watched them sprout and grow 
 And they whispered a strange, wild story 
 
 That only the poppies know. 
 
 I w^hispered to them each evening 
 
 And each returning dawn 
 They called me forth from dreamland 
 
 'Till the summer w^as past and gone; 
 And after the frosts of autumn 
 
 Had passed, with their red and gold. 
 Their lotus fragrance lingered. 
 
 Like the race of a tale that's told. 
 
88 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 One morning I opened my casement 
 
 And flung the shutters wide 
 And a bright faced, radiant angel, 
 
 Stood where the poppies died; 
 And he said; "I have watched, unnoticed. 
 
 Since a forgotten day," 
 But the poppies story Ungered 
 
 And the angel w^ent away. 
 
 I watched his wondrous passing, 
 
 With no wild throb in my breast, 
 Down the astral way of silence 
 
 To the stillness of the west— 
 Beyond the w^ay and the silence. 
 
 Some place, where I shall be free, 
 The bright, red poppies are blooming 
 
 And whispering and waiting for me. 
 
 A Few Patent Facts 
 
 Todder day I hearn a felluh 
 
 Say dere wasn' any Gaud, 
 Charvin stone up in de mountins 
 
 An dat Moses wah er fraud. 
 But I reckons dem commandments 
 
 Dat ole Moses toted bac' 
 To de chill'ns in de valley. 
 
 Am a hahd an stubbohn fac'. 
 Seems ter me de way he got 'em. 
 
 Or de monf an day and yeah, 
 Doan make sech a sight ob diffuns 
 
 Jess so long as dey am heah. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 89 
 
 Den he sayed man evoluted 
 
 F'm er lil' chunk ob gum — 
 Ef he did Ise bettin money, 
 
 He's bin evolutin some! — 
 But dat miracle ob Adam 
 
 Doan strech mah b'leif as fur- 
 As de thousan \iV odders 
 
 Whut dis felluh sayed occur — 
 Ise not honein' foah somebody 
 
 To come roun' an make hit cleah 
 How we gets heah, foah hits sho'ly 
 
 Mighty certain w^e am heah. 
 
 Den he sayed dat Faro's ah'my 
 
 Wasn' drownded in de sea; 
 But Ah'd lak ter know whut dat has 
 
 Gotter do wif him er me. 
 I doan reckon Mastuh'll ax us 
 
 Much about dat happenin,' 
 But He's apt to question clos'ly 
 
 Whut we am an whut we's bin. — 
 Spose hit did or did'n' happen 
 
 Hit doan hep us now er mite — 
 Nevuh w^as intended to hep 
 
 No one but de IsraeUte. 
 
 Den he sayed dem Hebrew chill'ens 
 
 Nevuh wah in any fiah, 
 An he spressed himsef as certain 
 
 Dat ole Jonah wah er liah. 
 Sposin he am right erbout hit, 
 
 Dat woan sorter hep him thro' 
 Whin Ole Mastuh say: "Look heah, suh, 
 
 Ise been heahin erbout youhl" 
 
90 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Seems ter me he's chasin shadders — 
 Dats bout all he's evuh done — 
 
 Doan he know dere ain' no shadders 
 On de side to'ahds de sun! 
 
 Lucille 
 
 [To my little daughter, Lucille, on her fifth birthday, August 26, 1903.] 
 
 Standing yet within the shadows 
 
 Of the portals of the day, 
 Gazing out o'er youth's rose meadow^s 
 
 To'ard the vague and far away. — Refrain: 
 
 Little girl, my own, my sweetheart; 
 O, Lucille, Lucille, Lucille; 
 At thy feet, O radiant princess 
 Let me kneel, O let me kneel. 
 
 With the morning spell's assistance 
 
 Kissing rosy finger tips 
 To the w^an shapes in the distance; 
 
 Wondering with half parted lips. — Refrain: 
 
 This 1 wish you, little maiden; 
 
 May the stars so move above 
 That you'll reach the sunset laden 
 
 With the chiefest sheaves of love. — Refrain: 
 
 May bright angel bands convoy you, 
 
 As you sail a jasper sea; 
 May nor storm or cloud annoy you; 
 
 May life's voyage tranquil be. — Refrain: 
 
 May you look not, save in pity. 
 
 On the tovsrers and minarets. 
 Of that dark and gloomy city. 
 
 In the land of vain regrets. — Refrain; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 91 
 
 Georgia Lullaby 
 
 De mammy angel lighted huh can'l's in de sky. 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam'; 
 She'll done come aroun' wif huh snuffers, by-um-by. 
 
 Sleep, mah Ul' white lam', 
 De crickerdee am singin' his, "cheep, cheep, cheep," 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam', 
 De bull frog am a-mumblin, "knee-deep, knee-deep." 
 
 Sleep, mah HI' white lam'.— Refrain: 
 
 Sl-e-e-e-e-p m-mah honey, sl-e-e-e-e-p m-mah baby; 
 
 Sl-e-e-e-e-p mah honey, twell de day; 
 Sl-e-e-e-e-p m-mah honey; sl-e-e-e-e-p m-mah baby, 
 
 Mammy'll keep the skeers away. 
 
 De hants and de hoots gotter stay away from youh, 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam', 
 Dey's nothin' gwinter take youh, else it take mammy too, 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam'. 
 Mammy gwineter watch by de one she love de bes'. 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam'. 
 She know he mighty ti'ad an' he need er good res'. 
 
 Sleep, mah hi' white lam'.— Refrain: 
 
 De lam's quit deir playin' and dey's got mighty still, 
 
 Sleep, mah Ul' white lam', 
 Dey's sleepin by deir mammys on de moonshiny hill. 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam', 
 Lil' bird got he haid tuckered unner Ul' wing. 
 
 Sleep, mah Ul' white lam', 
 A-waitin' foah de mornin' man to tell um, "wake an' sing!" 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam'.— Refrain: 
 
92 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 O, de mammy angel lighted huh can'l's in de sky, 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam', 
 Spect dere'll be a lettuh shinin' in um by-um-by. 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam'; 
 Nice lil' lettuh foah mammy's lil' boy. 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam', 
 Tellin' whah he done los' he top an' he toy. 
 
 Sleep, mah lil' white lam', — Refrain: 
 
 To an Absent One 
 
 It is marah, marah, sweetheart; never, never, as of yore, 
 Will I take you in my arms and whisper, peace; 
 
 Fanes are shattered, idols fallen, and with heavy heart and 
 sore 
 I am w^aiting, all impatience, for release. 
 
 Oh, blessed, blessed memories — like a dream of Paradise; 
 
 Oh, lotus laden moments of the past; 
 Oh, 'tis hard to weigh love's anchor in the bay of laughing 
 eyes, 
 
 Knowing that no more therein it will be cast. 
 
 Where the Southern Cross is brightest, in a sunny far-off 
 land. 
 
 In a lonely wanderer's camp beside the stream, 
 I will seem to feel the strokings of my absent baby's hand. 
 
 Of a face and form I cherished 1 will dream. 
 
 When the many colored songster wakes the woodland 
 with his call 
 
 And the mist comes rolling upw^ard from the sea, 
 I will calm my troubled spirit and will pray the God of all 
 
 That some day I may reach Paradise and Thee. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 93 
 
 The Songs of Erin 
 
 Let me sing the songs of Erin; they are music to my soul; 
 With their touch of human pathos and the Hit within their 
 
 troll. 
 Unto me these are the grandest; 1 for them a reverance 
 
 own; 
 For they draw me nearer heaven; nearer to the Great 
 
 White Throne. 
 Let me sing the songs of Erin; in them lurk a subtile power. 
 Which can broaden narrow defiles; Hghten up the darkest 
 
 hour; 
 Make a garden of the desert; lift the soul and bear it far 
 Up along the astral highway running past the polar star. 
 
 Let me sing the songs of Erin; songs of noble life a part; 
 Life which glows, and gleams and glistens only in an Irish 
 
 heart; 
 They have power to sway me, soothe me, while an alien 
 
 ministrel's lay 
 Rouses in me all the latent impulse of the beast of prey. 
 
 Let me sing the songs of Erin; with their tenderness and 
 
 tears. 
 And their strong, clear notes of patience, sounding down 
 
 thro all the years; 
 With them comes the rest of sunset and the promise of the 
 
 dawn; 
 With them all the ages harvests augur well for farther on. 
 
 Let me sing the songs of Erin; when the threatening clouds 
 
 hang low; 
 Let me sing them in the southland, where the balmiest 
 
 breezes blow; 
 
94 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Let me sing them eastward, westward, northward; all have 
 
 of them need, 
 For they are as universal as the ancient Keltic creed. 
 
 Let me sing the songs of Erin; they are mine to have and 
 
 hold; 
 Clear notes of eternal victory are within their measures 
 
 rolled. 
 With them I can meet all futures, sturdily and unafraid; 
 With them rest beneath the bay trees, when the ghosts of 
 
 Time are laid. 
 
