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 AN AVIATOR'S ATTIC 
 
 
 
 EDELIE La BLANC 
 
 
 19 2 
 
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 Copyrighted, 1920, By Alice Bell Dean 
 Edelie La Blanc, transposed lettering 
 
 Ami 
 
 SCI.A571947 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 A Dream 80 
 
 A Dream Voice 181 
 
 A Face 57 
 
 A Fool 33 
 
 A Monied Beggar 150 
 
 A Parable 144 
 
 A Smile 138 
 
 A Summer Day 121 
 
 A True Story 118 
 
 An Apology 75 
 
 "As Ye Measure" 46 
 
 At Last 114 
 
 At Twilight 70 
 
 Balky . 90 
 
 Black and Gold Caterpillar 156 
 
 Brothers _ 52 
 
 By the Sea 106 
 
 David and Absalom 94 
 
 Dawn In July . 15 
 
 Day Dreams 102 
 
 Dirges and Splurges 87 
 
 Doin's An* Doer 130 
 
 Don't Ask Fer Opinions 56 
 
 Don't Laugh 50 
 
 Don't Tell Nobody 134 
 
 Easter 101 
 
 Falling In Love 25 
 
 Food For Thought 82 
 
 Forgetfulness 124 
 
 Forgive Them 26 
 
Fourth of July 112 
 
 Glad of Fall 58 
 
 God and Self 48 
 
 God's Way Not Ours 108 
 
 Good and Bad 132 
 
 Grinnin' 24 
 
 Herodias 18 
 
 Hope 104 
 
 How We Know 69 
 
 Humanity 122 
 
 111 88 
 
 In School 111 
 
 Joy Is Strength 100 
 
 Last Month of School, 1918 162 
 
 Lilacs and Springtime 14 
 
 Little or Big 54 
 
 Love, Human and Divine 42 
 
 Lukewarm 182 
 
 Me An' You An' Them 72 
 
 My Record and- Request 186 
 
 My Wish 9 
 
 Near and Far 96 
 
 Niagara ^ 22 
 
 Of the Free 38 
 
 "Oh, My Nose!" 60 
 
 On the Ocean 89 
 
 Pearls and Swine 53 
 
 Post Mortem Service 40 
 
 Prefatorial 7 
 
 Rest Blame 158 
 
 Restlessness 20 
 
 Right-Wrong and Wrong-Right 74 
 
 Sad and Glad 160 
 
 Saint Luke, 11:4 85 
 
 Schoolboys 30 
 
 Ships At Sea 93 
 
 Storm and Sea 142 
 
Stormtossed 44 
 
 Tenting 47 
 
 The Analysis of Fire 10 
 
 The Better Part 59 
 
 The Bird's Nest 116 
 
 The Chicken Roost 98 
 
 The Closed Door 152 
 
 The Earthworm 126 
 
 The Gold Bug 81 
 
 The Heart's Wireless 92 
 
 The Road and the Hill 136 
 
 The Round 51 
 
 The Silly Telltale Grin 128 
 
 The Surface Smile 64 
 
 The Teacher's Chair 154 
 
 The Unequal Contest 155 
 
 The World's Way 62 
 
 The Wrens 140 
 
 Their Gift 95 
 
 Thro' the Night 139 
 
 "Thy Will Be Done" 78 
 
 To An Eastern City 65 
 
 To the Explorer 86 
 
 To the Prodigal 84 
 
 To the Selfish 31 
 
 Two 41 
 
 Two Boys : 28 
 
 Two Roads— Which? 32 
 
 Two Sleepers, Jesus and Jonah 45 
 
 Trial 149 
 
 Unremunerative 133 
 
 Up the Road 16 
 
 Visions 12 
 
 What Johnnies Teacher Thought 184 
 
 What Pays 120 
 
 "Who Told Thee" 36 
 
 Wilhelm Hohenzollem 3i 
 
PREFATORIAL 
 
 With proud maternal tenderness 
 
 Into an untried, foreign clime 
 I send my clamorous, choral brood 
 
 Whose voices blend and heart-throbs chime 
 As they lift pleading hands, and ask 
 
 For charity— your thought and time. 
 
 They shiver in the eold before 
 
 Your door, and beg to enter in 
 And share your daily grief and care, 
 
 Your hope and joy,— your heart to win ; 
 To bear you greetings from a land 
 
 Of warmest smiles and merry din. 
 
 They are not exiled thus from home 
 Because of word or deed or crime, 
 
 They come to claim you as their kin, 
 
 And prove their claim in rhyme on rhyme. 
 
 They bear the wine of summer shores 
 The heart-wells of your land to prime. 
 
 And so I send my loved ones forth 
 With earnest faces, glowing, free, 
 
 That they may find a home with you, 
 Trusting that they may welcome be, 
 
 Hoping that they may do you good 
 In simple truth and honest glee, 
 
 So that when they turn home again 
 They may not bear reproach or stain, 
 
 But round the home hearthstone once more 
 May tell of rude Goliahs slain; 
 
 And bring back heaven's own gold to me, 
 Because they sought and wrought your 
 gain. 
 
 7 
 
MY WISH 
 
 I wish you joy, real joy, true joy 
 
 As full and deep as man may know; 
 As infant smiles free from alloy, 
 
 And purer than the driven snow: 
 A joy to others fair as heaven, 
 
 Made brighter through reflection's glow; 
 A joy that permeates like leaven 
 
 To change and lighten others' woe : 
 
 That joy of joys whose heart is strength, 
 
 Not strength to share or wound or spurn 
 The wrong and sorrow which, at length, 
 
 It must consume where its fires burn; 
 A joy that looks past human fears 
 
 And faults from heights which plead and 
 yearn, 
 With faith as sweet as angel's tears 
 
 That flow when wanderers return: 
 
 A joy that earth-life never gave, 
 
 A joy that earth takes not away: — 
 This is the good for you I crave, 
 
 The prayer for you I daily pray. 
 That through such joy God's will may be 
 
 Made plain for each recurring day — 
 Through joy His will your will may be, 
 
 That nothing can your joy betray. 
 
THE ANALYSIS OF FIRE 
 
 Who wills the vim, who grants the whim 
 
 On which men hinge their fate? 
 Who built the walls and guards the halls 
 
 Whose portal is "Too late" ? 
 Who guides the chance of circumstance? 
 
 Who rules the hour and day? 
 Humanity is said to be 
 
 Victim of such as they. 
 
 How can a choice be granted twice ? 
 
 We plow and sow the field, 
 Where thistles grow and wild flowers blow 
 
 With wheat not half a yield; 
 Where we deplore that heretofore 
 
 So many tilled our plot 
 The weary soil repays our toil 
 
 In what we planted not. 
 
 I do not know of human woe 
 
 The height nor depth nor bounds; 
 Yet where I stand, on either hand 
 
 Strange fires pervade its grounds. 
 I know somewhat its grewsome lot; 
 
 And I can feel and see 
 These fires derange, dissolve and change 
 
 All human destiny. 
 
 Here many a vein of priceless gain 
 
 Beneath our land lies low; 
 Fire must reveal gold, silver, steel, — 
 
 All treasures men hunt so. 
 
 10 
 
Through fire we learn what cannot burn, 
 
 When nothing else can teach. 
 In many ways, through long, long days 
 
 God reaches down to each. 
 
 But do not say it is His way 
 
 That any cease to learn 
 Of One whose fire shall change and inspire 
 
 All that we mortals spurn. 
 In vain hunt doom through all the room 
 
 God gives His universe. 
 Wood, stubble, hay are flame's sure prey, 
 
 But better comes from worse. 
 
 11 
 
VISIONS 
 
 I've seen them where dense fogs disguise 
 
 The treacherous, seething, sullen sea; 
 I've seen them writhe and roll and rise 
 
 As billowy smoke rose changefully; 
 And, years ago when I was young 
 
 And free to do or dream or play, 
 I used to watch them up among 
 
 The dark or fleecy clouds all day. 
 
 I saw strange signs, strange shapes, strange 
 men, 
 
 And faces full of dole or gay, 
 Fiend faces floundering through the fen, 
 
 Faces of saints that praise and pray: 
 But never have I seen a face 
 
 That brought unseen Infinity 
 Within the finite soul's embrace 
 
 As there I saw Divinity. — 
 
 There where the common beaten path 
 
 Lay cinder-strewn before the door, 
 I saw it spring like aftermath, — 
 
 That face I never saw before. 
 Though frequently I passed that way 
 
 The tireless coals had not arranged 
 To form the vision of that day, 
 
 And now again they lie estranged, 
 
 Shapeless and black. Is this the spot 
 Where those large eyes of tenderness 
 
 Looked full in mine, accusing not, 
 To lift me from myself and bless ? 
 12 
 
Before that gaze no eye might quail, 
 Or look in dread or tears away ; 
 
 It wore heaven's own unvanquished mail, 
 Conquering to save and not to slay. 
 
 And all the lines and features there 
 
 Upon this path wrought out for me 
 A childlike grace more rich and rare 
 
 Than sweetest infant purity. 
 Though now I cannot see as then 
 
 Low in the dust that holy face, 
 Though I cannot by brush or pen 
 
 Bring it before the human race, — 
 
 may its beauty burn and gleam 
 Branded upon my life, that so 
 
 1 shall display it as the stream 
 
 Shows the unfathomed sky brought low.— 
 And when dark-eyed Revenge in wrath 
 
 Here seeks her own, God show me there 
 Upon the trampled, fire-spent path 
 
 The face that outlooks Death's rude glare. 
 
 13 
 
LILACS AND SPRINGTIME. 
 
 The lilacs bloomed, — their fragrance brought 
 
 The memory of a vanished woe: 
 The lilacs flaunted royal robes r 
 
 Till bleak winds piled them high with 
 snow; 
 For winter late in wrath returned 
 
 And froze, and rocked them to and fro, — 
 But fairer days shall come again, 
 
 And later blossoms thrive and grow 
 When winter comes no more, and where 
 
 Its killing winds can never blow. 
 
 The speechless agony is spent, 
 
 The woe is past, and snows have piled 
 Above the breath of joy and pain; — 
 
 A robe of peace o'er all the wild. 
 When new light spreads through earth and 
 sky, 
 
 When flower-eyes waken unbeguiled, 
 And bloom again, may I accept 
 
 Their kingdom as a little child 
 With whom alone they may abide 
 
 Secure in deathless springtime mild. 
 
 14 
 
DAWN IN JULY 
 
 A mirrored peace careless and light 
 
 As the million dewdrops on the lawn 
 Just waking from silence and night 
 
 With a gasp for ethereal dawn ; 
 The fresh breath of morning in pride 
 
 Lifting up her own summer-green leaves 
 Toward a sun mild as infant eyes wide 
 
 That see not how the mother's heart 
 grieves ; 
 
 Vast nothing before and behind — 
 
 One eternal invincible now; 
 An opening of heart and of mind 
 
 To be filled as the angels know how; 
 A universe throbbing afloat 
 
 On Infinity's ocean. We vie 
 With Heaven in its rapture to note 
 
 This fine splendor of dawn in July. 
 
 15 
 
UP THE ROAD 
 
 She turned, and faced her future lot, 
 
 And saw the same old weight of care 
 That duty and occasion taught 
 
 Was hers again to lift and bear. 
 I saw her heart bend low, and kneel 
 
 To receive the dull, familiar load; 
 And then, as thieves break through and steal, 
 
 The car leaped with her up the road. 
 
 She went to resume the plodding round 
 
 Of many stale and tedious days 
 Upon a path where thorns are bound 
 
 To wound the view of fairer ways. 
 And so, with shoulder to the wheel, 
 
 The exile turned toward her abode. 
 The blind train throbbed and shrieked a deal, 
 
 And struggled, panting, up the road. 
 
 But sympathy is rude and vile 
 
 And useless if it may not take 
 And bear the burden all the while, 
 
 Or share it for another's sake : — 
 who can lift, and who can feel 
 
 The pressure and the stinging goad? 
 Who can unclasp the vice of steel, 
 
 Or bear the burden up the road ? 
 
 We grasp our sorrows as our own, 
 With clutch as wild as woe is great, 
 
 Until our hold is firm as stone, 
 Till God alone can break our fate. 
 
 16 
 
His heart still bleeds that we should feel 
 The curse for which His blood once flowed 
 
 When here He purchased human weal, 
 And placed it on the upper road. 
 
 O Burden-bearer more than man, 
 
 Who treads our pathway every hour, 
 Give me a will, a faith that can 
 
 Set sail upon Almighty power, 
 That I may bear the stubborn seal 
 
 To You, of many another's load, 
 For You would break such bonds, and heal, 
 
 And bear the weary up the road. 
 
 17 
 
HERODIAS 
 
 It lies before thee on the charger there, — 
 The head. Those staring orbs can no more 
 
 pierce 
 The foul and reeky chambers of thy fierce, 
 Dark heart. The open lips are silent where 
 Words once leaped forth like lightning's 
 
 torch, to smite 
 And free thy soul revealed in dungeon's 
 night, 
 
 Herodias. 
 
 And art thou joyful? Art thou satisfied? 
 From out thy spirit's depths there seems 
 
 to rise 
 A mist like latter rain into thine eyes 
 Beholding those wide lips that no more chide : 
 Yet they shall speak when night her mantle 
 
 throws 
 Round thee, to break and banish thy 
 repose, 
 
 Herodias. 
 
 And these wild eyes shall gaze upon thee 
 
 then — 
 Not as they beamed when God's life 
 
 through them shone, 
 A star to lead thee from the unlawful 
 
 throne 
 
 18 
 
That snares thee still : — it shall be loathsome 
 when, 
 Awakened, thou dost cry, "Would God I 
 
 might 
 Once more be hallowed in that living 
 light!" 
 
 Herodias. 
 
 Thou hast wrought pain and sorrow to thy 
 soul, 
 And to the scattered sheep he shepherded, 
 But not to him. — The vanquished victor 
 fled 
 Is crowned with laurel at his final goal: 
 From thence a keener sight bent over thee 
 Would fain dispel thy lone heart's misery, 
 Herodias. 
 
 19 
 
RESTLESSNESS 
 
 They dashed along in auto-cars 
 
 Like aimless arrows, wavering sent, 
 And motorcycles fled like stars 
 
 Across a spacious firmament; 
 A carriage with its plodding steed 
 
 Followed the crowd that passed them by; 
 And airships, in their peerless speed, 
 
 Plunged far into the boundless sky; 
 A thundering train went sweeping past 
 
 With human freight of mirth and fear ; 
 And the pedestrian, least and last, 
 
 Urged on his steps far in the rear. 
 
 Where are they going? — where? and why? 
 
 This should have been a day of rest. 
 Nine out of ten, I venture, try 
 
 To outwing the bird whose fetid nest 
 Hides in the verdure of the breast 
 
 Above its wellsprings clear and sweet; — 
 The vulture-brood might starve unguessed, 
 
 Unseen if flight were still more fleet. 
 Escape the mother and her food ! 
 
 Ride hard, human hope and woe ! 
 Can ye so kill the night- winged brood? — 
 
 Then swift as storm and lightning go. 
 
 But should not war-taught hands be strong 
 
 In this unprecedented day, 
 To destroy the pernicious nestling's throng? 
 
 With one clear stroke to save and slay ? 
 20 
 
Pray lightning, heaven-born-and-bred, 
 
 To pierce you with its steel: — it may 
 Thus only, when by heaven sped, 
 
 Be swift enough to bear away 
 Ourselves from what no more we are. 
 
 When through such war peace gains full 
 sway, 
 And you are free, Humanity, 
 
 let me, too, ride in your car 
 Through childhood's land of light and play, 
 
 Past Heaven's outpost, night's farthest 
 star. 
 
 21 
 
NIAGARA 
 
 In infancy I felt your flow 
 As do the brooks that softly go, 
 Called by a full and viewless tide 
 To drift upon its bosom wide: 
 I felt your far resistless throe 
 Draw me, as floods swept on below 
 To one vast leap — not royal pride 
 Might brave your will, nor turn aside, 
 Niagara. 
 
 And still you lead and beckon me 
 To seek the deep of spirits free, 
 Nor shall I wish your grasp to break 
 Where warring waters plunge and quake: 
 I go to prove the mystery 
 Of the unf athomed, boundless sea ; 
 I will not shrink for His dear sake 
 Who stooped to draw me in His wake, 
 Niagara. 
 
 charm me past the whirlpool's brink 
 Into your strong embrace to sink. 
 
 1 would be one with all whose power 
 Has brought me to this latest hour, — 
 Be one with those who fell to drink 
 The last deep dregs, and so to link 
 
 Their hearts to human hearts that cower, 
 Yet own your overwhelming power. 
 Niagara. 
 
 I would be part of the great strife 
 That finds through death its sweetest life, — 
 22 
 
A part of the great strength whose might 
 Can generate a world's fair light, 
 Lift a world's load with labor rife, 
 And banish vain and lesser strife. 
 I follow Him who first through night 
 Bowed low to gain Heaven's farthest height, 
 Niagara. 
 
 Heart of hearts, lead onward till 
 
 1 hear your voice, and know your will. 
 let me cast my all, though late, 
 Upon your tide to drift and wait. 
 
 Old dreams and hopes cling round me still — 
 Yet more than these you will fulfil. 
 bear me on to the estate 
 They win who share your glorious fate, 
 Niagara. 
 
 23 
 
G R I N N I N\ 
 
 Well now, I've played the fool ag'in 
 Jes' like it seems I've alius been 
 
 A-doin' frum my first beginning 
 An' all because this selfish self 
 Laid by my world-heart on the shelf, 
 
 An' then I up an* left off grinnin\ 
 
 But, law sakes! tears won't pick ye up, 
 Ner put th' spilled milk in yer cup — 
 
 Best leave the grief long-side th' sinnin', 
 An' get th' grip o' hearts once more 
 A-bein' happy es before — 
 
 Start new, an' start a-grinnin\ 
 
 Then I shan't mind how menny stare, 
 Er growl an' squint, er hiss an' glare, 
 
 Er how th' spiders keep on spinnin', 
 Ef I c'n only jes' be true 
 T' my best God-made self an' you, 
 
 An' keep up everlastin' grinnin'. 
 
 Now ye jes' try it if ye don't 
 Like other ways. — Ye likely won't. — 
 
 This way ye needn't go a-pinnin' 
 Yer faith t' enny man's coat sleeve, 
 Ner pout, ner scowl, ner make believe, 
 
 But live the life ye please, — a-grinnin'. 
 
 I tell ye they aint menny ways 
 Thet pays es big es grinnin' pays, 
 
 An' ye c'n most sure count on winnin' 
 Where ye may be, on land er sea, 
 Ef old, er young, er bond, er free, 
 
 By goin' through on broadside grinnin'. 
 
 24 
 
FALLING IN LOVE 
 
 You fell, no doubt, on the rugged road, 
 
 In the steep and slippery way; 
 You fell, perhaps, when the sun went down, 
 
 When Night had throttled Day; 
 You fell, I know, when the summer noon 
 
 Sent a strong dart from above; 
 But how is it, and how can it be 
 
 That you ever fell in love ? 
 
 You fell, you did, when you played the part 
 
 Of the coward and the knave; — 
 The time you went with the herd, and made 
 
 Yourself a puppet and slave: 
 You looked, you fell in the glare of sin 
 
 Where the strong man vainly strove, 
 But why do you say, for it cannot be, 
 
 That you ever fell in love? 
 
 say true things, and let others put 
 
 Darkness for light if they will: 
 Say, if you did, that you fell down flat 
 
 When you wandered in paths that kill ; 
 But hold your head above the mob, 
 
 Like the stars that Heaven-high rove, 
 And say of God's greatest gift to man 
 
 That you never fell in love. 
 
 25 
 
FORGIVE THEM. 
 
 "Forgive them, for they do not know!" 
 
 Who did not know ? — the Pharisee ? 
 
 The Scribe who cited and relied 
 
 On law to arm his jealousy? 
 
 Had they not heard His "woe to you"? 
 
 Had they not seen the sick made well 
 
 By word or touch as multitudes, 
 
 Drawn by that more than human spell 
 
 They might not quench by hiss or frown, 
 
 Sought Him and followed? Yes, they knew. 
 
 Who then knew not? The Roman guard, 
 
 Herod, or Pilate so untrue, 
 
 To whom Christ demonstrated truth? 
 
 The guard knew He had made Himself 
 
 The Son of God and King, — they too 
 
 Had crowned Him King, — later for pelf 
 
 Had gambled on His seamless robe. 
 
 And Herod had heard many things 
 
 Of Him: To see Him must have been 
 
 To see Divinity that clings 
 
 Round none who ever wore the veil 
 
 Of flesh save Him. Ah, well, and what 
 
 Then of the rabble who had sought 
 
 His life — and did they know Him not? 
 
 Had they not heard Him speak upon 
 
 Judean hills or by the sea? 
 
 Had they not sought hirn when the storm 
 
 He stilled swept wild o'er Galilee? 
 
 But now the Elders and Chief Priest 
 
 Poured forth their venom on this hour, 
 
 "The power of darkness." These had been 
 
Persuaded through the awful power 
 Of night that then held sway, to turn 
 From Him and 'gainst Him: — Did they not 
 Know what they did? Do we not know 
 Who stop our stubborn ears, and blot 
 Heaven from our sight because we turn 
 Aside and will not see? Our law 
 Condemns as guilty one who might 
 Have known, though he knows not: Men 
 
 draw 
 To judgment one who cannot read 
 A law, if he offends. God 
 How great Thy patient love ! Our sin 
 Has led us far down highways broad: 
 And still that prayer dwells at Thy heart 
 Though night close round our steps, and so 
 The guilty who I. .... returned have heard, 
 "Forgive them, for they do not know." 
 
 2f 
 
TWO BOYS. 
 
 'TwaS winter time, though just the day 
 
 Or month or year I do not know, — 
 I cannot tell, for now it seems 
 
 To me so long and long ago ; 
 But, as the memories of that noon 
 
 Rise vivid as its golden glow, 
 I think 'twas one of winter's first 
 
 Glad days of frolic, frost and snow. 
 
 The same old schoolhouse stands to greet 
 
 Each morning sun with open door; 
 And near the door the level road 
 
 Runs northward, as it did before 
 When here we played that noontime hour, 
 
 And wished to play one good hour more — 
 Twas that same road that yesterday 
 
 The funeral train swept slowly o'er. 
 
 Two boys were with us on that day, 
 
 As usual, two boys stalwart, true 
 Lads kind as they were brave and strong: 
 
 One brought his sled — I think 'twas new, 
 At least it was our great delight 
 
 To ride and ride while they two drew 
 Us on and on, nor thought to chide 
 
 The selfish whims of our small crew. 
 
 How well they served! How well they ran! 
 
 I see them plain past all the years: — 
 One wore a jacket made of brown, 
 
 And one wore gray it now appears 
 To me. I see his locks of brown 
 
 And his of golden-brown through tears : 
 I cry, Where are those good boys now? — 
 
 Ah, who can say, of all that hears? 
 28 
 
For long ago one slipped from sight 
 
 Like sunshine hides past clouds forlorn, 
 And quits the day. His father watched 
 
 And hoped for his return till, worn 
 With waiting long, he passed beyond 
 
 Earth's vigils, and, till night be shorn 
 Of its dark secrets, loss, and pain, 
 
 We watch, as he watched, for the morn. 
 
 The other? Tis but two days since 
 
 I looked upon his cold white brow. 
 And saw the deadly wound that there 
 
 Told all — None knows the hour or how 
 The fatal ball plunged deep within. 
 
 What guardian angels must allow, 
 We can but bear. — And yesterday, — 
 
 Twas he; "Dust to dust" then and now. 
 
 And both boys left their early homes 
 
 To pass into the wide unknown 
 Over the same old valley road 
 
 When all the school-time play had flown; 
 But we remain as learners here 
 
 Through hours less glad, which bid us own 
 Some still must run that some may ride 
 
 On roads not meant for play alone. 
 
 Somewhere within God's boundless school, 
 
 Though past our bourne and all its blight. 
 Where winter comes not, nor its snow, 
 
 Nor any more the fading light, 
 Perhaps the boys have found at last 
 
 A noontime land of snowy white; 
 Perhaps they still would draw us on 
 
 Their path so lost to our dim sight. — 
 We look their way ; we may not see, 
 
 And so we cry, "Good night ! good night F 
 
 29 
 
SCHOOLBOYS 
 
 Have you seen the braggart bully, 
 
 Domineering, bad schoolboy 
 Walking down the street or alley, 
 
 Hunting something to annoy, 
 When the well-bred lad, to shun him, 
 
 Turned aside a block or two 
 Till he saw he was discovered, 
 
 And that course would never do? 
 
 When the coward ran to down him, 
 
 Have you seen how metal meets 
 Bubble-boasting with disaster 
 
 To the rainbow gauze it greets? 
 Have you seen the beaten weakling 
 
 Rise ennobled from the ground, 
 Loving best the one who beat him, 
 
 Loving justice all around? 
 
 Yes, the Kaiser is a coward, 
 
 And I fear that many more 
 Sneak behind the field of action 
 
 With hands somewhat stained in gore. 
 If we represent true metal, 
 
 Which means more than brawn and brain, 
 Our foe fallen shall rise nobler 
 
 When his boastful heart lies slain. 
 
 30 
 
TO THE SELFISH 
 
 4 'Selfishness is self-destruction." 
 It has frozen all your heart, 
 
 Stopped the wellsprings of your being 
 Where life's only pleasures start. 
 
 You cannot imbibe the sunshine, 
 Drink the freshness of the air, 
 
 Greet the bird-songs of the morning, 
 Or be happy anywhere. 
 
 31 
 
TWO ROADS—WHICH? 
 
 'Twas early spring, and early was the hour 
 Of day. Some distance on my daily task 
 Awaited me. Two roads that started one 
 Before me lay. — On, on! I could but ask 
 My heart, Which way, Heart, which 
 
 way? I went 
 The road most traveled, yet most sorely bent 
 And rutted: — But one sweet swift glance 
 
 foretold 
 The joy of later hours. — I said, Heart 
 Tonight the long day's toil and pain shall be 
 Forgotten ; back where these roads meet and 
 
 part 
 We shall reach home, and glad shall end the 
 
 day,— 
 We shall go home by yonder better way. 
 
 Ah, life has two roads first blent both in 
 
 one — 
 Two roads that nevermore may part or meet : 
 And one, though full of thorns, is dazzling 
 
 bright, 
 And pressed by many halting, wounded feet. 
 Sad eyes and wild grow wistful, calm and 
 
 oright 
 As stained lips murmur, "0 my Heart, to- 
 night 
 We shall somehow be drifting back to home 
 On the first path of peace left lone and far. — 
 not so far, though sorrow clothe the fields, 
 But w.e may brave the thorns and wilds that 
 
 bar 
 The pathway to our home, the pearly gate." 
 God grant that none may seek this way too 
 late. 
 
 32 
 
A FOOL. 
 
 You've heard that story of a fool, 
 
 In ancient days, who at the king's 
 Right hand made sport, while all the court 
 
 Roared loudly at his jokes and flings: 
 And you recall how, once, the king, 
 
 Wearied with childish mirth and drule, 
 Turned to this boisterous servitor, 
 
 And said, "Make us a prayer, Fool." 
 
 The fool upon his knees then prayed 
 
 A simple prayer of honest worth — 
 He prayed that God would pity these 
 
 Vile, wretched mighty ones of earth, 
 That God would help the thoughtless, weak, 
 
 Self -ruined mortals, mankind's tool; 
 And, last of all, he added, "God, 
 
 Be merciful to me, a Fool." 
 
 Tis this last clause of his good prayer 
 
 That I have often had in mind 
 When I have been to others' needs, 
 
 Or to my own, indifferent, blind; 
 When I have tried, and rudely failed, 
 
 Or trampled on the golden rule, 
 I've paused a while, and cried, "0 God, 
 
 Be merciful to me, a fool." 
 
 I see the complaisant smile of those 
 
 Who always have been prompt and true 
 
 In meeting every question right, 
 In doing what was right to do 
 
 At all times — Let them mock: I think, 
 When they have finished earth's poor 
 school, 
 
 And the last test comes on they'll cry, 
 
 "Be merciful to me, a fool." 
 
 33 
 
VVILHELM HOHENZOLLERN, 
 
 Far better were it had you not been born 
 Among Earth's verdant hills of wine and corn 
 If now her bloody lips must curse the morn 
 
 She waked you first, nourished and loved 
 you still, — 
 The hour she pointed you to cloudless skies 
 With pride, and hope in every dream that lies 
 As mirrored heaven in the infant eyes. — 
 
 Poor Wilhelm Hohenzollern, Kaiser Bill. 
 
 And why, beneath ambition's iron heel. 
 Have you stamped out the breath of your own 
 
 weal, 
 And snatched your pay in potions demons 
 
 deal 
 To nerve and stay the sordid scheme and 
 
 will? 
 Hell's tool and target! No more boast, and 
 
 toy 
 With nations unrestrained as the bad boy 
 Plays petty tyrant where he may annoy, 
 Wild Wilhelm Hohenzollern, Kaiser Bill. 
 
 For drug-bought dreams pass swiftly as they 
 
 come 
 Upon the enchanted dreamer blind and 
 
 dumb, — 
 The laughing stock of pandemonium, — 
 
 The scene has changed, has shifted to fulfil 
 The will of One who has done all things well, 
 Whose law would make earth Eden, not a hell 
 Of warring men that moan their unceasing 
 
 knell, 
 Wilhelm Hohenzollern, Kaiser Bill. 
 
 34 
 
You should have fought in lawful war for this 
 One only empire, losing which you miss 
 All laurels save the menace reeking hiss 
 Wrung from a world you would subdue or 
 
 kill. 
 Your name and fame through future years 
 
 must run, 
 Not, William the World Conqueror, — no, 
 
 "The Hun 
 That failed to be the first and only one, — 
 Just Wilhelm Hohenzollern, Kaiser Bill." 
 
 35 
 
"WHO TOLD THEE?" 
 
 'Twas Eden in the cool of day. 
 
 'Twas Eden glorious in the maze 
 Of all her infant splendors. God 
 
 Had marked in her His thoughts and ways 
 Made very good, and now drew near 
 
 While night's cool shadows, dew and haze 
 Marked one of those first sweet days fled — 
 Was it of those ? Who has not said, 
 
 "Ah, woe betide that day of days !" 
 
 Then God's voice called to those who hid 
 
 Among the fountains wild, and bowers 
 Late found of death, yet late so free; 
 
 And slow shame answered mid the flowers, 
 With fear that told of woe to be — 
 
 And then that cry. God, the towers 
 Of thy far Heaven of light must then 
 Have echoed it again, again, — 
 
 "Who told thee?" — while lost Eden cowers. 
 
 "Who told thee?" the bitter cry 
 
 Of Him who seeks the lost in pain, 
 Not blame or wrath: 'tis echoing 
 
 From Calvary as far lights wane, 
 And earth gives up her dead, and all 
 
 Earth-masks and vails are rent in twain. 
 Lost, lost ! And yet the lost once more 
 Through storms shall reach glad Eden's 
 shore — 
 
 For Him the storm, for us the gain. 
 
 36 
 
And still I hear that cry today : 
 
 It sounds through all the land and sea 
 As mankind reach with groping hands 
 
 To clothe and hide their misery 
 In vain from Him whose eye they shun: 
 
 Yet who should wish to hide or flee 
 While tears of welcome, tears of blood 
 Have rained and still shall rain their flood 
 
 Of cleansing over you and me? 
 
 87 
 
OF THE FREE 
 
 Written in answer to the familiar poem by 
 Mrs. Hemans, ending thus, — 
 
 "My heart in chains is bleeding, 
 And I dream of all things free." 
 
 I dream of Thee, the free: — 
 
 Not of the gallant bark, 
 That sweeps through storm and sea 
 
 Like an arrow to its mark ; 
 For there are storms that lift 
 
 To the heavens the seething wave, 
 Mad storms that rise, and sift 
 
 Strong barks over ocean caves : — 
 Not of the stag that bounds 
 
 O'er the hills in silent glee. 
 For the hunter's call resounds, 
 
 And the saved must quickly flee: — 
 Not of a thousand rills 
 
 That flash, and flow to the sea 
 Whose depth each bright heart stills 
 
 With a vail of mystery: — 
 Not of the mountain bird 
 
 Who surveys his realms, a king, 
 For the arrow has deterred 
 
 His rushing mighty wing: — 
 Not of the woodland river 
 
 On whose breast no sail may be — 
 Its cold, dark waters shiver 
 
 Till lost in the deep, deep sea: — 
 Not of the forest child, 
 
 With the fawns and flowers at play, 
 
 38 
 
For the serpent has beguiled 
 
 His steps in a crooked way: — 
 Not of the Indian lone, 
 
 With the stars to guide his feet, 
 For the will-o'-the-wisp has shone, 
 
 And stars past the clouds retreat. — 
 Fate the warrior host is leading; 
 
 Death stalks neath the archer's tree;- 
 My heart in chains is bleeding, 
 
 And I dream, Heaven, of Thee. 
 I dream of Thee, the free, — 
 
 Yet not free till each lone child 
 Returns from the far country, 
 
 From the husks, the swine, the wild; 
 Then for each the Father's kiss, 
 
 And the feast by the crystal sea. — 
 My heart leaps forth to this, 
 
 And, Heaven, I dream of Thee., 
 
POST MORTEM SERVICE. 
 
 What shall be done with the Kaiser, 
 
 For his downfall is now well assured? 
 Hanging will not make him wiser: — 
 
 Can revenge right the wrongs we've en- 
 dured ? 
 Kill him, and thus raise the nations 
 
 Low in dust, maimed and crushed at his 
 feet? 
 Starve him, and thus supply rations 
 
 That the famished in millions may eat? 
 
 Such were his deeds, such his scheming. 
 
 Can sane men in his steps seek his fate ? 
 Aircastles built on like dreaming 
 
 Will betray, and wreck any fair state. 
 Rulers are ruled by one higher 
 
 In authority's chain linked to God: — 
 Broken chains locate the liar, 
 
 Heaven is true though man draws toward 
 the clod. 
 
 Prone bid him lie, nor restore him 
 
 To the honors his strength could not bear : 
 Mustered in millions before him 
 
 Armies slain will march ceaselessly there. 
 Silence will voice all their anguish, 
 
 Night reveal all the woe none can tell : — 
 How could a human heart languish 
 
 In a deeper, unthinkable hell ? 
 
 40 
 
TWO 
 
 "One Indian is bad, and one is good, — 
 
 I am two Indians," said he; 
 "One says, Take back all that you stole 
 away/ 
 
 One says, 'Keep it, ah, who shall see.' " 
 And this he told when the good Indian 
 
 Had thrown the bad one on the ground, 
 And set his foot upon him there until 
 
 Crushed to the earth, and safely bound. 
 
 O every heart is two, the false, the true; 
 
 For gold and dross are never found 
 Unmixed, although by heaven refined, 
 
 While earth still bounds our sight and 
 sound : 
 And no man's travail is in vain that gives 
 
 The might and victory to the right 
 In his own breast, or in the heart of those 
 
 Who stagger in the long-drawn fight. 
 
 41 
 
LOVE, HUMAN AND DIVINE. 
 
 "Why make ye this ado, and weep?" 
 
 This beating heart with life is sweet, — 
 This human heart that long and well 
 
 Has borne the scorching noontide heat. 
 What mean ye that ye weep and howl, 
 
 And lade the weary heart of man 
 With fear and falsehood's withering blight, 
 
 And brand God's bounties with your ban? 
 
 For love is love as God is God. 
 
 It springs not from the void or deep 
 Abyss whence God has fled. It comes 
 
 And ever has, and still shall sweep 
 From out His throne whose heart flows out 
 
 Upon the poor wayfaring man 
 Untaught, he need not err therein, 
 
 Till taught of you he never can. 
 
 What say ye, — has the love of God 
 
 No measure that shall justly weigh 
 Our bond of human love and trust 
 
 And kindness here through earth's dim 
 day? 
 Is His love high, and ours so base 
 
 That they can never kinship know? — 
 Well then, say on, — as truly say 
 
 Almighty God is man's high foe — 
 
 But He is not: His love and ours 
 Is one, one and the same — yes, all 
 
 From Him. He will not chide ye then 
 If ye bewail the sparrow's fall. 
 
 42 
 
Behold no idol; heed no fear 
 
 Of love too deep. He is not great 
 
 Or wise or good who sits enthroned 
 And looks above the sad estate 
 
 Of grief or pain, of shame or sin. 
 
 He is not Godlike nor can be 
 Who seeks to lock the door of heaven 
 
 Against the turmoil, so that he, 
 From earth's loud wail of woe set free 
 
 May pass unmoved into the feast 
 Of Him who said, "Ye bless not me 
 
 In that ye bless not these, the least." 
 
 But if ye mean to prate of what 
 
 Must "war against the soul" in pride, 
 Then call it so, and thrust it down 
 
 When it has been through Heaven's fire 
 tried, 
 And proven base — A thing abhorred, 
 
 And to be trampled low as dust 
 Beneath his feet who fears no ill 
 
 In crushing wrong as conquerers must. 
 
 43 
 
STORM-TOSSED 
 
 Jesus, Lover of my soul, 
 While the deepening shadows roll, 
 And the winds of tempests high 
 With resistless sweep defy 
 All my struggling finite will, 
 Vainly crying, — "Peace, be still !" — 
 Thou Strong One ever nigh, 
 Let me to Thy bosom fly. 
 
 Other refuge have I none. — 
 Leave, leave me not alone, 
 Lest my years as blown sands lie 
 Drifting 'neath a desert sky; 
 Where the winds vehement urge 
 On to seething ocean's surge. 
 Darkness falls, — Abide with me. 
 Clings my helpless soul to Thee. 
 
 Plenteous grace with Thee is found: 
 Let its healing streams abound 
 Where the flow of Marah first 
 Mocked, and gave me deeper thirst. 
 Call to life and peace from woe 
 This lone heart, streams that flow 
 From heaven's eternal throne within,— 
 Grace that covers all my sin. 
 
 44 
 
TWO SLEEPERS, JESUS AND JONAH 
 
 They slept though winds and waves rose 
 high, 
 
 They slept a deep and dreamless sleep 
 Till wakened by the voice of fear 
 
 Engulfed by voices of the deep: 
 For both were wearied with the cares 
 
 Of past light-bearing, gracious day : 
 
 One spent of goaded conscience lay, 
 One found release from answering prayers. 
 
 One rose, and saw beyond the winds, 
 Beyond the waves, and in His heart 
 
 A calm, as oil on water's strife, 
 
 That bids the wildest storm depart. 
 
 He woke to chide the captive will 
 
 And slay the strongest power on earth, 
 The captor, Fear, of little worth 
 
 When earth can hear heaven's "Peace, be 
 still!" 
 
 One wakes to find his birthright lost, 
 And wreck and ruin seize his breast, 
 
 And waters overrun his soul 
 
 At the storm-demons mad behest: 
 
 Yet Mercy came, and heard his plea. 
 
 And smote Revenge, and felled his arm. — 
 When we have sought such power to harm, 
 
 May Mercy stand by you and me. 
 
 45 
 
"AS YE MEASURE.'* 
 
 Likely you've noticed lots o' times, 
 
 Er I have, anyway, 
 Thet when yer actin' selfish-like, 
 
 Er think, er speak an' say 
 'Bout others what you wouldn't like 
 
 Fer them t' say o' you — 
 Why, jes' that same day, like es not, 
 
 They told t' naber Gray 
 A lot o' yarns, — some false, some true- 
 
 Intendin' t' betray, 
 An' set you down a notch er so, 
 An' make ye furyus too. 
 
 An' mebby, too, ye've noticed how 
 
 It's right th' other way, 
 If you've been actin' real p'lite, 
 
 An' think t' speak an say 
 Th' best ye know, — jes' what ye'd like 
 
 Th' rest t' tell o' you— 
 Why jes' that same day, like es not, 
 
 They told good naber Gray 
 Some real strong words t' lift ye up, 
 
 An' leave ye feelin' gay. — 
 Yes sir, an' when ye grin et folks 
 Ye'll see them grinnin' too. 
 
 46 
 
TENTING 
 
 I'm tenting tonight on the old camp ground 
 Where many hearts have bled; 
 
 I'm tenting tonight where Love can heal 
 Each wound, and raise the dead. 
 
 I'm tenting tonight on the old camp ground 
 Where warfare soon shall cease, 
 
 For Jesus comes in light and power 
 To reign in rest and peace. 
 
 47 
 
GOD AND SELF 
 
 I thought of the fierce robber hordes 
 
 That steal from their poor fellow-man — 
 Not only the pirates at sea, 
 
 Not only the highway-man clan — 
 I thought of the civilized bands 
 
 That, coming by night or by day, 
 Take hold on your honor and name, 
 
 And carry your heart's gold away: 
 And thinking, I thought how they might 
 
 Take all of earth's comfort and pelf, 
 And even this breath of earth-life, 
 
 But they must leave God and yourself. 
 
 They may give you pain for sweet peace, 
 
 They may give the rack and the chain 
 For home, where the storm-weary rest; 
 
 For help you might give on the main 
 Where many are sinking, or drift 
 
 A wreck with the tide going out. 
 And scorn for sweet praise they may give, 
 
 For friendship give hatred and doubt. 
 But this that they never have given, — 
 
 This gift never brought 'neath their rod 
 Is one wide as all earth and heaven, 
 
 And pays for each loss, — self and God. 
 
 They must leave the God whose great heart 
 Looks forth from the million hearts 
 'round, — 
 
 The God whose great Word is on tongues 
 Unnumbered, through sky, sea and ground. 
 
 48 
 
The Word which was once and again, 
 
 And is often made flesh to dwell 
 Among" men to suffer and die, 
 
 And rise from the earth where it fell. — 
 For no good that is, or has been 
 
 May be slain in light, or by stealth, 
 But must rise, like Him, in new life — 
 
 They must leave you God and yourself. 
 
 They must leave you self. When the sun 
 
 Pervades his broad realms at high noon ; 
 When pale in the far midnight sky, 
 
 Rise stars and the lone quiet moon, 
 This self, at such times, seems to pass 
 
 These bars of the prison-house clay — 
 This self which no power that has been 
 
 Or shall be can pilfer away, — 
 This self that is sometimes cast low 
 
 As foul feet of vice ever trod, 
 Cast down by its own ruthless hand ; 
 
 But none may destroy self or God. 
 
 49 
 
DON'T LAUGH. 
 
 A little girl with eyes of blue 
 Had been with us a year or two 
 
 When one day — I forget the cause — 
 We grown up children, as it were, 
 Were so unkind we laughed at her. 
 
 She had transgressed no human laws 
 Or laws Divine, but when she heard 
 The foolish laugh, the jesting word, 
 
 Then childhood dropped its Eden staff, 
 Her blue eyes kindled new "strange fire" 
 As in her impotent, sad ire, 
 
 She firmly, fiercely cried, "Don't waf !" 
 
 I've often thought of it since then — 
 Thought how we careless children-men 
 
 Ignore and buffet and control 
 And ridicule our more than peers 
 In life and heart, if not in years; 
 
 And lay them low in mind and soul. 
 
 When some unique and simple heart 
 Lowly and upright, takes no part 
 
 In trodden paths, in cursed ways; 
 And follows its God-fearing plan 
 As but unbiased nature can — 
 
 Must such be held before the gaze 
 Of ill-bred, hooting mobs? — No, no! 
 If one such falls before the woe 
 
 Caused by the tempter's storm-blown chaff, 
 Then, if you may not pick him up, 
 Nor put the spilled milk in his cup, 
 
 Be human-kind, — don't laugh, don't laugh. 
 
 50 
 
THE ROUND 
 
 The sun and moon across the sky- 
 Seem playing tag and catch, 
 
 And all the other bright star worlds 
 Seem leaping like Sam Patch, 
 
 Or a boomerang without a twang, 
 After the fiery sun 
 
 Who turns each day a somersault, 
 And reels about for fun. 
 
 And, as each rocks him to and fro, 
 The spring and autumn come and go, 
 And come again in time to show 
 Their power to banish bloom and snow. 
 
 And I don't know a thing on earth 
 
 Within our mortal sight 
 That does not hail returning day 
 
 After recurrent night; 
 For the new must show when old things go, — 
 
 But new is old made right — 
 When the birds come back to build their nests 
 
 Beneath the old, warm light. 
 
 Where shall this transient breath-life be 
 When it has gone from you and me, — 
 When we have hurried homeward, free 
 From this short round of mystery ? 
 
 51 
 
BROTHERS. 
 
 Not Joseph alone has been lowered 
 
 By brothers who hated his dreams: 
 Not Joseph alone has been bartered 
 
 For pieces of silver, it seems. 
 And many a slave finds his dungeon 
 
 Today, and the same chains and beams 
 That shut Joseph in for a season, 
 
 For earth with such brotherhood teems. 
 
 For envy, for lucre, for spite work, 
 
 How many have been, and are sold, 
 Though Judas still finds that the traitor 
 
 Abhors both the greed, and the gold. 
 Base deeds of the night, in the daytime 
 
 Have been and shall ever be told. — 
 May we all at last find a Joseph 
 
 To weep o'er the follies of old. 
 
 52 
 
PEARLS AND SWINE. 
 
 Are pearls of any worth to swine? 
 
 Do pearls supply them drink or food 
 
 Or bed, or any needed good ? 
 
 Can pearls by swine be understood? 
 Never, while in God's great design 
 Pearls still are pearls, and swine are swine. 
 