 Sleep On, Beloved 
 
 Sleep on, beloved; 1 know not to what country far my 
 footsteps tend, 
 
 Now what deep, turbid waters roll between me and the 
 journey's end, 
 
 For you, beloved, the weary march is over now for aye 
 and aye; 
 
 For me remains the sentry's beat, the jungle path, the 
 weary day. 
 
 But take this token to confirm the word and sign of weep- 
 ing eyes, 
 
 Enswathe the know^Iedge, and believe I would not have it 
 otherwise. 
 
 Sleep on, beloved, the devious ways allotted must be 
 
 threaded through; 
 My feet are laggards, but my heart, like some fleet bird, 
 
 flies on to you 
 Hope might revive, might bud, might bloom, but ah; I 
 
 would not have it so; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 95 
 
 This Dead Sea fruit is sweet to me, and why, beloved, I 
 
 do not know. 
 There are strange dreams, wild dreams and acts in the 
 
 great ledger of our years. 
 But strangest of them all is why we cling to heart-aches 
 
 and to tears. 
 
 Sleep on, beloved, 'tis better that the darker, coarser clay 
 
 remain; 
 To march with progress through the storm and bitter chill 
 
 of autumn rain; ' 
 
 To in the midnight watch awake, to sleep and dream of 
 
 might-have-been. 
 Beloved, our souls are formed by those w^e touch among 
 
 our fellow^men. 
 Then let me touch through darksome days, when from 
 
 this mist to fairer skies, 
 My star moves on, I'll greet you, love, within the groves of 
 
 Paradise. 
 
 Nothing Can Matter Now 
 
 I have followed adown the valley ways. 
 
 The w^ill-o'-the-w^isp of fame. 
 And toiled on the hills, through tiresome days, 
 
 In the pride of my father's name; 
 I have ridden through blood-red mist of strife 
 
 For the praise of the low hung brow. 
 And called this valets breathing, "Life" — 
 
 But nothing can matter now. 
 
% CHILD SLAVES 
 
 I have feared, as the cringing slave must fear. 
 
 And scoffed as the mockers scoff; 
 I have hushed the music that sounded near 
 
 To Hst to a strain far off; 
 I have fought and smiled v^hen the skies were brass. 
 
 So that I might endow — 
 But they dug her a grave in the whispering grass 
 
 And nothing can matter now. 
 
 I have watched in the chill of an autumn rain, 
 
 A summer march and wheel, 
 In a land w^here the dead past answers pain 
 
 As iron answers steel; 
 I have raised a shrine for the sons of men 
 
 And marvelled to see them bow 
 And call it a thing beyond their ken — 
 
 But nothing can matter now. 
 
 I have walked the earth with a radiant band. 
 
 And crawled v/ith the underside. 
 And pitched my tent in a ghost-filled land 
 
 Where the dawn and night divide; 
 I have chafed at the thought of the paltry wage 
 
 That the uncrowned kings allow 
 To the one who toils in this present age — 
 
 But nothing can matter now. 
 
 I have loved— and the love of the angel'swere crime 
 
 Beside it— but tempting fate 
 I laid it aside to dwell for a time 
 
 In the tents of the Tribe of Hate; 
 I have sworn with Regulus overhead 
 
 And at noon have payed my vow — 
 But they took her out where they take the dead 
 
 And nothing can matter now. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 97 
 
 Katie ^arry 
 
 O, the odor of the dilHsk, 
 
 With a glimpse of hills of green, 
 Often come to me at twilight, 
 
 Though an ocean rolls between; 
 Aye, no evening ever deepens 
 
 But there comes a voice to me, 
 From a past, too near to heaven. 
 
 In the valley of the Lee. 
 
 Misty memories; dusky pictures; 
 
 Hill, and dale, and riverside. 
 Bordered by the dread that entered 
 
 On the night the banshee cried — 
 Through the stretch of years and seasons. 
 
 Miles of land and leagues of sea, 
 I've remembered you, my Katie. 
 
 And the valley of the Lee. 
 
 You cannot return unto me. 
 
 Though my heart keeps calling through 
 Each returning dawn and sunset; 
 
 It is I who go to you; 
 When I've stood the watch appointed 
 
 And Time's shackles fall from me, 
 I will meet you, Katie Barry; 
 
 In the valley of the Lee. 
 
 Despite all the fears of childhood 
 
 And the creed of riper age. 
 Despite all the learned abstractions 
 
 Of the prophet, seer or sage. 
 
98 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 I am clinging to the augur 
 
 When you smiled and. said to me: 
 
 "Meet me, Larry, I'll be waitin' 
 In the valley of the Lee." 
 
 Time I'm marking — only marking — 
 
 O, I'm longing, mavourneen. 
 For that other Golden Valley 
 
 And a walk with you, colleen — 
 Aye, God rest you, Katie Barry, 
 
 Sleeping 'till Eternity, 
 In the blessed land of Erin, 
 
 In the valley of the Lee. 
 
 Wondering 
 
 'Tis long years since she left me, yet the sorrow is as 
 
 keen 
 As when that far, gray morning found me questioning 
 
 between 
 The quick world and the sepulchre, soul stricken at my 
 
 loss. 
 And counting all the gifts of earth, and heaven's promise, 
 
 dross. 
 
 And O, the bitter, barren years! Earth's shoutings, earth's 
 
 acclaim; 
 The glitter of it's pageantry; the fever of it's fame; 
 It's myriad, idle opiates, in which the clod believes, 
 Alike are empty, valueless, dead, windblown autumn 
 
 leaves. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 99 
 
 And O, I wonder, wonder, at low twelve, amid the hush; 
 When God's stars speak His language, putting words of 
 
 men to blush; 
 I wonder when the Dipper sinks and pearl gray blends 
 
 with blue; 
 If, when I meet her, she will be the little girl I knew. 
 
 I wonder ere the dew is gone, and in the noonday's heat. 
 If when my ears are ope'd to hear the tinkling of her feet 
 Upon the tesselated pave, if it will, as of yore. 
 Be sound of girlish footfalls, or a music more mature. 
 
 I wonder, were my eyes unveiled, if I could see her now, 
 And if it is her hand that rests so often on my brow. 
 And when I reach the sunset camp and shadows grow 
 
 more deep, 
 I wonder will she take my hand and lull me into sleep. 
 
 But when the biouvac's over and reveille calls me forth 
 To march in God's eternity, where east and west and north 
 And south are things forgotten, as all limits then shall be, 
 I know that she will meet me and that both will then be 
 free. 
 
 Honey, t^ine 
 
 Honey, deah, Ise waitin', wukin' 
 Doin' jess mah lebbel bes', 
 Cordin' to mah lights an' lettin* 
 Gaud Ermighty do de res'; 
 An' I reckons ef I sorter 
 Happen to hew from de line. 
 In de fullness ob his mercy 
 He'll luk to hit, honey, mine. 
 
100 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Sorter take he mighty broad-ax 
 An* jess shave hit staight an* true, 
 Sos de wuk woan mar de buildin* 
 In youh Ian* Ise comin* to; 
 Dere, I reckons, we'll be Hbbin 
 In er mansion mighty fine — 
 Youh an* me an' all de odders 
 Dat wese lubbed heah, honey, mine. 
 
 Preacher sometimes faults me mighty. 
 An some odders tell me fac's — 
 Aftuh dey has happened, honey. 
 But I kaint grow in deir trac's; 
 Some kin wuk in oak an' warnut. 
 Some hab gotter hab sof pine. 
 An* Ole Mastuh knows he business 
 Better'n we does, honey, mine. 
 
 I knows now why Ise lef* waitin*. 
 Dough I didn* ustuh know, 
 Mastuh saw Ise mighty lil* 
 So he gif me chanct to grow; 
 An* heah in dis lil* cabin, 
 Wif de mo'nin glo*y vine 
 Climbin* round de doah, Ise growin* 
 To youh bigness, honey, mine. 
 
 So Ise jess a-waitin', wukin', 
 Doin' jess de bes* I can, 
 Tryin* to mak mysef* ovuh 
 In de tallness ob er man; 
 An* when I has done hit, honey, 
 Yonduh, whah de day stahs shine. 
 In de nevuh fadin* gahduns, 
 ril be wif youh, honey, mine. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS lOt 
 
 The Soul of the Artist 
 
 His hands were scarred by the tools of toil. 
 And his brow was furrowed by care; 
 
 And his step was halt and his frame was bent. 
 But the soul of the artist was there. 
 
 When the sun came out of the far, gray east. 
 
 It found him doing his best, 
 And true to his task, when it shut the door 
 
 Of its chamber in the west. 
 
 No flaring lines in a burdened press. 
 
 Invested him with renown; 
 No record, on earth, of his deeds was kept; 
 
 But the angels wrote them down. 
 
 The world passed by, with a scornful smile. 
 
 And assigned him low estate; 
 But God looked down on the work he did 
 
 And reckoned him with the Great. 
 
 And whether it was the hush-ah-hush. 
 Of the scythe, or the evening prayer 
 
 That mounted tremblingly, haltingly up. 
 The soul of the artist was there. 
 
 One day he dropped, with his harness on. 
 
 And one of God's golden cars 
 Stopped under the arch of the astral way, 
 
 Swung down from the farthest stars. 
 