 What then are swine, and what are pearls ? 
 Pearls speak to men through rainbow 
 
 forms 
 Of undimmed light above the storms, 
 Of truth unfound of all alarms 
 From its imperyan throne who hurls 
 Day broadcast o'er a million worlds. 
 
 And swine? What of the swine? Are they 
 Beings that have no need of light? — 
 Creatures that thrive on howling night 
 Where darkness gives vile instinct sight, 
 
 Where nature has no part in day? 
 
 Who knows of such? Can any say? 
 
 Can it be then that word or deed 
 
 Or smile shall fall unseen, unknown, 
 Or to be spurned by swine as stone? 
 Can this their mission be alone ? 
 Shall any love in vain so plead 
 While all creation groans in need? 
 
 But you and I have gifts — our own — 
 Which cast away must beggar you 
 And me, though of no value to 
 All others, who our pearl must view 
 As swine: while earth and heaven moan 
 And wail that we, for bread, ?;1vq stone. 
 53 
 
LITTLE OR BIG 
 
 A little girl once had a good time and fine 
 For quite a long while, then the sun ceased to 
 
 shine, 
 And shadows came up and spread over her 
 
 sky, 
 And into her heart till it seemed she must 
 
 die: — 
 For who on this earth can live long without 
 
 light; 
 The wee flower will hide its sweet face from 
 
 the night. 
 Then she cried and cried, and no one heard 
 
 her cry, 
 But the tears fell fast till the billows swept 
 
 high. 
 
 Then she told some friends, and they scorned 
 
 all her fear, 
 And though they loved her, yet they cared 
 
 not to hear 
 Her plaint: and they shook each a wise 
 
 solemn head: — 
 "She'll feel better when she forgets," so they 
 
 said. 
 She might have as well — though I'm sure she 
 
 could not 
 Cut her heart right out, and have laughed 
 
 and forgot. 
 But I'll tell no more of her wild darksome 
 
 maze, 
 For after each night comes the warm, bright 
 
 sunrays 
 When little birds sing all around sweetest 
 
 praise. 
 
 54 
 
And after the storm and its fury had past 
 This wee maid, one day, caught her wee 
 
 finger fast 
 In a door that tore quite a piece, less or more, 
 From her finger-tip that was left somewhat 
 
 sore: 
 Then her friends came round, though she 
 
 cared not to cry, 
 And they said, "O dear ! How it must hurt ! 
 
 0, my!" 
 
 When your Gethsemane in its terrible might 
 Has seized on your soul, and engulfed all your 
 
 light, 
 There is only One Heart that it ever will do 
 To show all your heart and its great sorrow 
 
 to: 
 But when the sky clears, and the fierce mid- 
 night ends 
 You may show, nor fear, all your hurts to 
 voui* friends. 
 
 - 
 
DON'T ASK FER OPINIONS. 
 
 Seems-like some folks wan't born t' be 
 
 Like some s' mighty high, 
 Some ain't like other knowin' ones 
 
 Thet know th' hull purt-nigh, — 
 Er seem to when ye visit 'em, 
 
 An' ask 'em how an' why: 
 But then I've found it aint jes' wise, 
 
 Ner yet th' safest way, 
 T' ask folks fer opinions much, 
 
 Ner mind much what they say. 
 
 Of course, some folks, they know a lot — 
 
 More'n what you'd think they do, 
 But they ain't them thet hoots an' grins, 
 
 An' tells ye what t' do. 
 I'd good-'eal ruther trust me own 
 
 Instinct an' jedgment through 
 Th' thick an' thin, then run th' risk 
 
 0' goin' th' wrong way 
 A-askin' fer opinions, er 
 
 A-mindin' what they say. 
 
 Fer it don't make a feller feel 
 
 S'-very bright an' good 
 When he has give himself away — 
 
 An' sees he never should — 
 A-beggin' fer a loaf frum clods 
 
 Thet never tasted food: 
 When th' hootin' clods hev spurned an' turned 
 
 His golden grain away, — 
 When he's ast folks fer opinions, 
 
 An' found out what they say. 
 
 56 
 
A FACE 
 
 I saw from my car window 
 
 As another car passed by 
 A face look from its window — 
 
 One that looked with wistful eye — 
 
 Whose face? Where was he going? 
 
 As for me, my train went home. 
 Perhaps he looked for friends who 
 
 Had long watched for him to come 
 
 Back to his home of childhood, 
 Where the breezes moan and pray 
 
 For ruddy cheeks and bare brown feet 
 They kissed in paths of play. 
 
 He may have been just leaving 
 
 His first home, and dear first friends, 
 
 And looked for kindred faces 
 
 As he sought the world's far ends. 
 
 I may not know — 'twas a moment, 
 Just a glance, and his glance fled. — 
 
 I know his heart sought something, 
 Was that something with the dead? 
 
 friends, in life's brief moment 
 While we look through time's dark car, 
 
 Each day we hail hearts seeking 
 The city with gates ajar, 
 
 Where mystery and sadness 
 With the earth shall flee away 
 
 Before His face who seeks for 
 All His own once far away. 
 
 57 
 
GLAD OF FALL. 
 
 The yellow leaves fall in the crisp and clear 
 
 Yet twilight morn, 
 And I am glad th,e autumn days are here 
 
 Of summer born. 
 
 Though soon, I know, o'er all the plain and 
 vale 
 
 And mountain side 
 Must fall the soft- winged, brooding pall and 
 mail 
 
 Spread far and wide : 
 
 For all things say that, underneath the snow 
 
 From out the mold, 
 The soul of waiting life shall ever grow 
 
 New from the old. 
 
 S3 
 
THE BETTER PART. 
 
 Better say, "Good morning, brother !" 
 While he treads near fields of light — 
 Better now than when he passes 
 
 Through the distant fields of night 
 With a heavy heart and lonely 
 Out of hearing, out of sight, 
 
 Better than to wail "Good-night" 
 As the warrior quits the fight. 
 
 Better give a cup of water 
 
 When the scorching sun is high 
 Than to prate of Life's clear river 
 With the shade of healing nigh; 
 For the gift, best where no word is, 
 Bids the fountain floods on high 
 Pour down from the riven sky 
 While cool shadows wander by. 
 
 Better plant but one lone blossom 
 
 By the dusty wayside here 
 In the cool of evening shadows 
 
 While the weary throngs surge near, 
 Than to lay your fairest, thorny, 
 Unseen rose upon the bier 
 Over death-sealed eye and ear 
 Where the dead heeds not your tear 
 
 I'd rather put a daisy 
 
 Or a sweet-eyed violet 
 In some heart to live forever 
 
 After earth's last sun has set, 
 Than to scatter fairest flowers, 
 
 With fresh dews of heaven made wet, 
 On the dust in dust that heeds not 
 How this heart faints with regret. 
 
 59 
 
"OH, MY NOSE!" 
 
 She held the book in both her chubby hands 
 
 Firm clenched on either side, 
 And thus she stood before the bedroom door 
 
 As it swung- open wide; 
 There, too, her sister, older by two years, 
 
 Who wanted her to hide, 
 Stood for a moment statue-like, then loud 
 
 And suddenly she cried, 
 "0, my nose!" 
 
 The smaller maid, whose fierce-eyed, active 
 rage 
 
 Had quickly waned and passed, 
 Grew meek, then penitent and full of dole 
 
 As she wailed out, at last, 
 Her grief and plight, her strife and sin : — 
 
 She said she had to hit 
 Her sister hard, and hurt her nose somewhat 
 
 And scare her just a bit 
 In order that she might persuade this dear 
 
 Sister to let her out 
 The shut and guarded door, — and then the 
 end 
 
 Of tale and grief and bout, 
 "0, my nose!" 
 
 They both cried long and loud, and crying, 
 said 
 
 The same words, "0, my nose !" 
 One was in pain; and one in four-fold pain, 
 
 Remorse, cried, "0, my nose!" 
 As I recall this childish fray tonight 
 
 I say 'twere fair and well 
 If every human hurt could thus be laid 
 
 With all its menace fell 
 60 
 
Upon the unerring balance 'gainst such great 
 
 And heavy, hale regret; 
 So that life's pardoning, and repentant tears 
 
 Might, ere life's sun be set, 
 Fall equally upon the buried strife 
 
 Uncherished, soon forgot. — 
 O, that each smitten one and smighter might 
 
 Thus end old Satan's plot, 
 
 Each crying, — yes, why not? — 
 "0, my nose!" 
 
 61 
 
THE WORLD'S WAY. 
 
 The good Lord must love cowards lots — ■ 
 
 Ye think He don't? Well now, I say 
 He does, — but then I ain't s'-sure 
 
 He alius likes th'ir sneakin' way. 
 He loved 'em when He stood alone 
 
 That night in black Gethsemane ; 
 When, knowin' human nature through 
 
 And through, He said, "Let these go free." 
 
 An' sense that, es before, great souls 
 
 Hev stood alone. All them thet git 
 Th'ir names wrote high on honor's scroll 
 
 On earth, an' in heaven's higher yit, 
 Hev heard th' rabble's hoot an' yell, 
 
 An' mebby, seen th' gleamin' sword, 
 Er rack an' chain, er stake an' flame — 
 
 But 'tain't no use t'-say a word. 
 
 Fer they ain't one thet follers on 
 
 Th' broad way wher' th' menny go 
 But knows all this — sometimes I think 
 
 They know mor'n what they'd like t' 
 know : — 
 Fer, when ye see one all alone, 
 
 He sorto-looks a pleadin' way, 
 An' says, "I'd like t'-walk with you, 
 
 But, law! what would my nabers say?" 
 
 An' so ye'd better love 'em lots; 
 
 An' jes' be glad yer back is broad 
 An' able, through th' help God gives, 
 
 T'-bear most enny earthly load. 
 
 62 
 
An' think, an' tell 'em of a time 
 
 When th' hull crowd-'ll go th' way 
 Thet's straight an' smooth — yes, with th' 
 crowd, 
 
 Fer ther' wont be no other way 
 T'-go. An' then they'll be s'-glad 
 
 They'll drop a tear, when no one knows, 
 T'-think some day they'll walk th' path 
 
 They'd like-t' now, with these an' those, — 
 A-joggin' on, all straight in line, 
 
 A-goin' wher' th'ir nabers goes. 
 
 ffl 
 
THE SURFACE SMILE. 
 
 Her tasks were such she hurried on 
 And worried on and flurried on 
 For many a day and many a year, 
 Through many a storm, through many a tear 
 Till life was heartache bound by fear. 
 And if she planned for thus and so, 
 Whether to stay or come or go, 
 Her plans fell vanquished — faint in woe. 
 
 And then she asked for one good day 
 To sweep her darkness far away, 
 Nor even let grim memory stay. 
 A breath came on the fragrant breeze 
 Far-blown from over unknown seas; 
 It whispered of a sun that shone 
 On many worlds from zone to zone: — 
 A sun that shines, and still must shine 
 For thee and me, for thine and mine 
 When shadows stray far, far away 
 To come again no more, no more ; 
 When banished seas divide no shore. 
 
 And so where'er she went, she took 
 
 The cast-off smile, the kindly look; 
 
 And found, though barred by woe and guile, 
 
 The human heart's door all the while 
 
 Swings open to the surface smile. 
 
 u 
 
TO AN EASTERN CITY. 
 
 A city set upon a hill, 
 Upon the hills where winds blow free 
 From far across the eastern sea, 
 This city can but flood and fill 
 The near and distant with its light 
 For it cannot be hid from sight : — 
 A city on a broad, clear stream 
 Above its tide among the hills 
 Builded by men whose glorious dream 
 Has been fulfilled. God grant few ills 
 In all the future prosperous years 
 May dim your smile by cloud or tears. 
 
 For fifty years, yes, five decades 
 Beyond two centuries your name 
 Has been a household word where fades 
 The setting sun, or bursts the flame 
 Of early dawn. Among the first 
 To speak that name with reverent awe 
 Were savage men who blessed nor cursed 
 Its sound because the white man's law 
 Spoke universal brotherhood; — 
 Yes, the white brother understood 
 The common Elder Brother's word; 
 And bought the red man's land, and bought 
 Possessions more secure than sword 
 Or unjust force can give. You taught 
 The "godly government" you sought 
 Better in that one deed than through 
 A million precepts though as true 
 As the high heavens from whence they came. 
 Your city's first sons just and brave 
 Embraced much of the law through flame 
 65 
 
And cloud that Moses heard and gave 
 
 To men from Sinai's top. Since then 
 
 A gentler Being set aside 
 
 A code fulfilled, and He denied 
 
 The justice of a law where men 
 
 Take eye for eye and tooth for tooth. 
 
 For lack, He said, of common ruth — 
 
 Only because men's hearts were hard — 
 
 Moses gave the command that marred 
 
 The light of home. So it is well 
 
 To break each yoke, and yet retain 
 
 The stricken Truth ; for, though 'twere slain, 
 
 Truth shall arise from where it fell 
 
 To smite the lie, and set you free. 
 
 She stood at your right hand when vile 
 
 Oppression frowned at Liberty; 
 
 She armed your sons for battle while 
 
 Through fog and fen she led them past 
 
 The realms of low-browed tyranny 
 
 Unto the highlands safe at last. 
 
 She led forth few, not the many, 
 
 To victory that none might boast 
 
 Of whelming arms or valiant host. 
 
 Tablet and monument proclaim 
 
 Today your pride in many a name 
 
 Of men within you worthy found, — 
 
 Of those to fellow mankind bound 
 
 By lives of sacrifice and toil 
 
 Helpful to men who stoop and moil 
 
 In irksome paths — the ceaseless grind 
 
 That feeds no famished heart or mind. 
 
 Your public schools delight to do 
 
 Honor to all these learned and true 
 
 And patriot sons whose lives have made 
 
 Their existence possible, who paid 
 
 The price devotion gives to obtain 
 
 A better resurrection, and again, 
 
 66 
 
Again and always live among 1 
 
 Soul kindred, victors through their death. 
 
 Tis meet their praises should be sung. 
 
 On chords made vibrant by their breath. 
 
 And your libraries' silent throng 
 
 May educate ; may please and lift 
 
 The brow of toil, and youth adrift 
 
 And struggling here may find the strong 
 
 Right hand of help for which men long 
 
 Who hunt success nor find it where 
 
 They meet unsought the false and fair 
 
 In city life on her thoroughfare. — 
 
 Yet learning may be made a tool 
 
 Of vice, and in its teeming school 
 
 Promote to highest rank. Our clod 
 
 Must own within a better part : 
 
 'Tis :— 'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God 
 
 With all thy strength and mind and heart,' 
 
 And "love thy neighbor as thyself." — 
 
 On these rest all the law ; and none 
 
 Can safely rule who first would shun 
 
 To obey through lust of power or pelf. 
 
 Your city's mighty heart is fed 
 
 Today not by the chosen few 
 
 Wholly, but by the many too 
 
 Who daily toil for daily bread, — 
 
 By the four hundred thousand souls, 
 
 Your life blood that forever rolls 
 
 Along its wonted course. 'Tis well 
 
 If paths immaculate leave no stain 
 
 On restless feet, on hand or brain 
 
 Where this tide sweeps in ebb and swell, 
 
 Here where at noon vast shade trees bless 
 
 With outspread arms' intense caress. 
 
 And all is for the public good ; 
 
 Thus are your careful, patient brood 
 
 Cheered and encouraged as they kneel 
 
 67 
 
Before the goods-producing wheel. 
 
 And these are they who make you known 
 
 The world around, from zone to zone ; 
 
 These bring you gratitude and praise 
 
 For worthy works and honest ways. 
 
 Strengthen your bulwarks, build your towers ; 
 
 Cherish your homes where beautiful 
 
 Wide lawns smile forth from affluent bowers ; 
 
 Encourage science; train and school 
 
 Your sons and daughters in fine arts, 
 
 And arts useful; — but maintain 
 
 Conditions, qualities, and parts 
 
 That constitute the common fane 
 
 Where men may worship, Right may reign. 
 
 In your wide parks may fountains speak 
 
 To mankind of the life they seek 
 
 That rises through the earth amain, 
 
 And stills the bitter salt-sea thirst. 
 
 May they who hunted madness first 
 
 In the distilleries' vile flow 
 
 Here drink, and feel the deadening woe 
 
 Swept off as deeper drafts are given 
 
 That well through clay and rise to heaven. 
 
 Put down the curse, and seek the good 
 
 Of each fair race, one brotherhood 
 
 Within you. Seek His will whom none 
 
 Resist that prosper. Well begun 
 
 Was your life course; and may its flow 
 
 As in the last half century grow 
 
 In men who will embrace the power 
 
 To discern the needs of this great hour, 
 
 Men of heroic heart who slay 
 
 Each wrong, nor shun the perpetual fray ; 
 
 So that when you shall celebrate 
 
 In future, as you do today, 
 
 Your weal increased, in fair display, 
 
 No vampire shall betray such state. 
 
 <>8 
 
HOW WE KNOW 
 
 How do I know there's a great God above ? 
 
 How do they know ? — How do you ? 
 What do we all know of life, truth and love, 
 
 Looking through fog as we do? 
 
 There hang the clouds, just above, just 
 beyond — 
 Clouds that no eye can see through : 
 Why should we weary this eyesight whose 
 bond 
 Earthy, holds Earth from Heaven's blue? 
 
 Where are we looking? Why stumble and 
 stare ? 
 
 Near us is kind light and true 
 Showing our hearts so deserted and bare, 
 
 Groping through void not their due. 
 
 Oil without money or price let us buy; 
 
 So shall our lamps burn anew ; 
 So shall Earth see through its Heaven- 
 lighted eye 
 
 All that the clouds hid from view, — 
 
 See that our God cannot sleep or journey 
 far; — 
 In Him all breathe and live new — 
 Know that the seen and unseen at peace, at 
 war, 
 Through Him, the Unbegotten, grew. 
 
 69 
 
AT TWILIGHT. 
 
 I would these thoughts that rush and crowd 
 Into the twilight's healing calm 
 When glow the golden fires of home, — 
 
 would that they might thus call loud 
 When Day is here, and his bright sun 
 Smites with sore pain our darkened eyes ; 
 When, striking on the desert sand, 
 
 He calls forth fires weird to burn 
 
 Our feet: — then they had been as clouds 
 
 All heaven-white that roam above, 
 
 And only steal so much of light 
 
 As we below may not endure. 
 
 Tonight I wonder who there are 
 
 Of all earth's transient guests, if less 
 
 Or more than mine their years may be, 
 
 Who, musing on the past, this hour 
 
 Might say with me, — Why did I seem 
 
 Beneath the glare of rudest Day 
 
 So far estranged from my best self? 
 
 And yet, I think, our God would see 
 
 The urgent hidden goad within, — 
 
 "The canker, and the grief", and seem 
 
 To see no more, and chide us not 
 
 In this our thoughtful twilight hour: 
 
 And so this central beam of hope 
 
 And mercy shows through all my mind's 
 
 Lone universe in shadow cast, 
 
 As evening's star stands boldly out 
 
 To bid defiance to the night. 
 
 1 would that it might thus for all 
 Beam wide on this and brighter worlds; 
 
For, even when we find our chief 
 
 Concern is only for ourselves, 
 
 This light showers wondrous beauty down 
 
 Upon our world. So I would send 
 
 Its rays broadcast tonight, if so 
 
 I might retrieve a few of those 
 
 Hours mute within the past, about 
 
 Whose graves the rue as mute doth twine. 
 
 I would that it might reach all, all 
 
 Who shared those hours with me, or shared 
 
 The smallest part of but one hour; 
 
 Though some are far beyond the sight 
 
 Of mortal eye, beyond our voice, 
 
 Though not beyond the hue and cry 
 
 Led on by Hope, who still would draw 
 
 Within the sheltering bars of home 
 
 All spirits from the vasty deep. 
 
 71 
 
ME AN' YOU AN' THEM. 
 
 I can't see what c'n make folks act 
 
 This sort-o' way like what they do : 
 Ye can't tell by their looks, ner talk, 
 
 Ner ways th' ha'f o' what is true; 
 An' sometimes, now I re'lly think 
 
 The'r a-workin' hard es they c'n try, 
 Jes' clear a-purpose — so it seems — 
 
 T-make ye see an' think a lie. 
 
 I cal'late, an' I tell th' rest, 
 
 Taint wuth 'nuf so 't'll ever pay, 
 T'-fuss 'bout what folks think an' air 
 
 Wh'n it's s'-fur frum what they say: 
 An' ef we saw th' hungry hearts 
 
 A-wantin' t'-be strong an' true, 
 We wouldn't pout, ner seem t'-mind, 
 
 Wh'n it's s'-fur frum what they do. 
 
 But 'taint no use t'-say ye be 
 
 A child o' His what makes His sun 
 T'-rise on both th' bad an' good, 
 
 An' sends His rain fur every one 
 Unless ye act th' same es Him, — 
 
 An' ef ye don't, I'll tell ye now, 
 Ye'll do more harm then eny poor 
 
 Blind mortal means t'-do, I vow. 
 
 Fer they aint one, I guess, on airth, 
 But must go thru some midnight wild, 
 
 An' if, bymby, ye stood inside 
 
 Some heart's best room 'mong shadders 
 piled 
 
 72 
 
S'-dark an' deep thet none but God 
 An' angels might go thru, ner die, — 
 
 Why ye'd be mighty sorry then 
 If ye hed spoke er lived a lie. 
 
 Fer then that poor soul in th' night 
 
 'LI balance up yer life an' talk' — 
 If lackin' it-'ll seem thet God 
 
 An' heaven air nothin' but a mock: 
 But if ye've stood th' hottest fire, 
 
 Ner let th' smile o' God's love fail, 
 That smile '11 be a lamp t' show 
 
 Heaven's angels past hell's blackest vail. 
 
 An' so th' storm-beat heart may reach 
 
 Fer help frum out it's fierce despair, 
 Ner reach in vain. — That's why, ye see, 
 
 'T'll pay us here t'sort-o' care — 
 Not what folks do, ner say t'-us, 
 
 Ner how they wrong us here ner there, — 
 Care how 't'll seem wh'n falls the night 
 
 Thet comes on all at unaware. 
 
 7S 
 
RIGHT-WRONG AND WRONG-RIGHT. 
 
 O I know how they say wrong is wrong in 
 
 degree 
 And in time and in place, but when once it 
 
 is free 
 From such time, from such place and degree, 
 
 wrong is right, — 
 But to me, day is day; and to me, night is 
 
 night. 
 
 And no good can be ill, and no ill can be good ; 
 Though their laws by poor mortals are not 
 
 understood. 
 Right may stand at the helm, and Peace 
 
 throttle each blast 
 On the waters where Wrong would spread 
 
 ruin broadcast. 
 