 And a herald cried, to the franchised soul; 
 
 "I may not return alone; 
 I bear the souls of your brotherhood 
 
 To where they may claim their own." 
 
102 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 lister Chicken, T^lease Roost High 
 
 There's a camp meeting running at Rocky Ford 
 
 And the preacher Ukes chicken pie; 
 But Ise made up my mind to serve the Lord, 
 
 If the chickens will just roost high. 
 Ise been a powerful sinner man 
 
 And a mansion in the sky 
 I wants to get, and I think I can, 
 
 If the chickens w^ill just roost high, — Chorus: 
 
 Mister Chicken, p-1-e-a-s-e roost high! 
 Mister Chicken, p-1-e-a-s-e roost high! 
 You am gwine to loose me a harp and a crown. 
 Mister Chicken, if you don't roost high. 
 
 I listens to the words that's said, 
 
 I hears the sinners cry; 
 But these words, all the time, keep a-runnin thro my 
 head: 
 
 "Mister Chicken, wont you please roost high?" 
 I likes you baked, or boiled, or stewed, 
 
 I likes you in a fry; 
 But old Satan's done had me interviewed 
 
 And I wants you to please roost high. — Chorus: 
 
 I can keep from fighting, deed I can. 
 
 When some one kicks my dog; 
 I can keep from swearing, like a pirate man. 
 
 When I tries to pen a hog; 
 I can keep away from the old corn juice, 
 
 I can cut out the rye; 
 But as sure as shooting it'll be no use 
 
 If the chickens don't roost high. — Chorus: 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 103 
 
 I aint skeered of the dark, nor ghosts of the dead. 
 
 For I can whistle a chune; 
 But I has to go by Johnson's shed 
 
 And this am the dark of the moon! 
 And Johnson's yaller legged hens 
 
 Are a- most too fat to fly; 
 I sees the finish of a gentlemens. 
 
 Mister Chicken, if you don't roost high. — Chorus: 
 
 Mistah Johnsing Done Qot He Chicken 
 House Locked 
 
 Ise got to eat co'n bread for a while, wif bacon on de 
 
 side. 
 An' its goin' to go right bad wif me, aftah havin chicken, 
 
 fried; 
 It's goin' to go most powerful hard, but I hopes to change 
 
 it soon; 
 Foah deres some nights a' comin' now when dere wont 
 
 be no moon. 
 Ise visited Mistuh Johnsing's house wif ma gum, shoes an' 
 
 ma sack; 
 But Johnsing done insulted me an' I aint a-gwine back. 
 
 Foah — Mistuh Johnsing done got he chicken house 
 
 locked; 
 He done put a fas'en on de doah; 
 Got a big bull dog to snoop around, 
 An' I aint goin' back no moah; 
 Ise fond ob chicken, but dat dog aint gwine to 
 
 get no chance. 
 To chase me ober de back yard fence an* ruin 
 
 dese Sunday pants. 
 
i04 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 I'd like to know what de white folks mean, wif deir 
 
 suspcious ways, 
 A-buyin* dogs dat set up night an' do deir sleepin' days; 
 Now look at Mistuh Johnsing's dog — I tell you it's de 
 
 truth- 
 He acts like he been crossed in love, back somewhar in he 
 
 youth; 
 I conld unlock dat hen house doah an' I wouldn't be no 
 
 hog. 
 But dey aint no key in dis wide world dat would unlock dat 
 
 dog. — Foah, Etc: 
 
 Ise goin' to burn mah rabbit foot an' move way from dis 
 
 town. 
 An' go someplace whar folks doan try to keep de black 
 
 man down; 
 Dese white folks am a scrumptious set, dey do jest as dey 
 
 please, 
 Next thing youh know dey'll learn deir hens to roost up in 
 
 de trees; 
 Dey'll miss me long bout whitewash time, but Ise suah 
 
 gwine to go, 
 Someplace w^hah dey doan keep cranky dogs an' locks on 
 
 de henhouse doah. Foah, Etc: 
 
 rooming Qlories 
 
 Mo'nin' glo'ies, mo'nin' glo'ies, O, deys res'ful to de eyes; 
 An' Ah wonduhs am dey growin' in the fiel's ob Pahadise. 
 In dem fiel's hits alius mo'nin' an' dey aint' no noonday 
 heat; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 105 
 
 Nor no deep dus' in de highway, foah to sco'tch ouh tiahed 
 
 feet. 
 Deed Ah hopes deys growin yonduh, dough Ah shuahly 
 
 will be swo'n 
 Dat dey hoi's a lot ob backache, when deys growin in de 
 
 co'n. 
 Shuah Ah likes to see em growin. an a-twinin' roun de 
 
 briahs; 
 Wif jess heah an deah red blossoms, like er lot ob little 
 
 Rahs, 
 An a-reachin' foah de beech lim's, in deir girly sort ob 
 
 way, 
 An a-closin up dey posies in de middle ob de day. 
 O. deys scrumptious in de ebenin* and deys beautious in 
 
 de mo'n; 
 But deys got er lot ob backache, when deys growin* in de 
 
 co'n. 
 Ah knows some folks calls em cusses, an* looks on em as 
 
 er bhght; 
 But Old Mastuh he done made em an Ise bettm deys all 
 
 An' we coulden' foad to loose em, any moah dan loose de 
 
 sun, 
 Foah Old Mastuh ain' a-wukin' an* a makin* things foah 
 
 fun. 
 Dat deys heah am proof deys needed— mighty good proof, 
 
 shuahs youh bo'n — ^ 
 
 Dough dey does hoi* lots ob backache, when deys growin 
 
 in de co'n. 
 An* sometimes when Ise a-restin' in de shade erlong de 
 
 creek. 
 All dey posies seem so human, dat Ah halfway>eahs em 
 
 speak; 
 
106 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Foah dey pears jess lak de people; red an* brown, an* 
 
 white an' blue. 
 Black an* purple, streaked an* speckled, an* some shot wif 
 
 yaller, too. 
 Some looks mighty fresh an* sassy; some looks droopin*, 
 
 old an* wo'n; 
 But dey all has de same backache, when deys growin* in 
 
 de co'n. 
 
 Mo*nin glo'ies, mo'nin glo'ies, let em nod an' let em grow, 
 An' Ah'll Stan* all ob deir backache, foah Old Mastuh 
 
 made em so. 
 An* Ah'll wait to know de reason why deys growin* neaf 
 
 dese skies 
 Twell Ah meets de Mastuh Gahd'ner, in de fiel's ob Paha- 
 
 dise. 
 Tain foah me to fuss about em, nor to heap on dem mah 
 
 sco*n. 
 Dough dey does hoi' lots of backache, when deys growin* 
 
 in de co*n. 
 
 Ag. 
 
 am 
 
 I've seen again, this summer day, 
 The bright sidereal gleams 
 
 That shimmer down the astral way 
 From the far land of dreams. 
 
 Once more I've heard a voice today 
 And felt a presence near, 
 
 And knelt as I've not knelt to pray, 
 Since a forgotten year. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 107 
 
 And I have wondered if my sin 
 
 Has caused the far land's gate 
 To swing forever in and in 
 
 Or whether it be Fate. 
 
 What deed of despite have I done 
 
 Unto Eternity, 
 That of its myriad voices one. 
 
 One only, comes to me? 
 
 Yet could I know she holds the gate, 
 From w^hence the far gleams come, 
 
 I would be thrice content to wait 
 For light till I get home. 
 
 The voice that comes, could 1 but know^ 
 
 'Twere hers I would be filled 
 With satisfaction deep, although 
 
 All other sounds were stilled. 
 
 The Wind That Shakes the ^arle^ 
 
 God bless the hills of Donegal, 
 
 God bless the Tyrone meadows. 
 So full iv tinder memories, 
 
 Iv poethry an* shadows; 
 God bless th' hivinly days of youth. 
 
 Whin me an' Maggie Farley 
 Led all the lads an' lasses to; 
 
 "The Wind That Shakes the Barley. 
 
 Me kin and Oi, St. Patrick's day. 
 Wore green, an* good an* mellow 
 
108 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 We got; while her's another day, 
 
 Paraded in th* yellow- - 
 Whut matter if yez grandsire fought 
 
 Wid Cromwell or Prince Charley? 
 'Tis all forgot whin thrippin' to 
 
 •The Wind That Shakes the Barley." 
 
 Whin love wanst spakes unto yez heart. 
 
 His voice ye will be heedin'; 
 He knows not iv the jealousies 
 
 Iv creed, or race, or breedin'l — 
 Whut cared Oi for the gauger's trade 
 
 Pursued be Dinnis Farley, 
 Droonken wid wine iv Maggie's eyes, 
 
 An' "Wind That Shakes the Barley?" 
 
 Whut cared Oi if her brother, Moike, 
 
 Iv Coast Guards wor th' Colonel? 
 Whut cared Oi if her whole male kin 
 
 Wor fit for fires infernal? 
 Whut cared Oi if the Divvil's name 
 
 Wor Moike, or Dinnis, Farley? 
 Houldin' her hand an' thrippin' to 
 
 "The Wind That Shakes the Barley." 
 