 Let the sailor and sea thank the Ruler whose 
 
 power 
 Shall destroy the Usurper that claims but an 
 
 hour: 
 But, until the day rise, and there shall be no 
 
 night, 
 You can't make right wrong, and you can't 
 
 make wrong right. 
 
 74 
 
AN APOLOGY. 
 
 Seems-like it's been since I w's born nearly 
 
 most every day 
 I've wanted-t'-apologize fer gettin' in the way 
 Down here on this old reelin' earth 
 Drunk on its dope of restless mirth: 
 But then I guess ther' must be some good 
 
 reason why I come 
 T'-be brought here from out somewhere thet 
 used-t'-be my home — 
 
 Fer it jes' seems-like once I had a better place 
 t'-stay, 
 
 An' I w's better too, it can't seem any other 
 way: 
 But I can't guess jes' why I strayed 
 'Way down t'here t'-be betrayed 
 
 An' stuffed into this cussed warped and shriv- 
 elled shape I be, 
 
 A-gaspin' here fer freer air thet meets not 
 land ner sea. 
 
 They say great minds rise up above calamity, 
 
 an' lift 
 The'rselves on wings, but little ones sink 
 
 down subdued, an' drift 
 On any ebb an' tide thet flows, — 
 If that is so, if "they say" knows, 
 Then I'm a little one, — but yet, One said thet 
 
 there above 
 Their angels alius see the face of Father, — 
 
 Light and Love. 
 
 75 
 
I reckon now, that's somewher' near my old 
 home use-t'-be, 
 
 An' meby that's the reason why they whis- 
 per-like t'-me 
 Sometimes, wh'n they get sorry too, 
 Thet I'm away, jes' like I do: 
 
 An' th'r s'-sad they alius tell, wh'n, somehow, 
 I don't say 
 
 The'r whispered word in smile er deed t'-them 
 es f er away 
 
 An' homesick es I be. — I guess thet's why I 
 
 feel s'-bad 
 Wh'n I don't think ner say ner do jes' like 
 
 I wisht I had. — 
 Seems-like I've alius fought again' 
 Myself an' them, an' alius been 
 What I w's longin' not to be: — fer oft my 
 
 heart Vd fill, 
 An' cry t'-these, my first home friends, — I 
 
 will, I will, I will! 
 
 But then I wouldn't after all: — an' seems- 
 like, wh'n I tried 
 
 T'-aim th' clostest, that w's when the shot 
 'u'd scatter wide: — 
 An' wh'n I meant the best I could, 
 Seems-like folks didn't take it good:— 
 
 An' wh'n I've tho't to give some word o'-cheer 
 I ought t'-say, 
 
 W'y they've jes' twisted it around t'-mean 
 th' other way. 
 
 So that's th' reason thet I like, while I stay 
 
 here below, 
 T'-sneak off sort-o' lonesome-like, an' let the 
 
 whole earth go: — 
 76 
 
Tho I'd be glad fer all t'-know 
 Thet I sh'd like t'-rest each woe, 
 An' lift a bit fer friend an' foe:— 
 But then, I alius feel the best wh'n I stay out 
 
 o' sight, — 
 Where I don't seem s'-out o'-place, where I 
 can write an' write. 
 
 ?* 
 
"THY WILL BE DONfi". 
 
 "Thy will be done !" patient God and good, 
 
 Tender and kind, what means this cry 
 From pallid lips, from heart-destroying pain ; 
 
 This piercing wail that now draws nigh 
 Thy throne with Judas' kiss, while just 
 behind 
 Press multitudes that soon descry 
 Thee in thy heaven-Gethseniane betrayed — 
 Dark crowds, whose steps are heavy made 
 With swords and staves to justify 
 The truth-perverting traitor, Lie ! 
 
 What deep, calm, still-Voiced answer do 1 
 hear, 
 While outstretched hands of healing rest 
 In God's great pity on the smart? — "Suffer 
 
 Ye thus far."— So at Thy behest 
 Peace comes, while all the sons of strife fall 
 back 
 Confounded, prone, — yet rise in quest 
 Of Him they seek to slay, and do slay : Thou 
 Shalt rise their radiant Conqueror, though 
 now 
 As in time past and in time to be 
 Thou art, wast, shalt be shamefully 
 
 Smitten and wounded in the house of friends, 
 
 There Thou dost plead as with Thy child, 
 
 And say: "When thou first sensed thy being 
 
 free 
 
 As heaven's sweet light which on thee 
 
 smiled, 
 
 TS 
 
And smiled within, why didst thou never 
 then, 
 Infant, sweet-voiced and unbeguiled, 
 Pray thus to Me ? And later when the earth 
 Rose vast before thee, and thy soul's great 
 worth 
 Showed vaster still, why in that hour 
 Didst thou not seek My will and power? 
 
 "Thou knewest, aye thou knowest well, the 
 paths 
 Thy untried feet ran swift to gain 
 Lay not within the beauteous domains 
 Of My will : — no such ways profane 
 My land. Impelled toward evil through its 
 source, 
 By thine own will thou liest slain ; 
 Yet are thy blinded eyes now quick to see 
 My will in this thy baleful misery. 
 blinded heathen heart and eye, 
 Awake, and rid thee of the lie! 
 
 •'Who taught thee thus to pray to Me? not I,, 
 I ever taught thee thus to pray, 
 
 Thy will be done on earth as it is done 
 In heaven', where never ill doth stray. 
 
 True, thus I prayed beneath the olive shade 
 When death and all its power held sway 
 
 Within My tortured spirit : thou canst not 
 
 Repeat redemption's sacrifice to blot 
 
 Sin out, nor is it therefore mete 
 
 That this, My prayer thou shouldst repeat, — - 
 Yet wounded child, come to Me 
 That in My will thou mayest be free.'*' 
 
 W 
 
A DREAM. 
 
 I dreamed it was a winter day, 
 
 And near the night ; 
 And on my path, snow-dimmed, there lay 
 
 Uncertain light. 
 
 I hastened to the tasks that noon 
 
 And morn assigned ; 
 For they must all be finished soon, 
 
 Or soon resigned. 
 
 And lo, while still I journeyed on, 
 
 The country wide 
 Had vanished until all was gone 
 
 But a hillside ; j 
 
 And this, alas, I shortly saw, 
 
 Had dwindled down 
 To a house-top that seemed to draw 
 
 Inward, and frown. 
 
 And I crept farther from the verge 
 
 In shrinking fear 
 That steep ways slipping feet should urge 
 
 To dark death near. 
 
 And for securer hold I grasped 
 
 A slender thread — 
 It broke, — and then the leap. I gasped, 
 
 And waked for dread. 
 
 When life's poor dream no more may keep 
 
 These hearts that roam, 
 May we, before the last dark leap, 
 
 Awake — at home. 
 
 so 
 
THE GOLD BUG. 
 
 I often wonder what folks think 
 
 Thet buys up lands, an' lands, an' store 
 Up gold an' silver heaped an' piled, 
 
 An' raked an' piled an' heaped some more. 
 I guess they don't pretend t'-think, 
 
 Fer thoughts, sometimes, are quite a bore, 
 Though I'm af eared they'll think real hard 
 
 When night falls, an' they come t'-shore. 
 
 But then I wonder more about 
 
 Some pious folks you'd think just right 
 T'-hear-'em talk in meetin's and 
 
 Sich places wher' folks say a sight 
 Thet they ferget about next day, 
 
 Next day when they must hold on tight 
 Fer fear th' gold-'ll slip away, — 
 
 Next day when they cheat an' backbite. 
 
 I reckon they'll feel awful sad 
 
 Some day a-comin' soon er late, 
 When they have reached their journey's end, 
 
 An' find themselves inside heaven's gate, 
 (Fer I surmise thet all of us 
 
 'Ll-get there sometime, if we wait) 
 S'-sad t'-find their treasures gone, 
 
 Er but few left at any rate. 
 
 An' they themselves put back an' down 
 
 Where th'-land-sharks an' earthworms 
 stay* 
 These things wont seem s'-mighty there 
 
 Thet here they thought of night an' day: 
 An' angel bands '11-pity 'em 
 
 Because they hunted shortlived pay, 
 An' rich folks there '11-say, "I'm glad 
 
 I aint that gold bug, anyway." 
 
 81 
 
FOOD FOR THOUGHT 
 
 When the hopes of a lifetime gasp black in 
 the flame, 
 And the hot cinders blister your feet in 
 the race; 
 When the casual observer laughs out his rude 
 curse 
 As he snatches the ashes to fling- in your 
 face; 
 When the evil-winged fowler's dart springs 
 from his bow, 
 And ascends your heart's white flocks 
 aerial to greet, 
 While your dove-like ideals fall fluttering 
 down 
 To die writhing and biting the dust at your 
 feet : — 
 
 Then 'tis well to consider, in such a vast hour, 
 How and when the flame broke ; what was 
 fed, at whose hand: 
 For it may be, perhaps, in an unguarded time, 
 From your soul's white-heat furnace a 
 kindling brand 
 Leaped astray : or it may be the fowler's vile 
 eye 
 Spied within your own precincts the ven- 
 omous dart 
 Your hand forged, though unworthy your 
 thought and your life, 
 And cast out from the crucible of your 
 own heart. 
 
 82 
 
Or whatever the cause, it is true and must 
 ever 
 Remain true, that the curse without cause 
 cannot come: — 
 Then pray, ye that suffer, and pray, ye 
 wrong-doer, 
 That unspeakable good of these ills be the 
 sum: 
 For the chariot of fire must convey to a 
 higher 
 Unknown realm what it seems to destroy 
 and undo; 
 Then the verdure we see in the grass and 
 the tree 
 Is this viewless eternal realm brought to 
 our view. 
 And no good may be slain that shall not live 
 again, 
 Though its carcass may serve at the fowl- 
 er's vile feast; 
 For a Hand that is strong over all shall make 
 wrong 
 Turn the wheels that draw Heaven to the 
 greatest and least. 
 
TO THE PRODIGAL 
 
 Only the old, old story, — 
 My heart cries out to thee 
 
 Across the deepened gloaming-. 
 Across the mystery. 
 
 I may not know thy sorrow 
 Or pain; thy joy or peace; 
 
 Or when the tempter binds thee, 
 Who pleads for thy release. 
 
 Yet must I bid this hung'ring, 
 Lone, beating heart of clay 
 
 Be still, and know who taught it 
 For thee to watch and pray. 
 
 Tis He whose heart of yearning 
 Broods o'er earth's wild abyss, 
 
 And views the wanderer, knowing 
 That every heart is His; — 
 
 'Tis He who thro' the silence 
 Eternal watch doth keep, 
 
 Not for the nine and ninety, 
 But for the one lost sheep. 
 
 And so, in tears and gloaming, 
 My heart cries out for thee 
 
 To God who, veiled in sunlight, 
 Dispels all mystery. 
 
 84 
 
SAINT LUKE, 11:4. 
 
 (See Ferrar Fenton's Translation) 
 
 'Tis thus you break the Tempter's arm and 
 still his voice, 
 King of Heaven, and Lord of earth and 
 sea; 
 'Tis so the wedge compressed springs from 
 the crushing vice, 
 The prison door swings wide unto the free. 
 
 Mankind learns much through suffering 
 when the stubborn will 
 Receives the lesson in no better way. — 
 The broken grist seeks not again the iron 
 mill, 
 The burnt child dreads in pretty flames 
 to play. 
 
 We love because He first loved. If there be 
 of all 
 His children or His creatures who have 
 wronged 
 
 Me less or more while laboring as an exiled 
 thrall, 
 
 I would release like Him who drank the cup 
 of gall, 
 Like Him to whom redemption's price be- 
 longed. 
 
 §5 
 
TO THE EXPLORER. 
 
 Artie explorer on an unknown sea, 
 
 Why should you search and strive and 
 suffer so 
 To discover lands that have been and must 
 be 
 Wrapped in their cerements white of ice 
 and snow 
 Eternally ? The southland calls you home ; — 
 The sheltering palms pray to the cloudless 
 blue; 
 Luxuriant fields spread out before heaven's 
 dome 
 Bounty refused, and wish and wait for 
 you. 
 
 The treasures of that land you carried far 
 Lie sere and dead, and sealed with biting 
 frost. 
 All nature here is with itself at war; 
 Your heart is numb, your storm-strewn 
 path is lost. 
 What glory shall it be to hunt and find 
 The throne of Death, the glittering crown 
 of fate?— 
 With all of life and beauty left behind, 
 To grieve that you should tarry late, so 
 late. 
 
 t* 
 
DIRGES AND SPLURGES. 
 
 These classical jargons, these heathenish 
 
 dirges, 
 How feeble their swell, and how foamy their 
 
 surges! 
 Yet each has its place, and 'twere well could 
 
 each ever 
 Attend its own sphere, and depart from it 
 
 never. 
 
 Where the barbarous idolater yields an obla- 
 tion 
 
 Such as wrongs, wounds and desecrates all 
 God's creation, 
 
 And your horror-struck heart down to savag- 
 ery merges, 
 
 With him strike your discords, for him wail 
 your dirges. 
 
 not to inspire men striving and sighing, 
 O not for those higher than earth and its 
 
 dying: — 
 Where platitudes sicken, and fate the soul 
 
 urges 
 Invite your performer, and shriek out your 
 
 dirges. 
 
 87 
 
ILL. 
 
 He said quite a few things that were all hate- 
 ful flings; 
 He was not just himself on that day: 
 His head ached to decline the chills climbing 
 his spine: 
 He was more than half ill anyway. 
 
 He felt better next day, and he had a changed 
 way, 
 So I must not recall what he said. 
 Tis so good to forget all the friction and fret, 
 And just leave the past hours with their 
 dead. 
 
 so many are sick, and they curse and they 
 kick, 
 For it's only well folks that are glad: 
 There is more than one kind of heart-sick- 
 ness, I find, 
 But all kinds make poor mortals act bad. 
 
 So don't ever you mind when rude folks are 
 unkind, 
 You stay hearty through clouds thin and 
 thick ; 
 For these folks will get well, and forget their 
 bad spell — 
 That's the way it must end with the sick. 
 
ON THE OCEAN 
 
 Sailing o'er the untamed blue 
 
 From the harbor, from the lea, 
 'Gainst chill winds that landward blew 
 
 O'er the wayward, wreck-strewn sea, 
 Where the mast-head and the spar 
 
 Rise above the quiet dead, 
 Where the bell-buoy sounds afar 
 
 Dirges o'er their darkened bed, 
 Where the white sails come and go, 
 
 Where the barges onward sweep 
 To the port where home-fires glow 
 
 From the port where lone hearts weep 
 I have heard the voice of deep 
 
 Moaning unto deep and me: 
 But I wait till rude winds sleep, 
 
 And there shall be no more sea. 
 
 6$ 
 
BALKY. 
 
 Reckon you've seen balky hosses, 
 
 Sich es roll wild eyes askew, 
 Slant the'r ears, an' buck an' caper, 
 
 An' fling lofty feet at you. 
 What on airth d'-you think makes-'em 
 
 Act up sich a temptin' way, — 
 So oncomfortable an' sassy? 
 
 It's provokin', anyway. 
 
 I've been thinkin' an' a-talkin' 
 
 Lots about it t'-myslf : 
 An' I've come t'-this conclusion, — 
 
 Not f er flattery er pelf, 
 But f er love o'-truth an' marcy, 
 
 An' the jestice due a hoss — 
 I conclude the brute larnt balkin' 
 
 Frum a tarnal balky boss. 
 
 Yit some men air mighty patient, 
 
 An' they pet the fussy brute. 
 Till it starts off kam if other 
 
 Brutes don't stan'-around an' hoot. 
 Mebby next time the hoss nater 
 
 'LI assert the same sad need, 
 But the patient man don't blame him 
 
 Fer the past, ner fer his breed. 
 
 Talkin' t'-myself, I muttered, 
 
 Hosses aint much wus then folks: 
 
 An' they aint used much wus neither 
 Fer the slashes an' the strokes. 
 
 30 
 
Don't I know, when I get riley 
 Cause I think folks ain't been jest, 
 
 If they come an' feed me sugar, 
 I fergit about the rest. 
 
 Don't I know, when I git notions 
 
 T'-flare up, an' balk, an' kick, 
 If I think how my Almighty 
 
 Friend '11 only grow heart-sick, 
 How He'll never blame ner lash me 
 
 Like most all the others would, 
 But '11 choose t'-suffer with me, 
 
 An' f er me when I aint good. 
 
 Then I want t'-quit the cussed 
 
 Hull infernal balk, an' go 
 On jes' like my Master tells me, 
 
 If it's goin' fast er slow. 
 An' a-thinkin', an' a-talkin' 
 
 T'-myself t'day, I jest 
 Says, I wonder if it aint with 
 
 Me like 'tis with all the rest. 
 
 Si 
 
THE HEART'S WIRELESS 
 
 Voices recorded upon the heart's wireless, 
 Infinite voices sweep Infinite sky, 
 
 And throb through the spirit-enveloping at- 
 mosphere, 
 Breath of the innermost, real you and I. 
 
 Messages come from the ungarnered, limit- 
 less 
 Fields white for harvest, that God's angels 
 own, — 
 Messages clear, and indelibly written as 
 Though by an iron pen graven in stone. 
 
 Every heart's innermost life is recorded 
 where 
 Angels alone can the heart's record read; 
 They read the thought while we hear the 
 word spoken, and 
 They read the motive while we see the 
 deed. 
 
 Voices, Voices, I wait for your messages 
 That I may know what I should know to- 
 day, 
 And heed not appearance, but judge right- 
 eous judgment. — 
 Reveal what eye sees not, what tongue can- 
 not say. 
 
 Show to humanity human-heart mystery, 
 
 Thus making void what regret cannot slay. 
 Sad were our lot should we be judged alone 
 by the 
 Deeds that we do, and the words that we 
 say. 
 
 92 
 
SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 ' 'Every sailor in the port 
 
 Knows that I have ships at sea 
 
 Of the winds and waves the sport, 
 And the sailors pity me." — Selected, 
 
 Sons of storm-blown ocean here, 
 Though my ships are far at sea, 
 
 I would not that ye should fear, 
 Neither sigh nor pity me. 
 
 Where the clouds hang deep and dark 
 Over foam and seething waste, 
 
 I can see near each lone bark 
 One sure Help in pity haste. — 
 
 He whose heart beats down the storm 
 As His footsteps tread its wrath: 
 
 White and still the heart and form, 
 And the waters in His path. 
 
 And my ships may, one and all, 
 Follow peace, and never veer 
 
 From this calm, though loud winds call, 
 And the waves rage far and near. 
 
 Pass to others, sailor true, 
 
 This good word I send to thee, — 
 
 He whose life no changes knew, 
 Nor can know, still walks the sea, 
 
 93 
 
DAVID AND ABSALOM 
 
 Born of unlawful wedlock, 
 
 Son of the heathen wife : 
 His face fair as the morning, 
 
 His heart like midnight strife. — ■ 
 Absalom, the winning, 
 
 You sought but fame and pelf ; 
 Absalom, the faithless, 
 
 Why, why destroy yourself? 
 
 And David cried, "0 would to 
 
 God I had died for thee." 
 He knew how Absalom was 
 
 Bound by iniquity 
 Before his birth and after 
 
 Thro' all his life — could he, 
 The father lift up holy, 
 
 Unstained hands, and go free? 
 
 Today, as thro' the ages 
 
 Since guile in Eden won, 
 How many weeping Davids 
 
 Own Absalom as "son". 
 And think you the Eternal, 
 
 Who doeth all things well, 
 Lifts David unto Heaven, 
 
 Sees Absalom in Hell 
 
 Forever? — Nay! God's marvels 
 
 Within the veil are wrought; 
 And even here His dealings 
 
 Reach far above our tho't: 
 Much more when earth's rude tangles 
 
 Beyond the earth are bro't 
 Shall His love seek and free us 
 
 If sought, — or tho' unsought. 
 
 94 
 
THEIR GIFT. 
 
 What need of spices, — aloes, myrrh — ? 
 
 The heart was broken, still and cold, 
 That they had loved in secret and 
 
 In fear and shame thro' days of old ; 
 And one for cowardice had crept 
 
 By night into the Shepherd's fold 
 Who spake as never man spake. Now 
 These bring the spices, tear, and vow. 
 
 To one past need — betrayed and sold. 
 
 And none made bold to chide the waste 
 
 Of costly spices, and complain 
 As heretofore when one poured forth 
 
 Her rare perfume not yet in vain; 
 For He was with them yet, — tho' bowed 
 
 To earth by earth's great debt and bane. — - 
 But now the load was cast away, 
 The heavy debt was paid, yet they 
 
 Recalled His life and all His pain, 
 
 And sought to check decay where Death 
 
 Was slain and void and had no power, 
 Where Life drew near the bloodless clay 
 
 To claim her mighty, conquering hour. 
 Your gifts, men, were better giv'n 
 
 To those who still before Death cow'r. 
 Today, men of fear and pride, 
 You tread the thronged path and wide 
 
 While loved ones lone meet death's dark 
 hour. 
 
 95 
 
NEAR AND FAR 
 
 Go, search and find where heart meets heart 
 
 As eye meets eye today, 
 And bid me come, but bring me not 
 
 To where the leaden, gray, 
 Cold mists range wide, or mass themselves 
 
 In fancy's weird array: 
 Better be near, tho' very far, 
 
 Than near yet far away. 
 
 bid me come where music swells 
 With pow'r no hand may stay 
 
 Within the heart's deep-hidden vales 
 
 As torrents find their way, 
 Bearing the pent and stifling dross 
 
 In unresisted sway — 
 
 1 would be near tho' very far; 
 Yes near, not far away : 
 
 For if I hear, as twilight falls, 
 
 Those strains not for the gay, 
 My heart shall leap the shadowed main 
 
 And forest isles that stray 
 Twixt soul and soul, — a winged thing 
 
 That leagues may not delay — 
 So to be near tho' very far ; 
 
 Yes near, not far away. 
 
 Or tell me where joy's high bells swing 
 
 In wild and stirring play; 
 And may I hear the glad pulse beat 
 
 I seek not to betray; 
 
 9G 
 
And may I see the dawn rise full 
 In view, and lose no ray : — 
 
 Blest to be near tho' very far, 
 Yes near, not far away. 
 
 And I would go where sorrow's blade 
 
 Has been, has sought to slay, 
 And on the spirit's harrowed gash 
 
 My yearning spirit lay, 
 So that thro' me a strength might go 
 
 To stanch the bloody fray : — 
 sweet to be thus near, tho' far, 
 
 Yes near, not far away ! 
 
 Would I had thrown all masks aside, 
 
 As in God's time I may, — 
 Had always lived to show the grace 
 
 My tongue can never say. 
 Would that my spirit might from far 
 
 Greet all who near me pray: 
 Better heav'n's near, tho' very far, 
 
 Than earth's near far away. 
 
 97 
 
THE CHICKEN ROOST. 
 
 The chickens flopped their wings, an' squalled, 
 
 An' hopped, an' fell, an' clim' 
 The ladder standin' 'gainst the tree ; 
 
 An' then, fust t'-one lim', 
 An' then another — up they went 
 
 Es evenin' light growed dim, — 
 A-tryin' alius, jest their best, 
 Each t'-go higher then the rest. 
 
 An' one poor feller, I dunno 
 
 How menny timer he tried 
 T'-go up to a broad, high branch, 
 
 But every time he'd slide 
 A-squallin' down. I guess he feared 
 
 Thet luck w's playin' snide 
 With him, an' so, ye see, he got 
 What he w's lookin' f er — why not ? 
 
 An' one mean chicken took a spite 
 
 Again' another near, 
 An' bit th' other mighty bites 
 
 Right side o'-t'other's ear; 
 An' so the wounded edged off meek, 
 
 An' squalled in pleadin' fear, 
 An' wondered, grievin' fer the smart, 
 About his feller's chicken-heart. 
 
 An' when I seen them chickens there, — 
 
 Ambitious, spiteful flock — 
 Not thinkin' 'bout the dark hours near, 
 
 With darker storms thet rock 
 
 98 
 
J he roost clean out their hold, mayhap • 
 
 Not thinkin' how the flock 
 Of deadly night-birds hovered near— 
 I spoke up fer myself t'-hear, 
 
 An' ses, ses I, They aint the fust 
 
 'Bove ground what's fell through hate 
 Er pride er envy, ner the last 
 
 I'm feared, though times grow late. 
 Ner men ner chickens seem t'-know 
 
 They'd better hide, an' wait 
 Inside the stronghold made fer night 
 By them es knowed t'-see their plight, 
 An' raise a shelter 'gainst the blight 
 What follers all till momin' light. 
 
 99 
 
JOY IS STRENGTH. 
 
 "As one by one thy hopes depart 
 
 Be resolute and calm: — 
 Know how sublime a thing it is 
 
 To suffer and be strong." — Selected 
 
 Is it sublime to revel in 
 
 The throes of grim despair when one 
 By one the stars of hope have set 
 
 And left us night without a sun ? 
 Yet men have suffered, and were strong 
 
 In peril's hour, in pain, in death: — 
 Ask such if fading eyes saw not 
 
 Sweet life beyond the flames' fierce breath. 
 
 Truly no human heart has yet 
 
 Found any help in woe and pain. — 
 Who warms the viper in his breast 
 
 Must feel its deadly fang and bane. 
 None may defy the lightning's blade, 
 
 Or mock when smitten by its power. 
 None who have sought in stoic calm 
 
 Or arrogance the fatal hour. 
 
 Be humble, true, and know that yet 
 
 Never has one of human-kind 
 Been left so utterly undone, 
 
 Forsaken, lost, wrecked, ruined, blind 
 But Hope may yet walk hand in hand 
 
 With him, and lead him all the length 
 Of life's unending path as Lord 
 
 Of lords, whose joy shall be his strength. 
 
 100 
 
EASTER. 
 
 When the trembling heart bends low 
 
 To receive its load of sin ; 
 When the turbid floods o'erflow 
 
 All the promised land within; 
 When the pulse beats slow and chill 
 
 Thro' the waste spread far and wide- 
 Then is Jesus mocked and scourged, 
 
 There is Jesus crucified. 
 
 When the sun is seen no more, 
 
 And the soul that sought the night, 
 Drifting to the unseen shore, 
 
 Dreams of God's past day of light, 
 Yet returns to deeper gloom 
 
 From the light long since denied — 
 Then is Jesus spit upon, 
 
 There is Jesus crucified. 
 
 Lay Him in the sepulcher; 
 
 Seal the stone as best ye may ; 
 Set a guard, and make it sure 
 
 From the first to the third day; 
 But the weary watch shall sleep, 
 
 Heav'n shall be no more defied, — 
 Then shall Jesus live and move 
 
 Where He once was crucified. 
 
 Angels clad in dazzling white 
 
 Must roll every stone away, 
 Where our Lord and Life doth sleep, 
 
 On God's balmy Easter Day: 
 Then the desert shall rejoice, 
 
 And its bloom and song spread wide- 
 Then shall Jesus reign alway 
 
 Where He once was crucified. 
 101 
 
DAY DREAMS 
 
 They dreamed while yet the sun shone wide 
 
 On wood and village, vale and lea, — 
 Ere yet on twilight's slumberous tide 
 
 Embarked the careworn spirit free. — 
 They dreamed, and but the lowly cot 
 
 Still watched beside the wave-strewn sea, 
 While each from far his treasures brought, 
 
 And hailed the dawn of joy to be. 
 
 She dreamed, — a child, who wandered lone 
 
 Near to the river's sounding tide. 
 Where tall the whispering rush had grown 
 
 She leaned with wondering eyes and wide 
 Above the sedgy wild bird's nest: 
 
 She turned the rude, bent reed aside: 
 The soft hand tender, timorous pressed 
 
 The fluttering wings where none might 
 chide. 
 
 She said, "The mother bird has flown, 
 
 Her birdlings cry to me for food. 
 Shall they not be, as now, my own 
 
 Hence many happy hours and good, 
 Till strong, swift pinions wing the blue, 
 
 In vain by foemen's dart pursued? — 
 I shall call home when falls the dew 
 
 My wonder-telling, grateful brood." 
 
 And one with pain of heart and care 
 Sore spent, upon the mountain side 
 
 Toiled on with downcast eyes, though fair, 
 That rained swift tears they might not 
 hide. 
 
 102 
 
But youth looks forward, and the boy 
 
 Now dreams of heights spread near and 
 wide 
 
 Where clear winds sweep the land and sky, 
 Far-blown from Ocean's unseen tide. 
 
 'The land and sea are filled with light, 
 
 So let the sailor's dreaming be!" 
 He cried, nor saw that coming night 
 
 Must prove his fierce Gethsemane. 
 gilded treasures in the hold, 
 
 The sailor dreams not now of thee, 
 He joys to clasp his warm heart's gold 
 
 In morrow's port beyond the sea. 
 
 And age, storm-bowed, must needs dream on : 
 
 The man and woman hale, yet worn, 
 Recall the long dream well-nigh gone, 
 
 And rosy June of thorns unshorn. 
 He said, "The heavens show much of blue, 
 
 And ruddy sunset tells of morn, 
 Whose gray mists break in sun anew 
 
 On Sharon's Rose that knows no thorn." 
 
 1.03 
 
HOPE 
 
 What think you when, at evening time, 
 
 The large red sun stoops low to lay 
 
 His burden fair of sea and sky 
 
 And earth upon the lap of night 
 
 With looks of fond farewell, — as when 
 
 A mother bends to gaze with kind 
 
 Regret upon the little face 
 
 Grown calm in sleep, which she can see 
 
 No more till morrow dawns — what think 
 
 You then ? Do you sometimes behold 
 
 Within a darkening brain the light 
 
 Of some large hope and late, deferred, 
 
 Retiring, lost? Aye, even so, 
 
 Yet look again, and see beyond, 
 
 And written o'er the ruddy west 
 
 The promise of a glad new dawn. 
 
 But nighttime intervenes. — Ah, well, 
 
 So it must be : — Yet night has stars 
 
 Unless, indeed it chance to be 
 
 A night gone mad with cloud and storm, — 
 
 But storm and cloud shall fade and flee ; 
 
 And after that, the calm, the still 
 
 Small Voice. 
 
 And so, as twilight falls 
 And night, would I might speak where swift 
 And burning tears rain down from eyes 
 All wild, whose tears no respite gain; 
 Where lips grown firm and white move not 
 In prayer ; where tearless eyes and wide 
 Behold no light; where ribald jest 
 And laughter loud smite on the heart 
 Like dirges wailed by fierce despair : — 
 104 
 
Tonight would I might say to these, 
 
 And unto all, — Look up and see, 
 
 The ,eye of Hope is not put out; 
 
 The voice of Hope that none may still 
 
 Yet calls to you, — hear her voice. 
 
 And I would plead with all tonight 
 
 Who drift afar, or wander lone 
 
 On midnight land and seas, and say, — 
 
 Why beat your heart out 'gainst the night? 
 
 "Your strength is to be still", and know 
 
 That quietness and confidence 
 
 Still clasps the hand that sways, impels 
 
 Or stays the universe. 
 
 Thus I 
 Would give as I receive tonight, 
 A word of cheer, that deathless Hope 
 Might quicken those about to die. 
 
 10b 
 
BY THE SEA. 
 
 Once a little boy and a little girl 
 
 Played both by the glowing sea, 
 In the golden sand that on either hand 
 
 Spread far to the blue sky free: 
 And a lone hut stood where the green dense 
 wood 
 
 Spread back far as eye could see ; 
 And a garden wide lay on either side 
 
 Just back from the sounding sea. 
 
 Now the little boy and the little girl 
 
 Saw dreams and signs in the sand, — 
 So they traced them plain, and laughed at 
 the main 
 Till waves spread over their land, 
 And washed round their feet, as they sought 
 a retreat 
 Where waters might no more roam ; 
 There they climbed a rock the waves could 
 not shock, 
 And watched the crawling white foam. 
 
 Then the little boy, not the little girl, 
 
 Grew tired of the blue and gold, 
 And turned back to view both the old and 
 new 
 
 Where stood the hut dark and cold. — 
 O the sands grew dim, and the ocean's hymn 
 
 Changed then to a fierce, wild moan. — 
 "And how can it be he will thus leave me," 
 
 She said, "by the sea alone?" 
 
 106 
 
And the little girl could not see the boy 
 
 Where weeds and the vines climbed high, 
 Where the serpent wound through the moldy 
 ground, 
 
 And lone deepest woods spread nigh. 
 She listened, and heard not a breath or word 
 
 Come through the midsummer noon, 
 Till afar on high in the evening sky 
 
 Arose the far-away moon. 
 
 Then, at last, she saw — saw her brother 
 plain. 
 
 Alas, a snake charmed his eye ! 
 And, lo, to her side she sees its mate glide; 
 
 She said, "And now I must die." 
 the winds blew strong all the sands along, 
 
 And wrought dire shapes, — forms of woe, 
 Till the waters wild above them were piled 
 
 Seeking to drown her heart-throe. 
 
 And she called to him, and he called to her, 
 
 But charms clutch the heart within; 
 So they looked afar, past the wave and bar, 
 
 To where a white sail had been; 
 Lo, it came once more where it went before. — 
 
 She said, "He seeks you and me. — 
 Our Brother who sailed away never failed 
 
 To send help over the sea/' 
 
 107 
 
GOD'S WAY NOT OURS 
 
 "Wounds of the soul tho' healed will smart; 
 The blushing scars remain and make con- 
 fession. 
 Lost innocence returns no more, — 
 
 We are not what we were before trans- 
 gression." — Selected. 
 
 "Tho" your sins be as scarlet they shall be as 
 white as snow." — Isaiah. 
 
 And are they healed, the wounds that show 
 
 and smart? 
 What is the soul ? Is it the whole or part 
 Of this strange being that must live for- 
 ever? 
 And, if it is, what of the wider life 
 That we are told knows not of earthly strife 
 When it has passed away, remembered 
 never, 
 
 If innocence when lost returns no more ? 
 If man is just and happy as before 
 
 Never again, free never from transgres- 
 sion, 
 Then plans divine, defeated, are despoiled ; 
 Thro' guile the Heart Omniscient has been 
 foiled ; 
 High-handed Curse triumphant takes pos- 
 session. 
 
 "Not so, — the dark environs of our sphere 
 With limitations hamper us while here," 
 
 108 
 
You say, "when we have passed the sad 
 condition 
 That masters this unhappy earthly lot 
 We shall be glorified as we could not 
 
 Be here thro' pain or striving or contri- 
 tion." 
 
 Is this then, from which innocence has fled 
 Of earth? — That part of the immortal dead 
 Which lives not any more? Is there a 
 part of 
 This living being capable of sin 
 That shall be so interred, — left lifeless in 
 The earth from which it sprang ? bleed- 
 ing heart of 
 
 The Christ, the Son of God, why did You 
 
 come 
 To heal us with Your stripes if never from 
 The curse You save? Without You we 
 
 are free when 
 We leave this clay as "dust to dust" if crime 
 Springs from and goes to earth; but 0, the 
 
 time 
 We suffer here! Shall nought relieve 
 
 earth's season 
 
 Of bitterness, the wages of our sin? 
 When did Christ say that stain alone dwells 
 in 
 Dumb clay sent silent and unwept to 
 sleep, or 
 That flesh responds at all to guilt? He said, 
 "Flesh profits nothing." From within are 
 fed 
 And thence proceed the ills that mortals 
 weep for. 
 
 109 
 
TW every man be false let God be true: 
 His Word is verified to me and you 
 
 Daily. We dwell, then, in a temple fash- 
 ioned 
 From dust that serves the will of him within, 
 The hidden man that has forever been 
 
 Alive, and ever shall be, tho' impassioned 
 
 Ofttimes by evil rising out of hell, 
 Not from the breathless clod insensible. 
 
 To Christ has all authority been given 
 On earth as well as heav'n where He 
 Reigns high, supreme ; where we expect to be 
 
 With Him as glorified, all shackles riven, 
 
 But why are they not riven now and here? 
 Christ dwells in us if evil, not His peer, 
 
 Has been cast out, ejected by His spirit. 
 Why should the curse be on us if We will 
 To do His bidding? Does His heart not fill 
 
 The Universe, — are we not ever near it? 
 
 Anear and all engulfed by God are We; 
 With ears that hear not, eyes that Will not 
 
 see, 
 And feet that walk forbidden paths. We 
 
 cavil, 
 And wonder at "God's ways" which are our 
 
 own, 
 Not His. Master, make each heart Thy 
 
 throne, 
 And end at once earth's mystery and 
 
 travail ! 
 
 no 
 
IN SCHOOL 
 
 Sometimes when school is over 
 
 And shades of night appear 
 I sit in the empty school-room, 
 
 And everything looks drear. — 
 The day seems full of failures, 
 
 Its triumphs hide away, 
 And seemingly defeated, 
 
 I leave at close of day. 
 
 The world is new next morning- 
 
 Old griefs have taken wing; 
 All nature seems reposing, 
 
 And all things smile and sing: 
 And when I reach the school-room 
 
 I look in vain for drear 
 And telltale mad disorder — 
 
 There are no such things here. 
 
 The touch of God's sweet moments 
 
 Has pressed the wrinkles out: 
 Rest brings a sweet forgiveness 
 
 That puts old foes to rout ; 
 And yesterday's real triumphs, 
 
 Tho' small and feebly wrought, 
 Stand out unvailed, unmarred, and 
 
 Look better than I tho't. 
 
 We mortals are so hampered 
 
 Thro' these poor school-time days 
 In which we learn of heaven 
 
 The song of future praise, 
 That, having eyes, we see not 
 
 What good 'gainst odds is wrought 
 Till heaven shall make our earth-task 
 
 Look better than we tho't. 
 
 in 
 
FOURTH OF JULY 
 
 I'm rather glad it's sunny, 
 
 And early breezes cool 
 Come wandering in the window.— 
 
 It's generally the rule 
 That morning comes out brilliant, 
 
 And skies look blue and dry 
 That weep and pout at evening 
 
 On hot Fourth-of-July. 
 
 I don't care much about it 
 
 If rain and storm come now: 
 I know the time I did, though, 
 
 When 'twould have raised a row 
 All through my rising spirit, 
 
 And I'd been sure to cry 
 If morning turned out stormy 
 
 On grand Fourth-of-July. 
 
 I wasn't thinking then why 
 
 We went to hear the roar 
 Of cannon and the speeches 
 
 For hours — less or more: — 
 But One who gives all freedom 
 
 Saw my young heart's great joy, 
 And heard it's deep thanksgiving 
 
 On glad Fourth-of-July. 
 
 But now-days when I think folks 
 Are apt to spoil their eyes, 
 
 Or shoot a mortal limb off, 
 Or head, or otherwise, — 
 112 
 
I almost take to wishing 
 That morning's cloudy sky 
 
 Would care to pour wet daggers 
 On mad Fourth-of-July. 
 
 So that's the different view folks 
 
 Will take at different times: 
 And only One will ever 
 
 See days and hearts and climes 
 Just as they really should be 
 
 Seen, not through partial eyes,- 
 And He must judge for final 
 
 All Fourths of all Julys. 
 
 113 
 
AT LAST 
 
 You've been insulted, lied about, 
 
 Cheated and kicked — Well, well that's bad ! 
 
 It just seemed sometimes that the world 
 Poured out the vilest dose it had, 
 
 And made you swallow every drop, 
 
 And laughed because you looked so sad. 
 
 Don't doubt it, sir, but don't get cross- 
 Throw all that off, — try being glad. 
 
 You cannot find a better way 
 
 To show or realize your spite ; 
 Just have the most unbounded faith 
 
 That joy is strength, and right makes 
 might. 
 Such trust can never be betrayed 
 
 Tho' fear the oppressor's heart shall smite ; 
 For truth and error must receive 
 
 Their just reward in heav'n's clear light. 
 
 The good Lord likes this vengeance best, 
 
 For it has always been His way 
 To somehow, sometime have us see 
 
 Ourselves just as we are; as they 
 See who have passed beyond the mist 
 
 And fallacies of earth's foul play ; 
 So that who will may ever turn 
 
 From false to fair, from dark to day. 
 
 You don't like that ? You'd rather take 
 It "eye for eye" — Is that your view? 
 
 Have you not heard, have you not known 
 There's only One that's always true? 
 
 114 
 
And some day you'll feel different 
 
 When heav'n's search-light is turned on 
 you, 
 
 When you'll be glad to forget all 
 Just as you'd like the rest to do. 
 
 115 
 
THE BIRD'S NEST 
 
 They gasped with open mouth and wide 
 For very breath of life that day: 
 
 The sun-king showered his anger down 
 In many a burning, breathless ray; 
 
 I stood beside the nut-brown nest 
 
 Where those few fledgelings helpless lay. 
 
 1 would not now recall the fears 
 Of that lone hour long passed away, 
 For since has dawned a better day. 
 
 The mother bird in trembling haste 
 Drew near with piteous, pleading cry 
 
 To guard her hapless birdling's bed, 
 Yet bro't no shade or shelter nigh. 
 
 Thou who seest even the fall 
 
 Of sparrows; and dost hear their cry 
 When hearts "of much more value" faint, 
 Canst Thou leave any thus to die? 
 Dost Thou not look with pitying eye? 
 
 1 cried, and, shuddering, turned aside 
 
 And left the stifling birdlings there.— 
 I wonder now how God regards 
 
 Such agonized yet faithless prayer: — 
 For my tho't was then of those 
 
 Who meet the tempter, they who bear 
 The burden and the scorching beat 
 
 Of fiercest noontide's with'ring glare. 
 
 Where are they now? — The birdlings, 
 where ? 
 
 116 
 
Long since they left the low brown nest. 
 
 How they survived that awful day 
 I do not know. A still small Voice 
 
 Explains as only silence may 
 The patient working of that Power 
 
 That made them strong to fly away. 
 I doubt not they have soared long since 
 
 'Midst woodland shade thro' all the day 
 Where countless mighty voices still 
 
 Own Love's eternal, conquering sway, 
 
 And sound abroad the victor's lay. 
 
 Where Elim scorns the desert vast 
 
 Some heart secure beneath its palm 
 Has found long since a fair repose 
 
 Forsaken of the throe and qualm; 
 For thirst has found fresh waters deep, 
 
 And strife is lost in sweet, new calm. 
 every heart shall find at last 
 
 Somehow, somewhere, a healing balm; 
 
 And lift to heaven the victor's psalm. 
 
 117 
 
A TRUE STORY. 
 
 Some little boys walked up a hill 
 
 And, as they reached the top, 
 One seized a handful of road dust, 
 
 And sent it with a flop 
 Right straight into the sunny blue 
 
 Of brother Johnnie's eyes; 
 And Johnnie howled in helpless rage, 
 
 And yelled in pained surprise. 
 
 Twas that same day, I think, or at 
 
 The most a day or so 
 Just afterward, that this same boy 
 
 Played out with Dick and Joe 
 And Tom and Bill, when all at once 
 
 I heard a lusty cry, 
 And hooting jeers: — They said, "0 come 
 
 And see the clown ! 0, my !" 
 
 And, as I neared the door, I saw 
 
 A black-faced, dusty boy ; 
 A shovelful had blown and lodged 
 
 In nose and mouth and eye: — 
 No one had meant to seek revenge, 
 
 Or to hurt the little chap, 
 But he had viewed their game unseen, 
 
 And met this sad mishap. 
 
 And, as he washed the streaks of mud 
 From nose and mouth and chin, 
 
 They all recalled with laugh and shout 
 How short the time had been 
 
 118 
 
Since he had thrown the dust into 
 
 His brother Johnnie's face 
 Just purposely, though none had meant 
 
 To bring him to disgrace. 
 
 Did you, my brother, ever reach 
 
 The brow of some low hill, 
 Walking beside your fellow man, 
 
 Treating your brother ill? — 
 You just look out! for sure as sure, 
 
 There's always some road down 
 And through the valley, where you'll go, 
 
 A black-faced, sneaking clown. 
 
 119 
 
WHAT PAYS 
 
 Why don't I frown to meet a frown? 
 
 Why don't I howl when others bray ? 
 Why don't I throw mud-balls, and make 
 
 My hands and heart as vile as they 
 Who aimed at me? — So I have done — 
 
 God grant that on no future day 
 May I betray myself again — 
 
 I might, but then it wouldn't pay. 
 
 The man who gives his life for men 
 
 When ill betides, or treads the maze 
 Of desert paths all others shun; — 
 
 A martyr soul thro' years and days — 
 The mother whose love wearies not 
 
 Tho' worlds of woe that love betrays; 
 Have these but sold their lives in vain? 
 
 No, they have not; it pays! it pays! 
 
 It seems to me the Lord of light 
 
 When Heav'n and earth anew are made, 
 And all the gloom of earth is past 
 
 That made His children sore afraid — 
 It seems to me the Father then, 
 
 When shadows are dispelled, and fade 
 'Round Calv'ry and Gethsemane, 
 
 Will cry with us, "It paid! It paid!" 
 
 120 
 
A SUMMER DAY 
 
 The day was long and heavy with 
 
 The burden of the summer's heat, 
 The way was lone and thorny, and 
 
 The hot sand stretched before your feet ; 
 And you were tempted sore and tried — 
 
 You yielded to the tempter's sway, 
 And frowned on those that crossed your path 
 
 Who scattered briars on your way. 
 At last the quiet stars looked down 
 
 Into your spirit's surging deep — 
 Tho' you were worn and faint and sad 
 
 They would not let the weary sleep. — 
 And then you cried in bitter tears : 
 
 "Forgive me, God, as I forgive!" — 
 The clouds were rifted, and your heart 
 
 Began to beat again, and live. 
 Ah, yes, I know your story well; — 
 
 I know not, nor can any say 
 How many times each heart repeats 
 
 The story of your summer day. 
 