 Whut cared she if th' Doughertys 
 
 Wor smugglin' mooch or any. 
 Or if they droonk the mountain dew 
 
 Thot paid no king a penny? 
 For her there wor no Dougherty, 
 
 For me there wor no Farley — 
 'Twas Terrince an' his Maggie, an' 
 
 "The Wind That Shakes the Barley." 
 
 Good luck has followed on the day 
 Oi down in Antrim waited. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 109 
 
 Whoile Cousin Finnin iv Tyrone, 
 
 Kept all th' Coast Guards baited 
 Along th' Londonderry shore, 
 
 Whoile Oi an' Maggie Farley 
 Wor married, whoile th' poiper played 
 
 "The Wind That Shakes the Barley." 
 
 Now; whin me conduck's not th' best. 
 
 An' she says: "May th' Divvil 
 Fly 'way wid yez, an' kape yez, too, 
 
 Ye taisin' imp iv aivil"; 
 Oi take th' coorse all married min 
 
 Should take, an' do not parley, 
 But smile on her, an whustle low 
 
 "The Wind that Shakes the Barley." 
 
 Thin, wid th' ould loight in her eyes. 
 
 She says: "God bless ye, Terrince, 
 Although sometimes ye vex me sowl, 
 
 Almost beyant forbearance; 
 But over all, ye are th' Prince 
 
 Thot wanst won Maggie Farley," 
 An' thin we trip a measure iv 
 
 "The Wind That Shakes the Barley." 
 
 Incomplete 
 
 This life we live is so incomplete; 
 So incomplete; so incomplete; 
 Its misty visions so passing sweet, 
 Its joys so quickly flown; 
 
no CHILDSLAVES 
 
 That out in the deathless realms of space, 
 Must be a place. 
 Where face to face. 
 Beneath the star of desert or grace. 
 We'll know as we are known. 
 
 Somewhere, someplace, is recompense. 
 
 Is recompense, is recompense; 
 
 Where the fearsome child or halting sense 
 
 No longer fears the rod; 
 Where the mystic chords that elude us here 
 To a wakened ear. 
 So sweet and clear. 
 Will bring the anodyne of fear. 
 
 From the chloral halls of God. 
 
 Whe wander-lust of our feet, my dear. 
 Our feet, my dear; our feet, my dear; 
 Is earnest that we are but aliens here. 
 
 That life is still ahead. 
 Somewhere — no matter what they say. 
 Not far away. 
 In endless day. 
 We'll meet, where flowers bloom alway, 
 
 The dead who are not dead. 
 
 Some place, where skies are deeper blue. 
 
 Are deeper blue, are deeper blue; 
 
 The dreams we dream will all come true, 
 
 Hope cease to barren be. 
 Someday the chains that chafe and gall. 
 And bind us all. 
 That fright the small. 
 From our enfranchised souls will fall — 
 
 Someday we shall be free. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 111 
 
 Lucy's House 
 
 One day in spring a messenger 
 
 Beside the fresh-turned furrow stood 
 And said: "I bid you go to her 
 
 Who met death in her maidenhood; 
 O, hasten, lest you come too late, 
 
 Divorce the furrow, cap and blouse; 
 Henceforth the cowl; grim stallions wait 
 
 Before the door of Lucy's house." 
 
 Last night a presence stood within 
 
 My room and said to me: "Forsooth, 
 I've searched your life for sign of sin 
 
 But only found the bind of youth; 
 You've looked upon your soul as dark 
 
 And shrank from that you would espouse; 
 'Twill different be when standing stark 
 
 Before the gate of Lucy's house." 
 
 "The nearer, life be naked new, 
 
 The quicker will it bell and book 
 And candle bring, and question, too; 
 
 'What curse goes with these things I took? 
 What vain form must I mumble through. 
 
 Effective trembling souls to touse? — 
 But there be nothing naked newl 
 
 Within the walls of Lucy's house." 
 
 My weary feet go up and down 
 
 O'er wind-swept hill, through boggy vale; 
 By countryside and in the town 
 
 I hear the gossips idle tale; 
 
112 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Of lovers lingering at the bars, 
 
 Of candles burned by anxious spouse. 
 
 But no one dreams the steady stars 
 Are tapers tall in Lucy's house. 
 
 Gone On 
 
 Gone on to sing an unknown song. 
 To lisp in an unknown tongue, 
 
 In an unknown land, where skies are fair; 
 Where vespers never are rung. 
 
 Gone on, across the mystic stream 
 Where hope faints, at whose brink 
 
 The man immortal rises where 
 The mortal stooped to drink. 
 
 Gone on, to say: "I know, I know," 
 
 Where we may only hope; 
 To walk, bright-eyed, in lustrous light, 
 
 Where we may only grope. 
 
 Gone on, to learn what we may not. 
 
 While sealed unto the earth; 
 To know that life and death are but 
 
 A process of our birth. 
 
 By the name I knew and loved her here 
 
 I may not know her there. 
 But I'll know the touch of baby hands, 
 
 In Heaven — or anywhere. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 113 
 
 Lazarus 
 
 ["But Abraham said, 'Son, remember that thou, in thy life time, re- 
 ceivedest thy good things, and likewise, Letzarus evil things. — "] 
 
 Between the walls of measured time, in God's Eternity, 
 
 No prophet yet has spoken, save of things w^hich he could 
 see; 
 
 No dreamer ever dreamed a dream but what there lay be- 
 hind 
 
 Some fact, or some formed future threw^ the shadow on 
 his mind. 
 
 And so the wondrous vision of the Christ of Galilee 
 Finds substance in the history of a race both bond and 
 
 free; 
 A race that for the guardian's wage have passed beneath 
 
 the rod; 
 But God is w^ith the Celt because the Celt is near to God. 
 
 Content with tawdry furnishings, self-centered in their pride, 
 The heirs of Time have stood aloof from him who walked 
 
 outside 
 The mud daubed wall of custom, with its man-wrought, 
 
 caste-bound gate. 
 That marks a line between mankind where God w^ould 
 
 hesitate. 
 
 What need the one who walks outside care for the paltry 
 
 bars 
 That keep him from the ones who feast? They keep them 
 
 from the stars! 
 His virtue is not livered, nor his strength in gold and lace; 
 He knows there be no crowns save at the ending of the 
 
 race. 
 
114 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 He draws his rugged manhood from some distant Avatar 
 Who stood breasthigh to Deity ere Abram saw the star 
 And followed from the plains of Ur toward the western 
 
 sea, 
 Leaving behind the splendor and the glory of Chaldea, 
 
 And while the Teuton guards his herds; patrols his burst- 
 ing barns; 
 
 The Celt is on the mountain side, day-dreaming, by hi« 
 cairns; 
 
 He has erased all passing things from his philosophy, 
 
 And in their place, with fire tipped pen, has wrote: 
 ''Eternity!" 
 
 When Saxon boundaries narrow and they mourn a king- 
 dom lost, 
 
 The Celt, if truth and worth abide, can count no other 
 cost; 
 
 With simple, child-like wonderment, half allied to sur- 
 prise, 
 
 He views the Latin's dolor at the hardness of the skies. 
 
 The shrinking of the tawny ones, the grovelling of the 
 
 dark. 
 The wolf fang and the jackal cry of all the breed who 
 
 hark 
 Back to the Goth and Vandal for concept of great and 
 
 least. 
 To him are stranger than the dream behind the wanton's 
 
 feast. 
 
 What matter if the idle mock, to entertain the crowd? 
 Is it not written in the book that other sheaves have 
 bowed? 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 115 
 
 What matter if a crumbling crown and purple be with- 
 held? 
 
 Can there be guaranty of peace when angels have re- 
 belled? 
 
 The body cannot mould the soul, no more than gibe and 
 
 slur 
 Or commendation of the world, can fashion character; 
 And whatsoever any book of deep conjecture shows, 
 There's somewhere in Eternity a reigning God who knows. 
 
 Irish Counties 
 
 DubHn an' Kings, wid th' Sassenach bane iv thim; 
 Waterford, Wexford; Wicklow, in th' thrain iv thim; 
 Limerick an' Clare, th' whole worruld hov had gain iv thim, 
 Monaghan, Armagh, Kilkenny, Tyrone; 
 Meath, Tipperay; there's music an' soul to thim; 
 Carlow, Queens, Leitrim, Antrim; there's a roll to thim; 
 Kerry, Kildare an' Cavan, there's a troll to thim; 
 Sure, an' th' piper could play thim, och hone, 
 
 Down Donegal, Fermanagh, th' green iv thim; 
 Roscommon, Sligo, an' Derry, th' queen iv thim; 
 Westmeath an' Mayo— jist whiff th' potheen iv thim; 
 Truth, in thimsilves they're perfection iv tone; 
 Longford an' Louth, there's a sweep an' a swing to thim; 
 Galway an' Cork, there's a challenge an' ring to thim; 
 Speedin' th' day whin their sons will be king to thim; 
 Sure, an' it's comin', me darlint, och hone. 
 