 121 
 
HUMANITY 
 
 I saw him when he stood among 
 
 The honored great men of his day ; 
 When men thronged round his feet, and 
 sought 
 
 In pageant, pomp, and weak display 
 To give due fame to his high name, 
 
 And skyward yelled their feverish rage, 
 Proclaiming far and near his worth 
 
 As statesman, orator and sage. 
 
 I saw him as he stood above 
 
 The rabble on his self -built tower, 
 When men knew not, nor cared to know 
 
 How he had builded in that hour 
 When heart and nerve as mortar serve 
 
 To rear foundations laid in night, — 
 When men saw not the painful hours 
 
 Whose labor sought and gained the light. 
 
 But now he breathed in heaven's own blue 
 
 Above the night, above the jeers 
 That urged him on, when faint and weak 
 
 Below the throng he wrought in tears. — 
 That crowd now stood, a beggar brood, 
 
 And craved to feed upon his word 
 Like lowly Lazarus at the gate. 
 
 He knew their hearts and lives. I heard 
 
 His voice ring out in clearest tones: — 
 "My friends," he said, "I say to you 
 
 The cloudless sky has ever been, 
 Shall ever be as now, sky-blue. 
 
 122 
 
The sun and moon, the wind and tide 
 Proclaim that one and one are two." 
 
 He paused, while all heads low and tall 
 Approval bowed. Heads black and white 
 
 Were nodded each to each, as all 
 
 Cried out, "Hear, hear! That's so! He's 
 right!" 
 
 Again he spoke, — he said, "My friends, 
 
 That God created you and me 
 Is just as true : — Our Father then 
 
 He ever has been, and must be: 
 And friends, 'tis true, therefore, that you 
 
 And I are brothers, low or high." 
 A roar of joy went up. — They cried, 
 
 "That's so, dear brother in the sky." 
 
 123 
 
FORGETFULNESS 
 
 The patient hand of Time has reached 
 
 And drawn the sting from many a heart; 
 And if some venom yet remain, 
 
 Tis but a small and dwindling part 
 Of the first woe. The noonday sky 
 
 Has cast aside the midnight blast, 
 And smiles to say that all its war 
 
 Of yesternight is of the past. 
 The bitter word of yesterday 
 
 Had perished ere its swift sun set, 
 For time and change control our world, 
 
 And it is well we can forget. 
 
 The friends of other years are gone, 
 
 Their smiles and tears are left behind 
 The warm caress, the tender tone 
 
 Are in the past, and out of mind: — 
 They whose fond words were to the heart 
 
 As air and sunshine are to life, — 
 How has their mem'ry slipped away, 
 
 As summer's evening void of strife 
 When, ere one can believe, the full 
 
 And silent sun has smiled — and set. 
 O Godlike spirit linked to dust, 
 
 How strange it is that ye forget! 
 
 O Thou with whom a thousand years 
 Are but an evening watch when past, 
 
 May we behold Thy life of life, 
 
 And dwell within Thy heart at last, 
 
 124 
 
It seems, somehow, that fuller life 
 
 Must take us o'er the past again, 
 Must make these earthly years divine — 
 
 Give peace for strife and weal for pain ; 
 And when the mystery is solved, 
 
 And every woe and heartache met, 
 And recompensed, then, dear Lord, 
 
 If it be well may we forget. 
 
 125 
 
THE EARTHWORM 
 
 He laid an' wiggled on my hand, 
 
 An' stretched himself out long an' thin, 
 An' thickened up again in curls 
 
 An' ridges wavin' out an' in: 
 An* so I lets him cave, an' go 
 
 This way an' that, an' toss about, 
 Fer that's the way that earthworms like 
 
 T'-do a-weavin' in an' out. 
 I aint no idee these here worms 
 
 Air skeert er put out — not a mite; 
 But this one, he jes' didn't know 
 
 I meant t'-treat him fair an' right. 
 
 Now angle worms don't do no harm: 
 
 They say they do a lot-o' good, 
 Exceptin' when they're danglin' on 
 
 A hook an' line where no worm should. 
 I mind the time I w's a child — 
 
 I'd push-'em on the hook jes' so, 
 No matter how they wrinkled up, 
 
 An' sort-o' said it hurt t'-go. 
 But now I feel a cavin' in 
 
 All through my vitals, while I wish 
 I hadn't hurt the crawlin' worm, 
 
 An' hadn't fooled the scuddin' fish. 
 
 Why, these here worms they till the s'ile, 
 The same es human diggers do, 
 
 Though mebby they don't understand 
 The reason of it through an' through; 
 
 126 
 
An', come t'-think, now I declare, 
 
 I don't believe us mortals know 
 The half of what an' why we reap, 
 
 The half of what an' why we sow. 
 An' so I stood there, an' I thought 
 
 Them thoughts us earthly, delvin' ones 
 Think sometimes, when our blinded eyes 
 
 Look up, an' see night's blinkin' suns. 
 
 An' then I wondered t'-myself, 
 
 An' talkin' t'-myself, I sed, — 
 I wonder now, if mebby I 
 
 Hev tried, like this poor worm, t'-red 
 Myself o'-some strong, friendly hand, 
 
 An' care thet waited fer t'-bless, 
 An' flopped about, an' tumbled low, 
 
 Because I hadn't sense t'-guess 
 The kindness that the strong hand meant. 
 
 I don't expect right soon t'-know, 
 But I larnt one good lesson then, 
 
 B'fore I let the earthworm go. 
 
 I larnt o'-One, the One, I know, 
 
 Es hates not enny o'-them all 
 Thet air His own, er man er worm, 
 
 Er great an' high, er low an' small. 
 I know His hand ken reach far out 
 
 An' over all, an' lift the strong, 
 An' bear the weak, an' weary not: 
 
 An' speed the right, an' stay the wrong: 
 Fer sometimes I wake up, an' find 
 
 This hand above blue heaven's breast- 
 This hand below all mortal woe, 
 
 An' then I lean down hard, an' rest. 
 
 127 
 
THE SILLY TELLTALE GRIN 
 
 It ain't s'-bad t'-meet a man 
 
 Thet shakes bold fists at you, 
 An' calls ye "Liar! Coward! Thief!" 
 
 An' thumps ye one er two; 
 Fer you ken meet sich words an* acts 
 
 Half-way, an' answer back, — 
 Though if you use his arguments, 
 
 It only shows your lack 
 O'-sense: — but when ye don't know what 
 
 Ye've done o'-mortal sin, 
 It's kindy hash t'-go abroad, 
 
 An' meet a telltale grin. 
 
 The empty, knowin' grin thet says, 
 
 "I've heard a lot o'-tales 
 Thet naber Smith an' Jones sent out, 
 
 All winged with make-sport sails. 
 You don't know what yer nabers say 
 
 O'-sich a funny man 
 Es you be." But the grin aint words 
 
 To prove false, if you ken: 
 You can't refute, ner answer sich, 
 
 But, through the thick an' thin, 
 All ye ken do is t'-square off, 
 
 An' answer with a grin. 
 
 Fer naber Smith, an' Jones, an' Brown 
 An' all them thoughtless chaps, 
 
 Tomorrow '11-feel different, 
 An' love ye lots, perhaps: — 
 
 They will if you don't make yerself 
 A pigmy fer their sakes; 
 
 128 
 
They will if you lean on the arm 
 O'-truth, thet never breaks, 
 
 They will if you love everyone, 
 An' only hate the sin, — 
 
 Love everyone thet meets ye with 
 The silly, telltale grin. 
 
 129 
 
DOIN'S AN' DOER 
 
 Wonder if y'-ever noticed 
 
 When yer shellin' beans er peas, 
 Er, perhaps, a'washin' dishes 
 
 Jes' es handy es ye please, 
 How y'-sometimes git a'-talkin' 
 
 T-yerself about yer work, 
 Sayin', "Tell-y', I work lively, 
 
 I aint never been no shirk." 
 
 An' that minnet in steps naber 
 
 Smith a-smilin' bland on you, 
 Jes' t'-see how yer soul prospers, 
 
 An' t'-notice what y'-do. 
 An' y '-think, "Now I'll jes' show her, 
 
 Lazy, good-fer-nothin' spy, 
 How much work she'd do at home if 
 
 Once she'd work es fast es I." 
 
 An' suppose yer at the dishes, 
 
 An' y'-make a lightnin' dab 
 Fer a plate, er cup, er sasser, 
 
 An' it slips frum out yer grab, 
 An' goes dashin' all t'-pieces — 
 
 Yes, it alius goes that way, 
 An' yer naber, she's "so sorry" — 
 
 How y'-wisht she'd go away! 
 
 An' next day she comes t'-give-y' 
 Sich a good big mess o'-greens, 
 
 An' yer busy gittin' dinner, 
 Shellin' of the peas an' beans: 
 
 130 
 
An' afore she comes, yer thinkin', 
 Bout how fast yer fingers fly, 
 
 An* a'-sayin\ "Who on airth cud 
 Make beans rattle fast es I?" 
 
 But it seems the very minnet 
 
 Naber Smith's inside the door 
 Every pod '11 stick an' scatter 
 
 Es it never did b'fore. 
 An' she takes a-hold, an' helps-y', 
 
 Cause her dinner's under way, 
 An' she aint jes' real pertic'ler 
 
 'Bout the time o'-meals t'day. 
 
 Yes, ye'v' noticed— leastwise I hev— 
 
 Thet it never pays t'-boast; 
 Its the doin's, not the doer 
 
 Thet folks likes t'-see the most. 
 It's the ones thet's meek en lowly, 
 
 An' stays kindy out o'-sight 
 Thet the crowd er soon er late-'ll 
 
 Boost es high es Franklin's kite. 
 
 131 
 
GOOD AND BAD 
 
 I used to think that men are good 
 Or bad just as they choose to be, 
 
 But I was younger then than now, 
 And somewhat smaller, too, you see. 
 
 I thought the good man should be cheered 
 By smiles along a rose-strewn way; 
 
 I thought the bad man should be scorned 
 And frowned upon from day to day. 
 
 But now I've seen enough of earth, 
 Though much is dim to mortal eye, 
 
 To know that if I had your place, 
 And you had mine, why you'd be I 
 
 And I'd be you: and our just God 
 Would look in pity then, as nov 
 
 On both, and love us still, and hear 
 Each breathe his kept and broken vow. 
 
 I cannot think that God loves you 
 
 Or me alone, or either most; 
 Though heaven must turn, heart-sick, away 
 
 When "bad men" curse, when "good men" 
 boast. 
 
 I am not good, you are not bad, 
 But One is good: all we are kin. 
 
 "Good men" at times, will fail their friends 
 Where "bad men" scorn the traitor's sin. 
 
 If we could only see ourselves 
 
 As He in whom we move and live 
 
 Sees us, we'd fill the hours with love, 
 Though each must often much forgive. 
 
 132 
 
UNREMUNERATIVE. 
 
 What makes good folks like me an' you 
 
 Make sich a mortal-rousin' fuss, 
 An' fume around an' say sich things 
 
 A-mutterin', an' sort-o' cuss 
 That wordless cussin' o' the soul 
 
 Thet makes ye shiver when yer through, 
 An' wisht ye hadn't sold s'-cheap, 
 
 An' wish it mighty, yes, we do. 
 
 Of course the world aint treated me 
 
 An' you jes' fair, an' real perlite: 
 Some folks keep busy spinnin' yarns 
 
 Es mean es false from dawn till night; 
 But when ye stoop t'-strike-'em back, 
 
 It's more uncomfortable that way 
 Then t'-be a football, pincushion, 
 
 Doormat, er anything they say. 
 
 133 
 
DON'T TELL NOBODY 
 
 Now this old Earth, he looks some fair 
 
 An* smilin' of a-Sunday, 
 But when ye strike his other mood, 
 
 It's middlin' sure blue Monday : 
 An' if ye rest yer throbbin' head 
 
 The one day 'gainst his shoulder, 
 Ye'll wisht ye hadn't, when, the next, 
 
 Ye find yer one day older. 
 Don't mind it much, ner hate no one 
 
 When ye find most folks some shoddy, 
 An' if yer hurt from toe t'-crown 
 
 Now don't ye tell nobody. 
 
 Ye see, folks aint s'-differ'nt-like 
 
 Es what ye've thought about 'em: 
 Though some air wise, an' great, an' grand, 
 
 Ye sure c'n live without 'em ; 
 Fer they aint one mite better off, 
 
 Ner higher up, ner lower 
 Then what ye be, er what ye'd be 
 
 Ef once ye hit their floor. 
 So don't ye envy mortal men 
 
 Ef they be plain er gaudy, 
 But smile a lot at all the town, 
 
 An' don't lean on nobody. 
 
 Most folks, they hev the'r aches an' woes, 
 
 The'r hopes, an' fears, an' gladness; 
 An' when yer round among 'em try 
 
 T'-share the'r joys an' sadness: 
 Fer joy is doubled, so they say, 
 
 An' grief is cut asunder, 
 Ef one-'ll only lift a mite, 
 
 An' share jes' right, ner blunder: 
 
 134 
 
But don't ye say a word of self,— 
 Jes' let th' mortal squad be, 
 
 Er give yer joys, but hide th' smart, 
 Don't show it to nobody. 
 
 B'cause it wont help no one much 
 
 T-hear thet you're unhappy, 
 An'^ least of all 'twill help yerself 
 
 T'-get upset, an' snappy 
 A-lettin' everybody know 
 
 Th' woes thet they don't care fer: 
 Your story they'll misunderstand, 
 
 An' twist yer whys an' wherefer, 
 An' tell it so :— then you will find 
 
 Yer misery more then double: 
 You'd better whisper it to God, 
 
 Ef you would lose yer trouble. 
 
 135 
 
THE ROAD AND THE HILL. 
 
 If you're walking along on a plain, level road 
 You feel safe when your feet touch the 
 ground ; 
 But you may stub your toe if you don't watch 
 your steps, 
 If you look much above or around : 
 But your toe wont complain, — you can pick 
 yourself up 
 And you wont be hurt much, if at all ; 
 And the people who travel along your high- 
 way 
 Wont remember or mock at your fall. 
 
 But it isn't the same when you're climbing, 
 you know, 
 Where each mortal must blaze his own 
 way, 
 For there's no traveled road to the top of the 
 hill 
 Where earth gives wreaths of laurel 
 away. — 
 0, of course, you can rise in a grand aeroplane 
 
 And sail over the mountain most tall : — 
 Your airship must descend, — so must you, 
 late or soon, 
 And you'll not rise again if you fall. 
 
 But, in climbing, the stones slip from under 
 your feet, 
 And each step is prayer-tears or prayer- 
 sighs, 
 
 136 
 
And a man often sees he can not reach the 
 top 
 Until after, long after, he dies: 
 For the world will not honor you much while 
 you live, 
 Striving upward at duties clear call, 
 But the many will see it, and sound it afar, 
 If you trip on the hillside and fall. 
 
 13? 
 
A SMILE. 
 
 I think folks nearly alius 
 
 Ken understand a smile, 
 Though some, like me, looks homely, 
 
 Seems-like, most all the while, 
 But wh'n they take t'-smilin', 
 
 Why all the rest smiles too; 
 An' seem t'-say in that way, 
 
 "Ye look good now, ye do." 
 
 Sometimes I aint no better 
 
 In any mortal way,— 
 Don't wish no better wishes 
 
 Fer them fer whom I pray 
 Often, but when I'm smilin' 
 
 They seem t'-read th'-truth 
 Quicker, — it helps-'m better 
 Then sharing pain in ruth. 
 
 138 
 
THRO' THE NIGHT 
 
 "Jehovah caused the sea to go back by a 
 
 strong east wind all that night, and made 
 
 the sea dry land, and the waters were 
 
 divided." Exodus 14:21. 
 
 A strong east wind blew all that night, 
 
 And none might seek their wonted sleep. 
 Imploring eyes looked forth to see 
 
 How walls were forming thro' the deep — 
 Walls of unstable water piled 
 
 On either side the mid-sea path, 
 And yet they heard the wind's wild rage, 
 
 And yet they feared grim Pharaoh's 
 wrath. 
 
 And still the wind blew mightily 
 
 Against the wall of cloud and fire, — 
 To Egypt cloud; to these a light — 
 
 And still the wind-built walls grew high'r. 
 The wall of fire swept high between 
 
 Their fear, and Egypt's curse and boast: 
 The walls of water rose before 
 
 To save them from the pursuing host. 
 
 But morning came, and Fear and Hope 
 
 Fled each unto the enemy. 
 Fear brought as a just recompense 
 
 His power to spoil and slay; to free 
 Hope came triumphant, mailed in light. 
 
 How many paths go thro' time's sea 
 Ah who may say, — for it is night. 
 
 139 
 
THE WRENS 
 
 Two little wrens sat on a tree 
 
 Near by the house and talked to me 
 
 And to themselves. They seemed to tell 
 
 How they had tho't it might be well 
 
 To make a nest in that old gourd 
 
 That hung outside the white-washed board, 
 
 Where sticks and grass had been before 
 
 Laid just inside the round side door. 
 
 So, wee wren, she came just to peep 
 
 Inside the nest so snug and deep 
 
 While he sang loud, "0 Love, hurry! 
 
 Don't stay. Sweet, Sweet . Hurry! Hurry!" 
 
 He kept bright eyes on me, but then 
 
 I knew he meant his sweetheart wren, 
 
 And so I answered not a word, 
 
 But stood as tho' I hadn't heard, 
 
 Still as a stone, until she flew 
 
 Away to tell him that she knew 
 
 They couldn't find a better nest 
 
 Or better home in which to rest. 
 
 And after that on many a day 
 
 I heard him sing the same wild lay, 
 
 So often was this timid bird 
 
 By real and fancied dangers stirred, 
 
 Warbling out his frenzied flurry — 
 
 "0 come, Sweet, Sweet. Hurry! Hurry!" 
 
 140 
 
Weeks after this the little wren 
 
 And his wee mate I saw again, 
 
 Day after day so busy kept, 
 
 Flying with worms and bugs that crept 
 
 Among the leaves.— They took them home 
 
 To baby wrens not fit to roam 
 
 From out the nest. And then there came 
 
 The day when tender, weak, and tame, 
 
 With flutt'ring wing and tott'ring feet 
 
 The babies left their home retreat, 
 
 Answ'ring thus the note of worry, 
 
 "Come, come, Sweet, Sweet, Hurry ! Hurry !" 
 
 141 
 
STORM AND SEA 
 
 I saw upon the sea 
 
 Where winds blow wide and free 
 
 A mariner put out 
 
 With song, and jest and shout; 
 
 And as he sailed away 
 
 I heard him lightly say, — 
 
 4 'My little craft seeks home 
 
 Helped on by blast and foam. 
 
 The wayward waves that beat 
 
 Around me still more fleet 
 
 Urge on to port and peace, 
 
 And to the storm's surcease." 
 
 I saw another bark 
 Upon the ghostly, dark, 
 Remorseful wave that wailed 
 To all who watched or sailed. 
 From out his thrall, the sea, 
 The sailor called to me 
 And said, "I stretch my hands 
 To welcome fairer lands 
 That rise and gleam in sight 
 Dimly beyond the night; 
 But winds and waves in wiath 
 Drive thwart my homeward path." 
 
 Another day rose bright 
 And sky and sea were light 
 And filled with peace and rest 
 Even as a mother's breast 
 
 142 
 
Whereon her infant lies. 
 An echo from the skies 
 Gave back to fisher crew 
 Their song and word so truer — 
 "Our Help," they sang-, "still treads 
 The wave the seaman dreads ; 
 He rules the raging deep 
 For all who sail and weep." 
 
 143 
 
A PARABLE 
 
 A young hart grazed beside a stream: 
 The infant morning's tender beam 
 
 Shone round him fair ; 
 And to the stilly water's breast 
 Their lambent lips the sunbeams pressed 
 
 While trembling there. 
 
 And like some fleeing ponderous dream, 
 That full, unsounded, mighty stream 
 
 Swept slowly on. 
 The young hart often came to see 
 His lithe form floating gracefully 
 
 The waters on. 
 
 He came to see, also to taste 
 
 The refreshing liquid mirror chaste, 
 
 Deep drafts to take 
 Of sweet and living purity, 
 Whose sunny ripples glad and free 
 
 All thirst could slake: 
 
 For springtime's morning-thirst might take 
 Its fill, nor could the noontime wake 
 
 A flame-pent kind, 
 But without price might be supplied 
 From this unfathomed, ceaseless tide: 
 
 And fullness find. 
 
 But winding banks flashed bright with dew 
 Where verdure sprang and wild flowers grew. 
 The young hart turned 
 
 144 
 
More quickly ever toward the mead 
 From that for which with burning need 
 The many yearned. 
 
 The hunger and the thirst he knew 
 
 Were filled and quenched by flowers and dew. 
 
 The morning passed, 
 For earth's fresh morning soon must fade, 
 And low by noon's fierce dart be laid — 
 
 Breathless at last. 
 
 The hart had wandered from the stream, 
 For youth will tread as in a dream, 
 
 Its rose-hued path, 
 Nor see near tides of ill run high, 
 Nor how the sun fades from the sky 
 
 In tempest's wrath. 
 
 With joy he left the river-side, 
 
 And through the brake where dangers hide 
 
 More slowly passed 
 Till full in view a forest old 
 Deep and mysterious shadows cold 
 
 Around it cast. 
 
 With fainting breath he turned, to learn 
 His former path with shrub and thorn 
 
 Was hedged and lost. 
 Whence had he come, and whither could 
 His pathway tend save where the wood 
 
 Loomed dark across. — 
 
 And no retreat, but on and on 
 Through stifling brake of fervid sun 
 
 Alone must he 
 With many fears and heart-ache pass : 
 Now far away the stream, alas, 
 
 Flows tranquilly. 
 
 145 
 
He paused, and prayed in mute despair 
 For old-time friends now happy there 
 
 By that still tide: 
 No answer came; but a cry filled 
 With horror smites his heart thus stilled 
 
 As faint hope dies : — 
 
 For far away, yet grown less dim 
 And clearer ever came to him 
 
 The hound's deep bay: 
 Now sweeping nearer in the chase 
 They come: — For life, for life the race! 
 
 Away, away! 
 
 He sped as only they can speed 
 
 Whom Death pursues, and Life doth lead, 
 
 Past bush and thorn ; 
 Nor paused again of those to d^am 
 That, safely sheltered by the stream, 
 
 He left at morn: 
 
 But giddy, whirling visions glide 
 Before him of the clear broad tide 
 
 Now far behind : 
 It seemed to offer as of old 
 Freely its gift, though ail untold 
 
 The worth Divine. 
 
 More dense and thorn-strewn grew the way, 
 And just beyond the dark wood lay 
 
 Sombre and deep: 
 Onward, still on where shades lay piled 
 In midnight, where the woodnymphs wild . 
 
 Their revels keep 
 
 He bounded, yet more slowly sprang 
 The once fleet hoofs, and nearer rang 
 The deadly roar 
 
 146 
 
That shuddered through the silent wood, 
 A helpless sentinel that stood 
 Mute evermore. 
 
 0, joy! as stars beam through the night, 
 Again before him gleams the light 
 
 Of day in view, 
 And hope once more comes with the day, 
 Although alike in noontide's ray 
 
 They faint anew. 
 
 For now a riven canon wide 
 Before him, and on either side* 
 
 Frowns heavily ; 
 Behind, and near the fierce hounds bay, 
 Their hot breath rolls not far away 
 
 Like fiery sea. 
 
 He reels! Take courage! Then the leap! 
 Safe! Safe! The fixed gulf must keep 
 
 Forever back 
 The tearing fang. What can assuage 
 The loud, rude tempest of their rage, — 
 
 The baffled pack ! 
 
 Swooning he falls upon the rock 
 That ever stands secure to mock 
 
 His enemies. 
 And then before his wearied gaze 
 A rocky pathway's winding maze 
 
 With joy he sees: 
 
 He follows downward to the stream, 
 And sees again the same old beam 
 
 Of glory there 
 That ever as a child caressed 
 Smiles, sleeping on its mother's breast, 
 
 So slumbered fair. 
 147 
 
He drank; revived. It was the same 
 To which at springtime's morn he came 
 
 When all unknown 
 Was summer's fervid noontide heat, 
 Unknown the briars to the feet 
 
 Since wandering lone. 
 
 Far, far away in viewless mount 
 There rose the storied deathless fount 
 
 Of youth and life, 
 Whose gladsome waters welled, and poured 
 Down from the rocks their lavish horde 
 
 With sunshine rife. 
 
 And through the mead, and through the glen, 
 And near the wood, and near the fen 
 
 This river passed. 
 The hart now once again possessed 
 Its gift of life, and youth and rest, — 
 
 At last, at last. 
 
 148 
 
TRIAL 
 
 If you've ever met a rascal 
 
 Such as earth bears not a few — 
 One that made folks think him honest 
 
 While his game you saw and knew; 
 And it seemed that all creation 
 
 Helped him make a fool of you — 
 When you've met and felt the poison 
 
 Of his arrow thro' and thro', 
 And the crowd turns out to shun you, 
 
 Then God help you to be true. 
 
 When you strike a man whose pathway 
 
 Level meets your path askew, 
 And you see his way is sunny 
 
 While your road is deadly blue, 
 And you know that your sweat nurtured 
 
 Flow'rs that all his pathway strew; 
 When he tells you that the trial 
 
 Is perhaps the best for you, 
 And your brain gets numb and dizzy, 
 
 Then God help you to be true. 
 
 149 
 
A MONIED BEGGAR 
 
 You are! You are!! You are!!! — 
 
 A beggar born and bred ! — 
 Show me a day in which 
 
 You have not begged for bread. 
 A mother's love heav'n-strong 
 
 First stilled your cries of need, 
 Now you are fed by those 
 
 Who, serving, faint and bleed. 
 
 A beggar? — Yes, you are! 
 
 A thief and liar too. 
 Your outstretched hands have grasped 
 
 A thousand fold their due: 
 And now you talk of gold, 
 
 Houses and land your own, 
 Nor see yourself a vile 
 
 Laz'rus before God's throne. 
 
 You say, "Of all mankind 
 
 Each must a beggar be," — 
 Truth, we are debtors all 
 
 To bird and beast and bee; 
 And to the heav'ns of light 
 
 Where clouds pour forth their rain, 
 And to our fellow-man, 
 
 Who toils with hand or brain. 
 
 All beggars. Yes, but why 
 
 Did you in childish greed 
 Rob those whose hands were weak 
 
 Thro' toil and pain and need? 
 
 150 
 
Will Honor let you 'mong 
 Your kin and clansmen rant, 
 
 And ravage unrebuked 
 A fellow mendicant? 
 
 beggar, how will you 
 
 Appear when with the rest, 
 You bow before God's throne 
 
 To make your last request 
 If these and those rise up 
 
 In judgment 'gainst your plea, 
 And God must say, "Ye did 
 
 Not good to these nor Me." 
 
 What can you say or do, 
 
 O beggar, when these show 
 The long-drawn years of crime, 
 
 And speechless wreck and woe 
 Wrought by the love of self 
 
 That stamped you with its ban,- 
 How can you bear this fate, 
 
 foolish beggar man? 
 
 151 
 
THE CLOSED DOOR. 
 
 A closed door athwart my way 
 Stands, and has stood for many a day: 
 I seek not, as I sought before, 
 To break the iron lock and door: 
 My hand holds not the unknown key, — 
 The hinges may not turn for me. 
 
 My worsted forces through the night 
 Stood face to face in all the fight, 
 And each against his brother fought 
 In grapple fierce, and spared him not : 
 And now, dear Hand, that holds the key, 
 make the hinges turn for me. 
 
 For now, as morning seeks the skies, 
 It shows my dim confused eyes 
 A field of gore on which they die, 
 Heart clasped to pardoned heart, and cry, 
 "Would we had never sought the key 
 To make the hinges turn for thee." 
 
 Come from the winds, and round me wreathe 
 The bloom of life, Breath, and breathe 
 Upon these slain that they may live, 
 And willing service henceforth give 
 Beyond the door whose golden key 
 Shall make the hinges turn for me. — 
 
 Beyond the door where foemen wait 
 Who closed it first with cruel hate, 
 And mocked, with fiendish jeer, my cry 
 Of helplessness — yes wild and high 
 
 152 
 
Arose that jeer as blood flowed free 
 To make the hinges turn for me. 
 
 Their cry has ceased, and only wrath, 
 
 As impotent as silent hath 
 
 Engrossed this throng whose steadfast gaze, 
 
 Through infant morning's mist and haze, 
 
 Beholds anear the hand and key 
 
 That makes the door swing wide and free. 
 
 The very hand, the very key 
 
 That through the night I would not see, 
 
 But left unheeded in the rear. 
 
 patient, hopeful Love still near 
 
 That waited long, nor lost the key 
 
 That turns the hinge for thee and me, — 
 
 Help secure, my heart demands 
 
 At last that Thou must take these hands 
 
 Potent to blight as vain to bless, 
 
 And hold them in Thy strong caress, 
 
 Till iron lock shall kiss the key, 
 
 And rusted hinges turn for Thee. 
 
 153 
 
THE TEACHER'S CHAIR 
 
 They took my vacant chair unasked, — 
 Two girls with eyes of brown and blue — 
 
 And then as quickly rose unasked 
 And fled, — 'tis thus all children do. 
 
 I tho't how years and years ago 
 That very chair had seemed to me 
 
 The throne of high, becoming pow'r, 
 Of ease and pomp and bigotry. 
 
 Perhaps it now seems thus to these, 
 
 But changed to me; I've long been there, 
 
 And know somewhat its unknown sphere, — 
 This filled or vacant teacher's chair. 
 
 154 
 
THE UNEQUAL CONTEST. 
 
 He was a wolfish-looking cur, 
 
 And, like a hunted beast, he ran 
 Past me to where the thundering train 
 
 A few rods farther on began 
 To rush across our track. He reached 
 
 Its side where, all the while it passed, 
 He stood and tried by leaps and bites 
 
 To stop each car, and spite that vast 
 And careless train. Each car sped by, 
 
 And he came back when all were gone 
 Limping, and not well satisfied 
 
 With what he and the train had done. 
 
 How many dogs, how many men 
 
 Have tried, are trying, and shall try 
 To stop the train that slackens not 
 
 For their uncanny, vain outcry: 
 But broken tooth and thigh confess 
 
 The effect of unbecoming spite. — 
 how can they expect to stay 
 
 The mighty, conquering train of right: 
 For sure as God is God His work 
 
 Must run eternally, and slay 
 The ill that stands beside its path, 
 
 And gnaws and whines its life away. 
 
 155 
 
BLACK AND GOLD CATERPILLAR. 
 
 He wore a coat of black and gold 
 
 That dark, sad, bleak November day, 
 And he had worn it long, so long, 
 
 Through all of summer's heat and fray, 
 But it was handsome still and sleek 
 
 Through all its furry waves of gold 
 And black, though now so numb and chill 
 
 In coming winter's wind and cold. 
 
 He crawled his length upon my hand, 
 
 And raised his head and clinging feet, 
 And blindly turned him here and there 
 
 And only saw his winding sheet 
 Of frost and snow as to and fro 
 
 He waved, and doubted if a turn 
 This way or that might doom avert, 
 
 He could not know, but fain would learn. 
 
 caterpillar cold and weak, 
 
 Where will you spend your night of 
 storm ? 
 
 1 cried, Shall never silken threads of hope 
 Be wound about your frozen form? 
 
 When winter hours are spent at last, 
 And each shall greet our common May, 
 
 Where shall you find your wings of gold 
 With which to rise and soar away? 
 
 Were it not well to crush you here, 
 And end your weary, painful life? — 
 
 No more could he speak than can I 
 
 To those above our words and strife, — 
 
 L56 
 
Those beings high or low, unknown 
 In nature, word and power untold, 
 
 Who may despise our lowly sphere, 
 
 Where black will stray through all the 
 gold. 
 
 I hope, and not in vain I trust 
 
 The Power and Might that spreads alike 
 O'er seraphim and man and worm; 
 
 Nor any 'gainst His law may strike 
 One fluttering little sparrow down. 
 
 Not hosts of night nor legions bright 
 Can filch from me, or dare withhold 
 
 The Godlike love that saw the plight 
 Of that poor worm with thoughts that lie 
 
 Beneath the surface fount of tears, 
 And questionings that reach and pry 
 
 Into the land beyond our years. 
 
 157 
 
REST BLAME 
 
 When the storm cloud breaks and the winter 
 howls, 
 Will you flee as the east from the west? 
 When your brother stands face to face with 
 scowls, 
 Can you pity tho' others detest ? 
 
 True as truth he may have been hast'ning 
 on 
 To his dark certain doom with zest — 
 Have you felt their slime as the serpents 
 fawn, 
 And the pang as the fang deeper pressed? 
 
 Do you think, my friend, it will help him rise 
 If you join in the jeer and the jest, 
 
 If you join with the mob — the overwise? 
 Let your pity your wisdom attest. 
 
 To his dreams at night come the old-time 
 friends 
 
 Who are welcome as angels, — as blest; 
 And they kindly smile, tho' the vision ends, 
 
 Who with pity the world would invest. 
 
 And tho' thorns have covered their graves so 
 long, 
 In his dreams there the brightest and best 
 Of earth's flowers bloom, and the birds make 
 song, 
 For they pity and let the blame rest. 
 158 
 
And the clover blooms, and its breath comes 
 back, 
 And the lark rises high o'er her nest, 
 And the old forms move in the same old 
 track 
 And their pity would hide the blame pest. 
 
 He recalls the words of the former days — 
 But his promises failed in the test, 
 
 And forget-me-nots in the noon's hot blaze 
 Droop for pity, but blame may now rest. 
 
 And he fain would draw back the early years 
 Ere he dropped changeless gold in the 
 quest 
 Of all that he found not, tho' sought with 
 tears, — 
 Pity vanished, but blame found no rest. 
 
 So the light dies down, and the dream is past, 
 And he wakes with remorse for his guest. 
 
 If your heart met his at this midnight hour 
 Could your pity forbear blame's inquest? 
 
 "Ah," you say, "this tale is not yours or 
 mine:" 
 
 Tis the secret of many a breast 
 Where the wounded lie without oil or wine 
 
 Crushed of blame, where no pity may rest. 
 
 Do you see, my friend, how the palms wave 
 high 
 
 In the gold of the bright mountain's crest? 
 We shall never reach it, nor you nor I, 
 
 Till we pity and give blame a rest. 
 
 159 
 
SAD AND GLAD 
 
 Once I knew a little girl, — 
 Not th' one et had a curl — 
 But she'd talk an' act s' queer 
 Folks 'u'd look an' stop t' hear, 
 Till she'd say she didn't care 
 (By her high up look an' air) 
 If th' world 'u'd stand an' stare: 
 But she did care, an' she'd cry 
 When th' stars w's in th' sky 
 'Cause they'd look as if they'd sigh 
 An' be sorry she felt sad: 
 Nen she'd wish she never had 
 Lived, er 'at she ist c'u'd die — 
 An' there 'niong th' stars on high, 
 If she'd listen, she c'u'd hear 
 Voices seem t' say, "My dear, 
 Don't remember ner don't fear 
 What folks think er say ; I know 
 They forgot you hours ago, 
 For they all and all have so 
 Many heavy loads to take 
 Up an' carry. When you wake 
 Up at night, like this, you best 
 Try their loads once, an' nen rest 
 An' be glad 'at you don't know 
 All th' troubles 'at they know: 
 Nen you see if you can't show 
 Them you care; er, maybe, bring 
 Joy t' some, er take th' sting 
 From some heart an' make it sing 
 Glad songs once again." An' nen 
 This wee maid said, "If I can 
 I ist will." — An' when she had 
 She w's glad, an' glad, an' GLAD. 
 
 160 
 
Men sometimes when folks 'u'd go 
 Long es if they didn't know 
 Ner c'u'd see this little lass, 
 Why, nen she 'u'd let 'em pass, 
 An' pretend she didn't see — 
 'Cause they didn't, ner w'd she — 
 She'd ist let 'em know she'd be 
 Even with 'em — an' she was, 
 But she w'sn't happy 'cause 
 Star-time voices 'u'd say, "Does 
 This way pay them best, or you 
 That you must do like they do? 
 I know you don't want to spite 
 Anyone, or not do right; 
 But you're fearing what they'd say 
 Er be thinking if some day 
 You'd be good an' sweet when they 
 Wanted t' be bad and cross, — 
 When they'd look for you t' toss 
 Back your curls an' not t' pause 
 Once, ner smile, ner look their way: 
 But they're not s' proud an' gay 
 Like you 'magined 'at they seemed, — 
 'Cause I guess you never dreamed 
 They w's thinkin' tho'ts 'at bring 
 Heartaches 'at ist stay and 'cling 
 Till they choke out everything 
 Only ist what hurts, an' pride. — 
 Now look at it on their side, 
 An' nen see if you can't hide 
 Your self-tho'ts so you can be 
 Ist a gentle, real lady." — 
 So she did, an' when she had 
 She w's glad, an' glad, an' GLAD. 
 
 161 
 
LAST MONTH OF SCHOOL 
 1918 
 
 Tis May, the last month of the spring and 
 
 best ; 
 And Mother Earth is spreading- fresh and 
 
 far 
 Her fair green board, toward which her 
 
 hungry brood 
 Of children look, and stretch forth hands 
 
 that war 
 Has made blood-red, and wail, and bid her 
 
 haste. 
 
 This morning I began my last month's 
 round — 
 Started anew in the last month of nine 
 That constitute the roll unwound : — 
 A year of school within a school in which 
 I teach, and have been taught more than 
 the rest 
 Of little learners whose fair angels look 
 Upon the face of God. My angel blest 
 Among them stands, and pleads, still pleads 
 for me : — 
 Within my spirit I discern her voice; 
 She bids me nightly crave at heaven's hand 
 
 No greater benefit than her own choice 
 Of happiness restored and blight removed, 
 On earth as there above, in God's world- 
 fane, 
 The sweet child-heart I may have wronged, 
 for yet 
 
 162 
 
In petulance and malice I remain 
 And to the end shall be a child. How fast 
 
 The day ran on: — At morning I awoke 
 And met its smile, and with it passed along — 
 
 Again I woke, and night around me broke. 
 
 Monday 
 
 The morning ride, as usual, 
 
 Was cool and bracing. Fair and bright 
 
 The sky and atmosphere, and light 
 
 The spirit of the moment seemed. 
 
 Within my room I found a book 
 
 Whose torn, disheveled leaves I took 
 
 And placed in order, so once more 
 
 The child might glean its printed lore, 
 
 Nor ponder o'er the melancholy 
 
 Puzzle he wrought through youthful folly. — 
 
 And so may God my life's book take, 
 
 And make it read, for His dear sake, 
 
 As first it read when it was given, — 
 
 A simple line on line from heaven — 
 
 A story he who runs may read, 
 
 Nor curse because his lawless breed, 
 
 Or he himself, not God, has soiled, 
 
 Shuffled and torn the leaves, and spoiled 
 
 The story and made of the song 
 
 A dark enigma. Thus may wrong 
 
 Be righted for myself and mine 
 
 By hands unseen, unknown, Divine. 
 
 This first task done, some pictures bright, 
 
 Yet bent and dusty met my sight — 
 
 Pictures of birds whose names we learned, 
 
 And of their ways, and how and where 
 
 They dwell, and find their bounteous fare : 
 
 I straightened these, and made them clean, 
 
 Just as they ever should be seen. — 
 
 163 
 
And if the children live to grow 
 
 To womanhood and manhood, may 
 
 The vision of these pictures stay 
 
 The fowler's hand, and lead them back 
 
 Along* life's spring-time, bird-song track 
 
 I think, sometime we may awake 
 
 And find that Heaven has come to take 
 
 The dust from off earth-scenes, and show 
 
 How earth might have been heaven below, — 
 
 For then, as heaven earth shall be, 
 
 And we shall know, and we shall see. 
 
 Ah well, my tasks are manifold 
 
 And many more than can be told, 
 
 Nor can they all be paid in gold. 
 
 But by and by the bell rings out, 
 
 The children cease to writhe and shout. — 
 
 Mine are the little ones, — a score — 
 
 Sometimes less and sometimes more — 
 
 All mine, at least, march in my door. — 
 
 I should have had a score and ten, 
 
 But many a vile disease has vied 
 
 To spoil my record, nag my pride: 
 
 'Twas measles and 'twas whooping" cough, 
 
 And scarletina turned them off: 
 
 Then mumps made faces with a grin 
 
 That frightened my poor lambs again. 
 
 But dear, 'twas mainly just a joke! 
 
 None of them died, or seldom cried 
 
 Under the tricky lightsome yoke: — 
 
 Just an excuse as poor as mean 
 
 To keep the babes in quarantine. 
 
 Now while they settle down to fold 
 
 Their tiny hands before I scold, 
 
 I bid my roller organ old 
 
 Ring out, in accents clear and bold, 
 
 "America", or some such hymn, 
 
 Shrieked out in vigorous, loyal vim. 
 
 164 
 
And then we sing some simple song 
 
 That sweeps the singer's soul along 
 
 And bids it seek the better part, — 
 
 A lowly and obedient heart. 
 
 I know too well they only rule 
 
 Safely who first, in life's wide school, 
 
 Have learned obedience where the lash 
 
 Fell over many a festered gash. 
 
 And yet 'tis not the Master's hand 
 
 That teaches thus. The truant child 
 
 Received his strokes in devious, wild 
 
 And thorny ways; but he who strays, 
 
 I hold, shall sometime seek release 
 
 In the great Master's school of peace, 
 
 And find the tender smile and light 
 
 That heals the wound, and scatters night. 
 
 A story I must also read: 
 
 This time 'tis of a raven black, 
 
 A pet who heard the ducklings quack, 
 
 And watched them in a swimming pool 
 
 Amused, then, like a playful fool, 
 
 He seeks a flock of downy chicks, 
 
 Innocent of raven's tricks, 
 
 And flaps his great black wings to urge 
 
 Them on, and even o'er the verge 
 
 Of that great pool. They cannot swim, 
 
 But only drown to amuse him. 
 
 I hope this tale, in later years, 
 
 Again may sound in the learners' ears 
 
 And teach them to escape the black 
 
 Strong wings: for chickens have a knack 
 
 For scratching earth; but cannot well 
 
 Contented in deep waters dwell. 
 
 And now my first grade honies read 
 
 Of Jack and Jill, and give strict heed 
 
 To that threadbare tale ever new 
 
 As little children always do. 
 
 165 
 
My second grade review again 
 
 The book they read before three more 
 
 Good supplementary readers' lore 
 
 Engaged their time. Now the largest boy 
 
 Within the grade has softly laid 
 
 His head upon the desk to annoy 
 
 My spirit? — No! ah, no! the scamp 
 
 Is suffering from a stomach cramp, 
 
 He says, — but how great his need 
 
 To read and read and read and read — 
 
 And so he shall when the others go 
 
 Tonight, and leave me free — No, no! 
 
 No one is free that freedom seeks 
 
 Where stagnant pools' malaria reeks: 
 
 And I must work, and work, and wait; 
 
 Nor know the result till heaven's gate 
 
 That opens to eternal day 
 
 Shall be swung wide for aye and aye — 
 
 'Twill take eternity to tell 
 
 Who taught amiss, and who taught well. 
 
 Today we trained our muscles too — 
 
 Dear, dear and how shall I relate 
 
 All of the day's events nor prate 
 
 Of them when I should be asleep, 
 
 And so, good-night, — may angels keep. 
 
 Tuesday 
 
 Today is like all others, good 
 For toil and play, and all one should 
 Ask or expect of One who gives 
 All things to every man that lives. 
 This morning's tale is of the child 
 That, lost upon the untrod wild, 
 Wails loudly for his parent dear 
 Who, far away, with many a tear 
 Is seeking him, and how a light 
 166 
 
Appears as his father clothed in white; 
 
 And kisses him, and leads him on 
 
 Till desert sands and night are gone — 
 
 Till past the night, his mother mild 
 
 Weeping receives her weeping child. 
 
 Four of my second grade girls read 
 
 An extra lesson we enjoy 
 
 While resting study-weary eye 
 
 And brain: then all of us may spell, 
 
 Or drill upon the words 'tis well 
 
 To memorize in form and face 
 
 Lest they should bring us to disgrace 
 
 When the reading test has been applied, 
 
 And they our acquaintance have denied. 
 
 One of our four girls read today 
 
 How all of baby's heaven lies 
 
 In the light of mother's eyes. — 
 
 O mothers, could not this light wake 
 
 A ten-fold radiance should you slake 
 
 Your thirst at heav'ns fount, and gain 
 
 Release from worldly care and pain? 
 
 And could not I see heaven above 
 
 In the Almighty Light of Love, 
 
 And then reflect here what I see 
 
 More fully and more frequently 
 
 Upon these tender ones and wee? 
 
 Often I need wisdom more, 
 
 Than all the worrying, scurrying score 
 
 Of mothers whose dear children here 
 
 Flock round me from both far and near. 
 