116 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Fm Afraid When the Dark Comes Down 
 
 The sun has shut the purple door 
 
 Of his chamber in the west; 
 
 Like homing doves my thoughts fly on 
 
 To the one I love the best. 
 
 The earth has doffed her regal robes 
 
 And donned her somber gown — 
 
 Put your arms around me; cuddle me close; 
 
 I'm afraid when the dark comes down. — Chorus: 
 
 Put your arms around me; cuddle me close; 
 
 You're the one I love the best; 
 
 My world is the circle of your arms, 
 
 When the light fades from the west, 
 
 All fears and worries creep away 
 
 And I reck not of renown, 
 
 When your arms are 'round and I'm cuddled 
 
 close 
 And the dark comes trooping down. 
 
 I listen to the cricket's song 
 
 And all the sounds of day 
 
 Seems like some half forgotten strain 
 
 Sung faintly, far away. 
 
 The country lanes are ghostly dim 
 
 And the shadows lurk in town — 
 
 Put your arms around me; cuddle me close; 
 
 I'm afraid when the dark comes down. — Chorus: 
 
 The fireflies dance, by the woodland path. 
 And the leaves are strangely still; 
 The glow-worm lights his evening lamp, 
 By the old log on the hill; 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 117 
 
 The stars come shyly, one by one. 
 
 As jewels in night's crown — 
 
 Put your arms around me; cuddle me close; 
 
 I'm afraid w^hen the dark comes dow^n. — Chorus: 
 
 The screech owl's voice comes ripplingly. 
 
 Like a winter brook in pain. 
 
 And the whip-poor-w^ill calls from the hill 
 
 Where echoes soft entrain; 
 
 The red bird's scarlet coat now seems 
 
 Like to the thrush's brown — 
 
 Put your arms around me; cuddle me close; 
 
 I'm afraid when the dark comes down. — Chorus: 
 
 Memories 
 
 To the world I may be nameless; 
 
 Being indexed with the poor; 
 For my lack, perhaps, not blameless. 
 
 Yet, I hold a pirate's lure 
 Of blest memories of a valley. 
 
 That 1 knew before my leap 
 To the w^aist of the Plymouth's galley; 
 
 There to pull a middle sweep. 
 
 There the Shenandoah is sweeping; 
 
 Down its moonlight flooded way; 
 There the brightest stars are keeping 
 
 Vigils, as on yesterday — 
 Not one memory w^ould I barter. 
 
 Not one whisper of the pines. 
 For the order of the Garter, 
 
 Or the spoils of all earth's mines. 
 
118 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 There the grass has hid war's marring; 
 
 Nature's cloak of charity, 
 Has crept o'er the cannon's scarring, 
 
 Hiding, so no eye may see 
 Unsought wounds, and seeing harken, 
 
 From the now unto the then — 
 God be praised! though skies may darken. 
 
 Once I walked and talked with men. 
 
 Walked with men w^hose honor won me; 
 
 Stalw^arts of the chivalrous line; 
 Walked with morning dew^ upon me 
 
 And the zest of living mine. 
 Then the circle of existence 
 
 Widened outw^ard, from the past. 
 And the form of life's persistence 
 
 In the mould of dreams was cast. 
 
 Then the spirit, effervescent. 
 
 Leaped, upcurling to'ard the stars. 
 And the evening's silver crescent. 
 
 Like some ancient Avatar's 
 Promise of unblighted Aidenn's, 
 
 Just adove the tree tops showed. 
 And Diana and her maidens 
 
 Gamboled dow^n the dusky road. 
 
 It is not my pulse is slacking. 
 
 That I hate these ankle chains; 
 It is not that w^armth is lacking 
 
 In the ichor of my veins; 
 It is not my eyes are dimmer — 
 
 Life is ever inner sight — 
 It is that the moonbeams shimmer 
 
 And the nymphs dance there, tonight. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 119 
 
 Maggie O'Brien 
 
 Away wid yez, Maggie O'Brien, 
 
 O* hone! an its sorry th' day, 
 Thot Oi met yez, all smilin' an* sighin'; 
 
 For me heart ye hov stolen away. 
 
 Ah, sure, Oi reminder th* mornin* 
 
 Yez coom, trippin' loight thro' th* dew; 
 
 There moight hov bin augur*s an* warnin* 
 But me eyes — they could only see you. 
 
 Oi gave me heart into yez kapein* 
 
 An* yez tuk ut wid laughter an' mirth, 
 
 An* Oi wondered, behad, wur Oi slapein' 
 Or walkin' clane off iv th* earth. 
 
 Wid yez be me soid *twor high honor. 
 To sit on th* stoyle thot's bechune 
 
 Th' farrum iv yez cousin, O'Connor, 
 An' thot iv me cousin Muldoon. 
 
 An* joost as th' noight burds coom flyin' 
 Oi'd take yez small hand in me fist; 
 
 To take ut away ye'd kape tryin* 
 
 But all ye wud say wud be: "Whist!,* 
 
 Oi'm thinkin' ye'll alius remimber 
 Th* noight iv O'Lafferty's ball; 
 
 An' wan ither noight in Siptimber 
 Whin we met in th' lane be th' Hall. 
 
 But away wid yez Maggie O'Brien, 
 Ut's th' robber ye are me colleen; 
 
 Bad luck to yez smilin* an' sighin' 
 An' to me for a witless spalpeen. 
 
120 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 A Ballad of the Fair 
 
 Oi've been to the fair, an' och hone, glory be, 
 Th' dochter do say, Oi'm a soight for to see; 
 Me blackthorn is bruk, an' me bid's in a sling, 
 An* Oi'm nursin* a thurst thot is fit for a king. 
 
 Oi wor drinkin' potheen, whin some wan says to me: 
 "Be th' robes iv the Saints, Moike, they're lookin' for ye. 
 Says Oi: "Who is lookin'?" says Dinnis O'Flynn, 
 "Thot traitorous crew iv th' house iv McGinn.'' 
 
 Said Oi: ''Let th' dirty tax githerers come on; 
 'Tis little Oi care for th' divvil's own spawn:" 
 Then grabbin' me blackthorn an' lacin' me vist, 
 Oi truns back me shoulders, an' truns out me chist. 
 
 Thin, githerin' me cousins, the Burkes an' O'Flynns, 
 We hunted up thot Divvil's brood, th' McGinns; 
 An' th' foight thot we had! Mavourneen, glory be! 
 Afther havin' had thot, whut can matther to me! 
 
 In th' thick iv th' fray, wid me stick in me hand, 
 Oi met a McGinn, an' Oi says to him: "Stand 
 An' take whut Oi give yez, me dear cosset lamb. 
 An' Oi'll polish yez hid, loike th' arthist Oi am.', 
 
 It w^or Terrince O'Leary. th' piper, who said: 
 "Oi'm ninety years ould, an' full manny a hid 
 Bruk to th' quane's taste hov Oi seen in me day, 
 But nivver wan in sich a masterly way." 
 
 Th' Father's been here, an' says he, wid a frown: 
 "Moike, ye hov disgraced th' Church an' th' town; 
 Ye've abused th' potheen, loike a poor, witless fool. 
 But ye'U now pay th' piper — O, won't ye, me jewel?" 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 121 
 
 Th* Father says: "Shame," an* perhaps he is roight; 
 But whut does he know iv th* jies iv a foight? 
 He*s a dear mon iv peace, an has been all his loife, 
 Wid no call to thrim down aither neighbor or woife. 
 
 Says he: "Ye'll do penance for all iv yez sins. 
 An* th' spleen ye'v been nursin' again th* McGinns;" 
 Sure Oi'll do th' penance, but let thim hov a care. 
 Or Oi'll break all their hids at th' very next fair.' 
 
 My Own Veople 
 
 I celebrate men of my blood; men of my flesh and bone; 
 Men who have fashioned kingdoms, with no kingdom of 
 
 their ow^n; 
 A race that seek the firing line w^here'er a flag's unfurled. 
 The pioneers of tenderness, the guardians of the world. 
 
 Since days before a record was they've fought to make 
 men free 
 
 And conquered on the mountain slopes and by the sound- 
 ing sea; 
 
 Some sleep where alien hands have carved their names in 
 lasting stone; 
 
 But more rest in the desert waste where God keeps watch 
 alone. 
 
 In that which makes for character and for eternal things 
 They have been rich, but more than poor in that w^hich 
 
 nurtures kings; 
 The things which men have never coined nor passed by 
 
 gage or deed, 
 They've made as universal and as boundless as their creed. 
 
122 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 When all things tangible shall pass and down some fiery 
 way 
 
 The world, that others worship so, speeds onward to de- 
 cay. 
 
 The race that bore the burden here w^ill come unto its 
 ow^n, 
 
 Will see the light beyond and read the name within the 
 stone. 
 
 You cannot nnderstand the song? 'twere marvelous if you 
 could; 
 
 Knowledge is of external things but w^isdom comes by 
 blood; 
 
 And none there be, save of my race, with mystic lore en- 
 dowed, 
 
 Who know the omen of the mist, the augur of the cloud. 
 