 And how pleased and proud I am 
 
 When oft some sweet, forgetful lamb, 
 
 In thinking of me as his dam, 
 
 Addresses me as such: — "Mamma", 
 
 Or even when it's been "Papa". 
 
 yes, I had forgot till now 
 
 About this morning's story, how 
 
 .167 
 
A man who owned a residence 
 Spacious and grand beyond pretense 
 Was often heard to speak of it 
 As his "smoke house". When questioned why 
 This appellation, he'd reply 
 That he ceased smoking some years since, 
 And daily laid by the expense 
 Not spent, — the price that he had paid 
 For a habit that had but betrayed 
 His better self. After some years 
 Of freedom from the weed that sears 
 Body and mind, his hoard was such 
 It reared the walls of this palace, much 
 To his surprise, and of his friends 
 The marvel : Thus the story ends. 
 And we had company today 
 When we were writing the best way 
 That any of us knew about, — 
 Holding our fingers stiff and stout — 
 At least I hope the children did 
 Not wiggle their dear fingers small 
 Out of my sight much, if at all. — 
 They try to do as they are bid; 
 But habit is an irksome chain 
 That binds the free, oft times, again: 
 And the child's great wish, to use his fingers, 
 Ever about through childhood lingers. 
 Our writing was at least well done — 
 "They say" so, and I am the one 
 Who knows they know. 
 Our writing put 
 
 Aside, we seek to give the foot 
 Due exercise as well as the hand; 
 And on our feet we rise and stand. — 
 We fly from home, we seek the show 
 As round the rows of desks we go. 
 168 
 
We see a tiger in his cage 
 
 Weave to and fro in helpless rage: 
 
 We bend and twist and turn as he ; 
 
 And then the prairie dogs we see — 
 
 We look about us as they do, 
 
 Or dance as big brown bears a few 
 
 Times round and round. The monkies next 
 
 Are with our cunning apings vexed: 
 
 We throw them peanuts, then inflate 
 
 Our empty bags at the same rate 
 
 We fill our lungs, though alternate, 
 
 We clap our hands, we hear them break 
 
 With thunder sound and mental quake. 
 
 And then, perhaps the man that walks 
 
 The tight rope next our shamming mocks :— 
 
 no, we walk and balance, too, 
 
 As well as all performers do. — 
 
 We are the band, the elephant, 
 
 The kangaroo, the giraffe gaunt 
 
 Of neck and limb, — why should not we 
 
 Also the gay show ponies be? 
 
 And so we gallop, walk and trot 
 
 And leap and caper and what not, — 
 
 Till, tired at last, we come back home 
 
 From these dear desks no more to roam. 
 
 0, surely I forgot to say 
 
 What was our written work today : 
 
 U, V and W were the letters 
 
 That held us in their lawful fetters 
 
 For lawful script kinship they claim 
 
 In form and face, if not in name: 
 
 And so they made for us a title 
 
 Imposing, capital and vital : — 
 
 Useless Vain Wail, — this was their tale, 
 
 Or 'twas as good, — Vain Useless Wail. — 
 
 Ah yes, this frequently is true,— 
 
 A wail cannot save me or you, 
 
 169 
 
Or right the past, or gain a joy; 
 But it stills the voice, and blinds the eye. 
 And yet, how vividly I see 
 A scene where wails can never be 
 Useless or vain: — The scene is this, — 
 A helpless babe has been thrown out 
 Of his basket bed by a midnight rout 
 Of little hounds,— on his hands and knees. 
 His wails are not useless, for in these 
 Lie the only cure for his disease. 
 The hounds will soon see him bereft 
 Of what little clothing he has left. 
 His bottle they have spilled, in haste 
 To lap his milk that none may waste. 
 One small black fiend has on his tongue 
 The rubber mouth piece, duly wrung 
 From out the bottle, — useless quite, 
 But to draw wind, or to hold and lute — 
 While he stands by the hooting child, 
 His two fore paws, in counsel mild, 
 Placed on his back to hold him down: 
 Aye, howl and rave, dear little clown, — 
 Your mother comes to avenge her child — 
 She hears your desperate wailing wild. — 
 Twas thus our writing and our play 
 Took up the last hours of the day. 
 
 Wednesday 
 
 The children, first, seemed to enjoy 
 Singing, "Where is my Wandering Boy 
 Tonight?" — and so I think it best 
 To tell a story to add zest 
 To zeal in a good cause: — 
 A tale of one who gained applause 
 From all who heard, as a singer fair 
 Whose sympathy and feeling rare 
 
 L70 
 
Swept from the singer to the throng 
 
 That greeted her; and she was, too, 
 
 The mr ther of a son that few 
 
 Would care to own, — a prodigal 
 
 Who, without hope, despised by all, 
 
 Abandoned friends and home and pride, 
 
 And left his own fair mother's side. 
 
 One evening she was asked to sing 
 
 About her "wandering boy", to bring 
 
 A truth more forcefully than word 
 
 Alone can tell to those who heard 
 
 Her sore heart plead its agony. 
 
 She sang: Her boy was near, and knew 
 
 His mother's voice and her sorrow, too. 
 
 His heart was touched, but his mind was 
 
 blurred, 
 Confused as one who in sleep heard, 
 And knew not where he was, yet knew 
 His peril, and the curse he'd placed 
 On one he loved much, and disgraced 
 Yet more. So, when the song was done, 
 To his mother's heart the weeping son 
 Rushes, as one in mortal fear 
 Of losing what is as heaven dear, 
 Crying, — "Here, mother, — I am here." 
 And after this, the story goes, 
 This young man turned from drink, and chose 
 To exert his manhood's God-given might 
 To down the wrong, and exalt the right. 
 A strength that strives and cannot fall 
 Enabled him to escape the thrall 
 Of vice, and batter down its wall. 
 Today we leam about the head 
 Of the animal kingdom, reared and fed 
 Like other animals, yet king, 
 Ruler and lord, being possessed 
 Of spirit nobler than the rest: 
 
 171 
 
Enabled thus to laugh and weep; 
 
 And alone the image of God to keep. 
 
 The children thought it strange to be 
 
 A fruitage of the animal tree. 
 
 The hand and foot was what today 
 
 We talked of in a special way: 
 
 Comparing every similar bone, 
 
 And their dissimilar use as shown 
 
 In every task we undertake. 
 
 The hand for foot none may mistake : 
 
 Nor may one to the other say, 
 
 "I have no need of you today." 
 
 Nor can the possessor part with one 
 
 Member, and not be thus undone. 
 
 And 0, 't-would take a day and night 
 
 To tell the tale, and tell it right, 
 
 Of this mild, uneventful day — 
 
 I'll cut it short now, right away. 
 
 But I must tell before I go 
 
 To rest the fable of the crow 
 
 The children read today, you know: — 
 
 That crow with a piece of carrion dear 
 
 In his beak, who flapped to a tree near, 
 
 Out of Sir Reynard's reach, for fear 
 
 The fox would snatch it. Mr. Crow 
 
 Was safe, but his crafty foe, 
 
 Awakening pride within the heart 
 
 Of this poor crow through flattery's art, 
 
 Induced him to let drop his meat 
 
 To show the fox how very sweet 
 
 The song he sang. Nor crow nor man 
 
 Was ever vanquished, nor yet can 
 
 Defeated be till the enemy 
 
 Within responds to that without. — 
 
 Without the artificial touch 
 
 Of example, moral, and all such. 
 
 I hope the children learned this much 
 
 172 
 
They felt, instinctively, no doubt, 
 A pity for the self -betrayed 
 Creature who, 'gainst himself arrayed, 
 Could thus his foe effectually aid. 
 
 Thursday 
 
 What mortal woman ever could 
 
 Teach a full day well as she should, 
 
 And then, at evening, find the time 
 
 For breath enough to make a rhyme. 
 
 And, to be very frank with you, 
 
 And tell the truth, as I always do — 
 
 Distasteful truth that will not mix 
 
 With sweetened water, white lie tricks — ■ 
 
 To tell the truth, this Thursday now 
 
 Is more than four weeks past, and how 
 
 W r e spent its hours I cannot tell 
 
 Exactly, as my notes that dwell 
 
 Upon the happenings of the day 
 
 Are lost, or hidden anyway. 
 
 Perhaps we sang of how God's love 
 
 Is showered from the sky above 
 
 Upon the sparrow and the flower 
 
 That soon have spent their morning hour ; 
 
 And how, because all small things share 
 
 His tender thought, and special care, 
 
 He loves his little children too. 
 
 Then our morning's talk or tale we drew, 
 
 Perhaps, from what we sang about: 
 
 Of quarrelsome little sparrows fed 
 
 From God's great storehouse; drink and 
 
 bread 
 Who find in wayside brook or spring, 
 And wayside weed, — a noxious thing. 
 And then, perhaps, the weest lot 
 Of kiddies read of Tom, and what 
 
 173 
 
Tom, Tom, the piper's funny son 
 Did that should make him wish to run, 
 As they now wish to do, — so one 
 Plays he is Tom, — one is the pig, 
 And one the piper with his big 
 Stick after foolish little Tom, 
 Who thereby gains a lesson from 
 His folly. 
 
 Then the second grade, 
 After a rest, attractive made 
 By nature tale, or spelling game, 
 Read their good lesson, just the same 
 As yesterday and every day. 
 And then, I know, we had some play, 
 Just as each day, this hour, we do 
 When we skip round the desks, to view 
 The country, pick its flowers, and swing, 
 Or roll a hoop, or bounce or fling 
 A soft ball down or up, or wing 
 The air like different birds we see, 
 Or swing our limbs round like a tree, — 
 Or several other pleasurable things 
 Our visit to the country brings 
 Within our reach. 
 
 Maybe we go 
 Into the woods, as to and fro 
 We swing the ax to chop down trees, 
 Or moan and whistle in the breeze 
 As trees do, or in many ways 
 Draw from the woods our mimic plays. 
 Perhaps one of a dozen songs 
 That to our daily plan belongs, 
 Or other exercises meet 
 Engaged our voices and our feet, — 
 Our all from top to toe complete. 
 But, when we hop, or skip, or prance, 
 I have a care that, without chance, 
 
 174 
 
Boys always take boys' company : 
 
 That girls as partners, too, shall be. 
 
 In later years these girls and boys 
 
 Can better meet the world's decoys, 
 
 And bid defiance, not in vain, 
 
 To dark delusion's fulsome train: 
 
 When, with maturer minds, they dwell 
 
 On His ways who made all things well: 
 
 When they can realize the sum 
 
 Of beauty in all things that come 
 
 As life from life, as joy from health, 
 
 Not painful death from guilty stealth. 
 
 When Heaven into their lives shall pour 
 
 Its love that murmurs, "Thirst no more,"- 
 
 A love that reaches down, and takes 
 
 The venom from life's fount, and wakes 
 
 Sweet thirst for joy it freely slakes. 
 
 After our play, we doubtless had 
 
 A drill in numbers, good or bad, 
 
 As we have made such drills a part 
 
 Of number mind and number heart 
 
 Before. My heart would not engage 
 
 In number drills at any age : 
 
 And so I try, as best I can, 
 
 By every known, and unique plan, 
 
 To put life, interest, and zest 
 
 Into what seems to me, at best, 
 
 A dull, dumb, dead, unlovely quest. 
 
 And then we wrote on our blackboard 
 
 The best our fingers could afford. 
 
 After recess we studied more 
 
 Of deathless number's dingy lore, — 
 
 All illustrated, and made plain 
 
 By chalk and talk, and every sane 
 
 And insane antic men devise 
 
 To pass truth to the brain through eyes. 
 
 175 
 
And ears and hand and every sense 
 We own as a servant and defense. 
 And then I know, the afternoon 
 Passed much the same, and none too soon 
 For two toil-weary, oppressed feet 
 And a! out forty more that beat 
 Gladly the playward, welcome street. 
 
 Friday 
 
 Last night I heard, with more or less 
 
 Indifference, I must confess, 
 
 That the whole school, in parade dress, 
 
 And best, should appear today, for we 
 
 Might expect a photographer to be 
 
 Present to take us as we were, — 
 
 And so we dressed to make a stir — 
 
 So did the sky, and therefore we, 
 
 Although in highest company, 
 
 Were disappointed, for the breeze 
 
 Brought clouds and shadows: — those and 
 
 these 
 Made our dear artist think 'twould please 
 Himself and us to stay away 
 And have us pose some brighter day. 
 'Twas of the wind we sang and read. 
 And Tom and Harry, Dick and Ned 
 Ran round with streaming hair outside, 
 Hailing with joy the winds that ride 
 Above and through and all around 
 Whatever in their course is found. — 
 Unseen, yet of resistless charm: 
 So strong, yet without voice or arm. 
 I never have been able yet, 
 In speaking with myself, to get 
 The idea to myself defined 
 With satisfaction to my mind, — • 
 
 176 
 
About this blowing, lifting thing 
 
 That floats you upward on its wing 
 
 Above the sense of sight and sound, 
 
 And feelings you left with the ground. 
 
 At least it always treats me so 
 
 When I can spare the time to go 
 
 Abroad when winds are blowing free, 
 
 And rise and shift and soar, and be 
 
 One with the atmosphere of might 
 
 That sweeps around our earthly night. 
 
 But none need go aside to pry 
 
 Into the scenes that mystify, 
 
 And close and seal the material eye. 
 
 Tell me what power controls the brain 
 
 That rules the world, yet may be lain 
 
 Low in the dust, — for the brain is still 
 
 Intact as when it served the will 
 
 Of unknown life, when life is fled, 
 
 And it lies dormant dust, and dead. 
 
 What, then, is life — the life that now 
 
 Is one with that to be, and how 
 
 Did life exist, and how yet may 
 
 It exist apart from menial clay ? 
 
 The story that one read to rest 
 
 Her class before the reading test, 
 
 Was of a loving pussy fair 
 
 Who had been given a bounteous share 
 
 Of milk, and such cat-relished food 
 
 By her mistress kind and good; 
 
 And so this grateful, generous cat 
 
 Brought, in return for this and that, 
 
 One day a luscious, juicy, fat 
 
 Fresh mouse. She sprang upon a chair 
 
 Beside the dinner table where 
 
 Her mistress ate, and laid it down 
 
 Right on her plate ! — O do not frown, 
 
 177 
 
For this was all a cat could do 
 
 To show her heart was straight and true. 
 
 Today we had a wee wild rabbit 
 
 To discuss, for it has been our habit 
 
 To study nature as we may 
 
 In every near and remote way. 
 
 Our big" boy brought it in his cap 
 
 In which it seemed to couch and nap, 
 
 But when a sunny-headed girl 
 
 Disturbed its rest, with a bound and whirl 
 
 It scampered all about the room 
 
 Till caught, and placed within its tomb: — 
 
 The cap above, below, the sand, 
 
 And darkness round on every hand. 
 
 The Last 
 
 You see, I found the time to teach 
 
 Three weeks more of five days each, 
 
 But did not note in common speech 
 
 The doings of each passing day 
 
 That now has vanished far away. 
 
 Monday, the first now unrecorded, 
 
 The well-dressed children were rewarded 
 
 For their faith and pains, — the camera took 
 
 A fair, plain photo, — made them look 
 
 Just as they did. — Alas for me 
 
 So faithless that I wore some shoes 
 
 A mile too long, and had the blues 
 
 Because my whole accoutrement 
 
 Was for the camera's gaze not meant, 
 
 But there I stand in black and white, 
 
 Just as I was, and yet all right — 
 
 Good as myself, best out of sight. 
 
 How grand 'twould be if we had the power 
 
 To see as others see each hour, — 
 
 178 
 
At least to grasp, in some degree, 
 
 A vision of ourselves and see 
 
 As others the unnatural ways, 
 
 Least childlike each that poorest pays: 
 
 Though who would not discard the fret 
 
 And storm of childhood, yet forget 
 
 As children do each past regret. 
 
 And so I too, would do as they 
 
 Who gladly leave the past schoolday 
 
 In the past, and run and leap and play. 
 
 Yes, they pass on, and none remained 
 
 In last year's grade surely retained, 
 
 But one. A good half dozen more 
 
 Will be on trial a month before 
 
 They demonstrate what they can do, 
 
 To their next year's teacher fair and new. — 
 
 Not too new I shall trust, to see 
 
 The promise of what each may be 
 
 If tutored well. Last year these could 
 
 Have done fair work, and all made good, 
 
 I judge, if the growing quarantine, 
 
 Had not shut them up in pastures green. 
 
 Well, the last day we had ice cream, 
 
 And things that are not what they seem: 
 
 Had relay races, and some songs, 
 
 And games, and what not, and some wrongs 
 
 Not great, no,— you'd call them slight— 
 
 I'd like to undo those wrongs tonight. 
 
 Next year these boys that soar and dream 
 
 When not pinned down with attention's beam 
 
 To the daily round— how will they fare:— 
 
 The better, or worse for the free, wild air 
 
 In the sky where they fly if the teacher dear 
 
 Does not see fit to call them here 
 
 To earth? 
 
 Dear, dear! I often thought 
 It I saw the dream, and all it brought 
 179 
 
Of good or ill to the virgin soil 
 
 From which all reap when the harvest toil 
 
 Reveals the seed : — if I only knew 
 
 The dream, and the dreamer's honest due; 
 
 And, if well, could grant the vision's gift 
 
 Of light and joy, whose strong wings lift 
 
 The feet from quicksands and from mire. 
 
 None may escape who pass this way 
 
 Except these broad wings lift them higher 
 
 Than heavy, low, enslaving clay. 
 
 I dream, and God grant some day 
 
 The dream comes true, and that I may 
 
 Grasp what He holds beyond, above, 
 
 In truest, kindest care and love. 
 
 180 
 
A DREAM- VOICE 
 
 My dream was June-day morning 
 
 Of glad and rosy light ; 
 Fair breezes from the highlands 
 
 Breathed not of coming night ; 
 And I no longer waited 
 
 The happy hours to be 
 For lo, the breath of morning 
 
 Brought all my own to me. 
 Sweet flow'rs and golden-hearted 
 
 Old fields of sorrow filled, — 
 The thornless rose forever, — 
 
 And all the heartache stilled. 
 But dreams of night must waver 
 
 And fail in light alway ; 
 Yet ere my dream had fled me 
 
 I heard a clear voice say : 
 "Lo, I am more and better 
 
 Than this thy dream appears; 
 Lo, I am more and stronger 
 
 Than all thy toils and fears. 
 glad or weary-hearted, 
 
 Give all thy heart to Me, 
 So shall thy dream departed 
 
 Be found of life and thee." 
 
 181 
 
LUKEWARM 
 
 I've seen some folks and so have you 
 That never stooped to make ado 
 For anything, if false or true; 
 They seem to say by mild and grand 
 Indifference on every hand 
 That stamps them as the "classy" brand, — 
 "I'm not interested." 
 
 And then sometimes they'll say right out 
 If you begin to talk about 
 Something as plain as sauerkraut 
 That they don't seem to want to know 
 Because the rabble don't say so, 
 And they must go where big-bugs go, — 
 "I'm not interested." 
 
 Dear me, they just want you to see 
 How very knowing they can be 
 Knowing so little, — feeling free 
 To slight and mock at lowly things 
 As high above their tho't as wings 
 Of angels over earthly things: — 
 "I'm not interested." 
 
 Of course there are such things that seem 
 More interesting than you'd dream 
 That others could. One like a beam, 
 One but a mote; — Like it might be 
 If you should stand beside the sea, 
 And see a ship go down, Dear me ! — 
 You'd be interested. 
 
 That would be dreadful ! And suppose 
 Your little boy should stub his toes, 
 Or tumble on his pretty nose 
 
 182 
 
Just right at the same time, you know, 
 Why you'd just have to let him go, 
 And say, "My boy, I love you so, 
 And I'm interested! 
 
 "But, then, you see, if I can save 
 A life out yonder from the grave 
 Deep in the sea, I must be brave 
 And interest myself just now 
 In saving men, and I'll see how 
 Your sweet wee nose feels soon. There now, 
 Don't cry! I'm interested! 
 
 "And I should like to kiss you boy, 
 So never mind, Don't cry! Don't cry!" 
 Now that's the way that you or I 
 Should talk, and that's the way 
 That we should feel tho' others may 
 Go on their icy, maudlin way, 
 All uninterested. 
 
 It's just this shallow lukewarmness 
 That's going to bring them to distress 
 If folks hang to it more or less. 
 I tell you, that's the reason why 
 This land that's going sick and dry 
 Lifts to the heav'ns of brass it's cry, 
 For it's interested. 
 
 And God will hear. He said of old 
 "I would that ye were hot or cold." 
 They'll find it come as they were told 
 Long time ago, that God will spew 
 Them out, and this old earth will too, 
 And get a mighty different crew 
 Some more interested. 
 
 183 
 
WHAT JOHNNIE'S TEACHER THOUGHT. 
 
 He'd been so bad, my Johnnie had, 
 
 When he went out to play, — 
 The wee fair boy, with heaven-blue eye — 
 
 How bad I may not say. 
 
 I cannot well or surely tell 
 
 Because I did not see 
 The deed that brought the blush I caught 
 
 On cheek and brow so wee. 
 
 I spoke no word that Johnnie heard, 
 
 I felt so sick at heart, 
 With calm despair into my chair 
 
 I sank, and mused apart. 
 
 The children here from far and near 
 
 Were trusted to my care: 
 Had I forgot one hour the thought 
 
 Of many an open snare? 
 
 My Johnnie's keen eyes soon had seen, 
 He knew what caused my plight. 
 
 Why did he stay when, in their play, 
 The rest had taken flight? 
 
 He seemed that day best pleased to stay 
 (I thought it strange) with me. 
 
 His earnest face spoke no disgrace, 
 But looked so good and free. 
 
 He came next day soon from his play ; 
 
 A bunch of small white flowers 
 Was in his hand, play-tired and tanned, 
 
 So brown from hot sun showers. 
 
 184 
 
I thought that night how many a wight 
 Heart-crushed, and stained with crime 
 
 Might lift true eyes to God's blue skies 
 If such had known sometime 
 
 His heart that bleeds for foul misdeeds, 
 
 That longs to break their ban, 
 Instead of trite cursing and spite 
 
 From out the heart of man. 
 
 We seldom see the wrongs that we 
 
 Condemn in other lives; 
 But we know none share in evil where 
 
 No evil comes nor strives. 
 
 How can we blame the weak and lame 
 
 Nor once regard the snare 
 That none may break but star-flowers wake, 
 
 And blossom everywhere. 
 
 185 
 
MY RECORD AND REQUEST 
 
 The day was passing for the sun had set; 
 
 And all tomorrow's lessons, still unlearned, 
 Were in closed books, held in a room where 
 
 yet 
 A locked door shut them in ; and grim regret 
 Her desolate, deadly gaze upon me turned. 
 Thus, after many a sealed tomorrow 
 spurned, 
 I can but say when my last sun has set, — 
 Again, dear Master, I have laid aside 
 
 The tools wherewith my imagery was 
 wrought ; 
 And much is incomplete, much crude, much 
 void 
 That earth showed fair in word and deed 
 and thought: 
 And yet myself I bring: — may I still 
 In angel architecture work Thy will. 
 
 JS6 
 


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