 Therefore I celebrate grand men; men of my blood and 
 
 bone; 
 Men -who have fashioned kingdoms with no kingdom of 
 
 their own; 
 Men w^ho have borne the battle's brunt and testified by 
 
 scars; 
 Men of the Commonwealth of God, w^hose frontier is the 
 
 stars. 
 
 Lonesome 
 
 Lonesome, O, I'm lonesome: 
 1 shall never be otherwise; 
 So long as my eyes shall follow 
 The course that the arrow flies. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 123 
 
 Lonesome, O, rm lonesome; 
 So little the hours containl 
 The nights are sisters of sadness; 
 The days are the brides of pain. 
 
 Lonesome, O, I'm lonesome; 
 The larger the throng: I own 
 To an augumented sorrow. 
 Which lessens when I'm alone. 
 
 Lonesome, O, I'm lonesome; 
 Where the jackals, for greed of pelf, 
 Once roused me to fight for another, 
 I cannot rouse for myself. 
 
 Lonesome, O, I'm lonesome, 
 And I cannot understand 
 Why the pilot house is empty; 
 With the bark in sight of land. 
 
 Lonesome, O, I'm lonesome; 
 For you my fair colleen; 
 My absent one, it is marah-- 
 O, I'm lonesome mavourneen. 
 
 A Prayer 
 
 O, God! for some name adequate; 
 Some sound, by which to rightly brand 
 The members of the sodden band, 
 Who curse the church and curse the state. 
 White hot, from some fierce furance fire 
 
124 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Where speech is molten, let me draw 
 The chief sound of all damning law; 
 To lash the ones whose sole desire 
 Is to acquire, and still acquire. 
 
 Give me, of words, more potent ones 
 Than ever yet vouchsafed have been 
 Unto Thine angels, or to men, 
 In all the process af the suns; 
 That 1 may mark the Mammon breed 
 So men of flesh may understand 
 The vileness of their leperous hand; 
 And understanding may be freed 
 From the miasma of their greed. 
 
 I realize the poverty 
 
 Of all tongues present, and of the past, 
 
 And know there never yet was cast 
 
 In Time, nor in Eternity 
 
 Before Time was, words that would bear 
 
 The idea; be comensurate 
 
 To picture on the brain the state 
 
 Of they who pray the groveler's prayer 
 
 And by their sHmy purse strings swear. 
 
 For this I know; had such words been 
 They would, despite the law of death 
 Of language, seize their former breath 
 And tremble on the tongues of men; 
 And, trembling, gather potent fire 
 To burn the swart, squat sons of Greed 
 And purge the world of the foul breed 
 Whose sole ambition and desire 
 Is to acquire, and still acquire. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 125 
 
 To H. R. M. Smith 
 
 (On his departure for Ireland.) 
 
 You are going back to Erin; 
 Take my greetings to the sod — 
 To the land of my forefathers, 
 The fierce furance where our God 
 Fines the gold that passes current 
 Wheresoe'er a flag's unfurled - 
 Whence He draws His steel and iron 
 For the fashioning of the world. 
 
 You are going back to Erin 
 
 Where the men and women hold 
 
 Heartbeats and the heart's traditions 
 
 Of more value than mere gold; 
 
 To the cradle of earth's warriors 
 
 Who have suffered, without moan, 
 
 While they hewed and fashioned kingdoms. 
 
 With no kingdom of their own. 
 
 You are going back to Erin; 
 
 Tell them that in this far land 
 
 They have blood and spirit brethren, 
 
 Men who feel and understand. 
 
 Men in whose veins, free and bounding. 
 
 Leaps the red blood of the Celt: 
 
 Men who hold to old traditions. 
 
 Though the earth and heavens melt. 
 
 You are going back to Erin; 
 If again you set your face 
 Westward, bring a bit of shamrock 
 From the cradle of my race; 
 
126 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 From the fair land where God fashiona- 
 To be in Hfe's maelstrom hurled — 
 All His pioneers of progress, 
 All his guardians of the world. 
 
 Mistuh MooUy Youh Ain no Friend oh Mine 
 
 Mistuh Moon, look heah! Ise telling youh true 
 
 Dis coon hab done got it in foah youh; 
 
 Hit seems to me youh takes delight 
 
 In foolin w^if me mos' ebery night. 
 
 Las' night I crept to a hen house doah, 
 
 An' de dawg wah ersleep, I could heah him snoah, 
 
 An' den youh had to go an' shine — 
 
 Mistuh Moon, youh ain' no friend ob mine. Chorus: 
 
 Mistuh Moon, youh ain' no friend ob mine 
 An' youh kaint patch it up wif me, 
 Youh's de cause ob all de trouble Ise had 
 An' youh jess woan let me be. 
 1 w^ish 1 was tall as de sky 
 An' had a breff so stout, 
 Dat 1 could Stan' right heah dis night 
 An' blow youh light plumb out! 
 
 De odder night, on a park settee, 
 
 1 wah holdin a yaller gal on mah knee, 
 
 When mah wife come by, but it w^ah too dark 
 
 Foah her to see us an' spoil our spark — 
 
 Youh couldn' a stayed behin' dat cloud; 
 
 Youh jess had to shine, an' shine out loud — 
 
 Oh, yes, youh jess done had to shine — 
 
 Mistuh Moon, youh ain' no friend ob mine. — Chorus: 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 127 
 
 Dere's thin rine millyuns, down on de creek, 
 
 An' deys been dead ripe foah mor'n a week; 
 
 But dere's a man wif a gun sittin on de fence 
 
 An' he's watchin' 'em — it ain' no pretense! 
 
 I could get some ob 'em if youh'd stay hid, 
 
 But den, youh'd do whut youh alius did; 
 
 Youh'd jess hop out an' shine, an' shine- 
 
 Mistuh Moon, youh ain' no friend ob mine! — Chorus: 
 
 Qeorgia Love Song 
 
 Choppin in de cotton an a-w^histlin ob er chune. 
 
 Way down in Georgia; 
 Pickin ob de banjo in de light ob de moon. 
 
 Way down in Georgia; 
 Sittin on er log wif mah Nanny Loo, 
 
 Way down in Georgia; 
 Wishin had er cabin to take huh to. 
 
 Way down in Georgia. — Chorus: 
 
 De rich can own dey houses and dey lan's. 
 
 Cose mah honey; 
 But dey kaint dis flutter an dis hol'in ' ban's, 
 
 Wif all dey money; 
 Kaint own dis ebenin nor de stars above. 
 
 Nor dis happy; 
 Dey kaint buy de moonlight an dey kaint buy love- 
 
 O, I'll ast youh Pappy! 
 
 Heart git to flutterin an it beat mighty quick. 
 
 Way down in Georgia; 
 Words get up in mah throat an stick, 
 
 Way down in Georgia; 
 
128 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Take huh han an I pat it some, 
 
 Way down in Georgia. 
 She do de talkin foah Ise plumb dumb, 
 
 Way down in Georgia. — Chorus: 
 
 She snuggle lil' closer, lak she scairt ob harm, 
 
 Way down in Georgia; 
 Clare to goodness, she jes fit mah arm, 
 
 Way down in Georgia — 
 Doan w^ant no cabin, Ise tellin youh true, 
 
 Way down in Georgia; 
 Whilst Ise got dis log an mah Nanny Loo, 
 
 Way dow^n in Georgia. — Chorus: 
 
 Forced 
 
 Today Oi seen a lady fair. 
 
 Dressed in most sumcheous clothes, 
 Embrace a tarrier in her arrums 
 
 An' kiss his snubby nose! 
 
 Ut looked loike woeful waste to see 
 Her kiss thot black an' tan. 
 
 But Oi'll not cuss her copiously. 
 Until Oi've seen her man. 
 
 For maybe w^hin she kisses him 
 
 Ut gives her such a jog — 
 Puts such a woild taste in her mouth, 
 
 She has to kiss the dog! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 129 
 
 The T>rummer Boy 
 
 Long and fierce had raged the battle. 
 Dearly bought was each advance, 
 By the scarred and battered legions 
 Of the sunny land of France. 
 Gloomily the Marshalls watched it — 
 Watched and saw the centre swerve, 
 Saw the eagles dip and falter 
 As they met each fresh reserve. 
 Sadly the great King of Commons 
 Gazed upon his Spartan band 
 As he murmured: "This is surely 
 More than flesh and blood can stand.' 
 Near him stood a youthful drummer, 
 Ready, with his drum, to beat 
 Signals to the wavering colums, 
 And the Chief said: "Sound retreat!' 
 But the boy looked on his sovereign, 
 And he seemed to tower large, 
 As he said: "I never learned it; 
 I can only sound the charge!" 
 
 "What if there be other foemen 
 
 Waiting, couchant, on the marge 
 
 Of the river — on the hillside — 
 
 Sire! O, let me sound the charge! 
 
 I have beat it at Marengo 
 
 And the legions cheered me, Sire; 
 
 As they forward swept, undaunted, 
 
 To their baptism of fire! 
 
 I have rolled it when your legions 
 
 Met the horse of Murad Bey— 
 
130 CHILDSLAVES 
 
 When the fierce sons of the desert 
 Madly threw their lives away! 
 I have sounded it in Syria, 
 Sounded it on holy ground, 
 While your eagles rushed to victory!'' 
 And the solemn Chief said: "Sound!*' 
 Loud the "Charge!" rolled, bold defiant, 
 Forward vaulted foot and horse, 
 Over comrade's bleeding body. 
 Over foeman's mangled course! 
 
 "See, O, Sire, the Old Guard sweeping. 
 
 Like a storm, across the bridge! 
 
 Wavering not! O, Sire, 'tis glory! 
 
 Look! Our eagles crow^n the ridge! 
 
 Vive la France! 'Tis victory! victory! 
 
 See! the foemen break and fly! 
 
 Look! O, Sire, no alien standard 
 
 Shows against the clearing sky!" 
 
 Said the Chief: "My boy, the glory 
 
 Of this day belongs to you; 
 
 For this you shall ride beside me 
 
 When we march in Grand Review!" 
 
 But the boy's lips paled, then purpled. 
 
 As he reeled and to his side 
 
 Pressed his hand and said: 'Twere glory! 
 
 But I never more shall ride; 
 
 Nevermore shall beat reveille; 
 
 Nevermore shall sound the "charge!" 
 
 Life is sweet — but, O, my Sovereign, 
 
 I percieve that death is large!" 
 
 "When my comrades, crowned with glory. 
 Bivouac on the Field of Mars, 
 I'll be camping out and distant 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 131 
 
 In the white waste of the stars. 
 
 Take my drum and hang it, Sovereign, 
 
 Hang it in my country's halls — - 
 
 Hang it close beside some standard. 
 
 Where the light of glory falls. 
 
 Seek and find my sweet- faced mother 
 
 In her cot beside the Seine, 
 
 Tell her that her boy — her drummer — 
 
 Is not coming home again! 
 
 Tell her Sovereign — is it sunset? 
 
 Things so mist-wrapped seem, and gray. 
 
 And the shouting of the legions 
 
 Flutters dim and far away — 
 
 Sire, embrace me! — tell her Sovereign, 
 
 That I sounded the advance 
 
 And then died, as she would have me. 
 
 Died for her, and home, and France! 
 
 Sentiment 
 
 Just today I read a heresy; surely by the devil sent; 
 "That the glory of this present is the lack of sentiment." 
 And my spirit rose within me, like the tide's resistless 
 
 sw^ell. 
 And I cried: "Back, back, foul falsehood, back unto your 
 
 home in hell!" 
 
 Hitherto, from the beginning, when with life the world 
 
 was jeweled. 
 Sentiment has fashioned manhood; sentiment has reigned 
 
 and ruled. 
 It was sentiment drew Abraham from out the land of Ur, 
 To build a shrine in Bethel and to form his character. 
 
132 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 It was sentiment caused Moses to into the desert go; 
 
 It was sentiment that broke the iron yoke of Pharaoh; 
 
 It was sentiment that led the Hebrew people through the 
 
 sea; 
 Sentiment enabled Daniel to defy the kings decree. 
 
 It was sentiment that hung the glory over Marathon; 
 Sentiment has been the vanguard, down each way the 
 
 race has gone; 
 It was sentiment that bore the golden eagles of old Rome, 
 From the cloudy springs of Egypt to the old Earth's ice 
 
 crowned dome. 
 
 Sentiment walled ancient Sparta, with a pulsing, living 
 
 wall. 
 And stood beside the Nazarene, in Pilate's judgment hall; 
 Sentiment caused every martyr to count death as gain, 
 
 not loss; 
 It lead Paul before the headsman; it led Peter to the cross. 
 
 Sentiment has ever bared its breast unto oppression's 
 
 storms; 
 It was sentiment that drew intrepid Luthur down to 
 
 Worms. 
 It was sentiment that fought the Duke of Alva, weary years; 
 It was sentiment that w^idened all humanity's frontiers. 
 
 It was sentiment that strengthened hearts in every holy 
 
 war; 
 It was sentiment that perched upon the white crest of 
 
 Navarre. 
 It was sentiment drew Wickliffe to the death he nobly 
 
 died; 
 It was strong men, moved by sentiment, who stemmed the 
 
 pagan tide. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 133 
 
 It was sentiment that triumphed every time that right has 
 
 won; 
 Sentiment that led the farmers up the hill at Lexington; 
 It was sentiment that led men, smiling, to a patriot's grave; 
 Sntiment that struck the fetters from the galled limbs of 
 
 slave. 
 
 It is sentiment that keeps mankind from groveling in the 
 
 mire; 
 It is sentiment that in their hearts lights every sacred fire. 
 Sans sentiment all things we know were bitter, dead sea 
 
 fruit; 
 Only sentiment divides the child of reason from the brute. 
 
 Sympathy 
 
 The lot or the caged canary 
 
 Has never appealed to me; 
 
 He comes by the way of a purchased nest. 
 
 From a prisoned ancestry. 
 
 He knows no sun-kissed meadows; 
 
 No swaying twig of tree; 
 
 It were death to open his gilded cage 
 
 And cast him out as free. 
 
 But O, to the prisoned eagle; 
 That once in his life has know^n 
 The trackless sky above the clouds 
 And the highest jut of stone; 
 My heart goes out in pity, 
 Like a river to the sea. 
 And I feel the heart oppression 
 Of his staring tragedy. 
 
134 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 The Old Virginia Spirit 
 
 The Old Virginia Spirit! the clods have cursed it oft, 
 And sneered at and derided him who bore its flag aloft; 
 But there be tall, broad-shouldered souls where'er its 
 
 banner flies; 
 Than whom no grander ever stood beneath the arched 
 
 skies. 
 
 The Old Virginia Spirit hath power of its own; 
 
 It makes a veteran of the boy before his beard be grown; 
 
 Through it the basic knowledge to the budding wromen 
 
 come. 
 That they build nearest heaven when they rear a man 
 
 child's home. 
 
 The Old Virginia spirit! go dovyrn the far frontier 
 Of that which makes for character, and of each pioneer 
 Inquire: "What lured you hitherto?" and then return to me 
 And bring me word of what they say— what each one 
 answ^ers thee. 
 
 The Old Virginia spirit; go back the Nation's ways. 
 
 And count you each memorial that stands for glorious 
 
 days! 
 Inquire; "who raised this monument?" and when reply is 
 
 made. 
 Sneer you at Old Virginia — if you be unafraid! 
 
 The Old Virginia spirit! God keep it in the land! 
 
 And teach us how to wait until the world shall under- 
 stand! 
 
 O, give us patience, for w^e know somewhere this side the 
 gates 
 
 Of thine Eternity, our God, mankind's awakening waits! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 135 
 
 Other Days 
 
 Down in front the crowd is cheering, 
 
 They are calling for me now; 
 1 must go and stand before them, 
 
 I must smile on them and bow; 
 I must take the flowers they throw me. 
 
 As a token of their praise, 
 But I'll see beyond, beyond them, 
 
 Flowers and fields of other days. 
 
 Let them shout; the fickle fever 
 
 Of my fame is in the air; 
 But their praise to me is empty 
 
 As the ring I dare not wear. 
 Empty as the golden circlet 
 
 Which came to my willing hand. 
 That which brought me Dead Sea appl< 
 
 For he could not understand. 
 
 I shall smile, for it is easy. 
 
 Disenchanted, to be brave. 
 And a smile was given woman 
 
 Wherewith she might hide a grave. 
 They will never guess my heartache. 
 
 For I'll boldly meet their gaze, 
 But I'm lonesome, lonesome, lonesome, 
 
 For the love of other days. 
 
 Let them think my hour of triumph 
 Is this present and that they 
 
 Are the ones who share it with me; 
 This will please them, they will say 
 
136 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 Pleasant things of me tomorrow; 
 
 But my hour — my hour supreme. 
 Was back in life's sun kissed gardens 
 
 Ere this present was a dream. 
 
 It is over; take these flowers! 
 
 GodI I would that I could say 
 This were Ufe — but life? I've known it; 
 
 Known it in another day; 
 When it was the chiefest treasure; 
 
 When the world and stars were mine! 
 Known it w^hen it shook my pulses 
 
 With the vigor of new wine. 
 
 And this? though days be extended 
 
 Into years, and score by score, 
 Years should pass, if love be absent, 
 
 'Tis existence — nothing more! 
 This, therefore, is but existence — 
 
 Just a seeming — like a play — 
 And love will not brook the footlights — 
 
 Leave me! let me kneel and pray! 
 
 The West Where the Sun Goes Down 
 
 We have grow^n to love the glorious west, 
 
 O, heart of mine, and know 
 That into its stillness and its rest. 
 
 Not to our dole we go. 
 The dreams we dreamed w^hen the blood was warm; 
 
 Our beauteous mirage town. 
 Shall one take substance; the other form. 
 
 In the west, where the sun goes down. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 137 
 
 'Twas not always thus; there were times, my dear. 
 
 When the way w^e w^ould lengthen on; 
 Times when the sunset seemed too near 
 
 To the red glow of the dawn. 
 But now we know the islands, blest; 
 
 The isles of the crossless crown, 
 Are hidden deep in the golden w^est; 
 
 The west, where the sun goes down. 
 
 We have passed the rebel gates of youth; 
 
 The gates with the battered post. 
 And dined this side, in solemn sooth. 
 
 With Ambition for our host, 
 But the lights must fade behind each feast — 
 
 To fickle is all renown; 
 But there is no serpent's trail, nor beast. 
 
 In the west, where the sun goes down. 
 
 Three T^ra^ers 
 
 One prayed for knowledge and the world 
 Came to him, kneeling at his feet 
 A little space, and yet, his face 
 Lacked that repose w^hich men call sw^eet. 
 His name they bleizoned on unfurled. 
 Breeze kissing banners; he was king; 
 Crowned in their eye and presence by 
 The ink horn's crown of w^ondering. 
 
 One prayed for wisdom and all doubt 
 Fled from him, and an angel came 
 And took all dole from out his soul, 
 Then whispered to him a new name. 
 
ns CHILD SLAVES 
 
 And yet, with all fear barred from out 
 Life's citadel, he knew the stress 
 Which struggles on, from dawn to daw^n. 
 With sorrow's sister, emptiness. 
 
 But one passed by all crumbling shrines 
 And lifting eyes to heaven above, 
 Cried: "Father, just give to my trust 
 The priceless jew^el of thy love." 
 And lo! from w^here God's glory shines, 
 A troop of power clad angels came 
 His words to garb and point and barb 
 And wing them with compelling flame. 
 
 Give Me to Understand 
 
 There may be lands beyond my sight 
 
 And sounds beyond my ears; 
 There may be day beyond this night 
 
 And life beyond my years. 
 Perhaps, somewhere, is heard to heed. 
 
 The voice of those w^ho pray, 
 But faith is weak and frail indeed. 
 
 Since baby went away. 
 
 When down the mystic ways of dream 
 
 The young go, one by one, 
 While time and age scarred halt, 'twould seem 
 
 Some despite has been done. 
 I know why I must wave my hand — 
 
 Why I must quit the play. 
 But I can never understand 
 
 Why baby went away. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 139 
 
 Perhaps when first the morning mists 
 
 Were mustered in the sky; 
 His dead, some father stooped and kissed 
 
 And wondered, as do I; 
 And in that far, dim, morning land. 
 
 Just as I do today, 
 Cried: "Give me, now, to understand. 
 
 Why baby went away." 
 
 They tell me supplicate, but then, 
 
 Before mere words had birth. 
 The minds and throbbing hearts of men 
 
 Were ageing with the earth — 
 I have no w^ords at my command 
 
 Wherewith to kneel and pray. 
 Save these: "Give me to understand. 
 
 Why baby went away." 
 
 Be Nice to Me, / m Tired 
 
 "Be nice to me, I'm tired," said a weary little boy. 
 
 As he climbed upon a loving mother's knee; 
 
 And as he laid his head upon her breast and closed his 
 
 eyes, 
 He whispered: "-1 am tired, be nice to me." — Chorus: 
 
 Be nice to me, I'm tired; come kiss my eyelids down; 
 Bright angels, waft to heaven this my plea; 
 I'm weary of the countryside and weary of the town; 
 I'm tired angels, O, be nice to me. 
 
140 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 "Be nice to me, I'm tired," said a lover, as he scanned 
 
 His sweetheart's face, for signs which lovers see; 
 
 She knew the past but thrust it behind her when he 
 
 said; 
 I'm tired, sweetheart. O, be nice to me." — Chorus: 
 
 "Be nice to me, I'm tired," a strong man said to Fate, 
 
 For he had battled long and manfully, 
 
 Against strong tides and headwinds, now he could only 
 
 say; 
 "I'm tired, while I rest be nice to me." — Chorus: 
 
 "Be nice to me, I'm tired," said an old man as he peered 
 Into the shadows of eternity; 
 
 "I have not run the race, perhaps, as nobly as I should; 
 But, Father, I am tired, be nice to me." — Chorus: 
 
 Goodh^ 
 
 Goodby; the w^ord is as sweetly sad, 
 
 As when, in Eden, long years ago, 
 
 'Twas uttered; for hearts are still the same 
 
 And the self-same passions surge to and fro. 
 
 We meet and pass on a shoreless sea. 
 
 With currents running here and there; 
 
 We see strange sights in its troubled depths 
 
 And hear strange sounds in the circling air. 
 
 Goodby; a clasp of the hand and then 
 A longing for rest for weary feet — 
 Goodby; the marah I shall forget, 
 And retain no memories, save the sweet. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 141 
 
 I have no place in my heart of hearts, 
 
 For the poisoned arrow, nor scorpion sting; 
 
 I guard my treasure chamber close. 
 
 Lest these should jostle some worthy thing. 
 
 Goodby; there are many of you I love. 
 
 For you are spirit-born kin of mine. 
 
 And around the moments when soul met soul. 
 
 Will memories tendrils ever twine. 
 
 I've no regrets that I spoke your barks — 
 
 Regrets are vapid things at best — 
 
 Goodby — Goodby— we meet again 
 
 Beyond the stillness of the west. 
 
 Wanderlust 
 
 Who will may wait a sire's entail; 
 
 For the peace of the roof tree pray; 
 But I thank my God for the lust of the trail. 
 
 That calls me away, away. 
 
 I have no heart for the conquered land. 
 
 Chained fast to the chariot wheel 
 Of forces no man may understand — 
 
 He may only dimly feel. 
 The camp-fire brightening the sodden lea. 
 
 Where a former fire has glowed. 
 Holds none of the welcome warmth for me. 
 
 That I find on the fireless road. 
 
 Let those who will walk a hedged way, 
 
 1 yearn to the wider range; 
 Let me follow the trail, to the end of my day. 
 
 And heaven will not seem strange. 
 
142 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 The Yul^on 
 
 In the frost shot core of the frozen north; 
 The north where the floes are fed; 
 The north where wild blasts are wed; 
 
 It has its rise 
 
 Neath the cold, gray eyes 
 
 Of the Artie skies 
 
 And its lullabies 
 Are the groans of the glacier's bed — 
 The glacier that grinds the north. 
 
 It still laps barren shores, although 
 
 Since time from Eternity 
 
 Was carved, it has sought the sea — 
 
 What might it have done 
 
 Had the w^ealth of sun 
 
 Of the Amazon 
 
 O'er the wild Yukon 
 Been showered, from infancy; 
 Instead of ice and snow. 
 
 ^ Fragment 
 
 O the bleak and bitter years. 
 
 With their cares, and fears, and tears; 
 
 O the dour and dusty highways, leading down. 
 
 From the far; world-roofing hills. 
 
 Where the soul lifts, fills and thrills. 
 
 To the mart infested pavement of the town. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 143 
 
 O the maddened rush to gain 
 
 Idle things, entrain with pain; 
 
 O the greed which grovels ever near the clod; 
 
 For the pride of the stick and stone 
 
 Of its own; for which alone 
 
 It has bartered the eternal things of God. 
 
 O the ineffectual days, 
 
 Witless ways and venal praise; 
 
 Hoarded in the tangy treasury of the earth; 
 
 For the brother of the mole. 
 
 Lacking soul, and in his dole. 
 
 Dying in the circle of a single birth. 
 
 Trinity 
 
 There is calm, deep calm, some place on earth. 
 
 Like that which brooded o'er 
 The voiceless void, ere the stars had birth. 
 
 In the unmarked stretch, before 
 The World touched luminous mist and hurled 
 
 In fore-appointed ways, 
 Within unbounded space, a world 
 
 To measures nights and days. 
 
 There is rest someplace, like the ancient rest; 
 
 There is somewhere quietude; 
 Between the lines of the East and West, 
 
 In the Hall of Solitude; 
 Sweet rest, like he who bore the light 
 
 Knew, ere ambition's lure 
 Drew him from off his dazzling height 
 
 To suffer and endure. 
 
144 CHILD SLAVES 
 
 There is peace on the restless earth somewhere, 
 
 With heahng in its train, 
 That waits on the tired heart's wordless prayer 
 
 And follows after pain; 
 Sweet peace, that lifts the heart and thrills. 
 
 With mildness girt around. 
 Like that which was before the hills 
 
 Flung back the valleys sound. 
 
 Feudists 
 
 There is war — there will never be aught else. 
 
 Between the mammon sneer 
 Of the cold, snow nurtured, Puritan 
 
 And the thought of the Cavalier. 
 
 "Fill thou my purse, lest I curse thee, Lordl" 
 
 Is the cry of the Puritan; 
 But the Cavalier only asks his God 
 
 To give him the soul of a man. 
 
 Let them sneer at the stain the shackles left; 
 
 We would not trade that which 
 We would were not, for the bigot's cowl 
 And the gallows of the witch. 
 
 They cannot forget the money they spent; 
 
 Nor we the ones they killed — 
 They could not forget the one, if they would; 
 
 Nor the other we, if we willed. 
 
 The days of chivalry are not dead; 
 
 In the hearts of chivalrous men 
 They still live on the Lord will find 
 
 Them here, when he comes again.