-.-c^-H* J'^\ ^^p/ '^^ "^ "-y^^^/ ^«' ^ ,«*- %*^"**/ V''!^\/ %*^-'/ ;^^\ ^^^^^^ y^^o \,c,^^ /^fe^ % ^"^ - ^^^'5' .*^\ ^■^v.^-^- .♦^-V ^4^ 5^"% V«*T«* .0-" %^ * w " « V w* -bV • I •» .V ..... 'h. .^ .1... -^^ o^ .•."•, • y '^^v •jfJNM/^o ^ac»^ M • «5> V^. AN UNCONVENTIONAL PORTRAIT ^ SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE BY FOLGER McKINSEY "THE BENTZTOWN BARD" Author "A Rose of the Old Regime," etc. BALTIMORE V/ILLIAMS & WILKINS COMPANY 1911 b Copyright, 191 1 BY FOLGER McKjNSEY BAI.TTMOBE WA\'EELY PRESS IQII ICLA305026 \urX. CONTENTS THE APRIL SPIRIT PAGE Hurry, April 7 Sleeping Beauty 8 Green Willow 9 The Face of a Child 10 A Day 11 The Man with the Vision 12 Master and Man 12 Oh, Miss Springtime 13 This Morning 14 The Flood 15 Somewhere 16 Optimism 16 The Voice of the Fiddle 17 Heritage 18 Pan's Perished Piping 20 Miss Morning 21 A Little More Cross 23 King's Dust 24 Unto the Stars 25 The Help Unseen 27 Beauty 28 The Lovehness Within 29 Laughter 30 Thanksgiving 31 Our Holy Trials 32 The Unsatisfied 33 Will-O'-the-Wisp 35 The Wayfarer 36 The Young and the Old 36 The Happy Medium 37 CONTENTS PAGE Little Apples 38 WTien the Last Dream Dies 39 The Samaritan 39 The Little Bloom Street 40 Ideals . . '. 40 Motherhood 41 The Lanes of Laughter 42 My Father's House 43 Black Sheep 44 Confirmation 44 Morning 45 Blindness 45 Ultima Thule 46 Everydayness 47 Mother's Day 48 Each in his Place 49 The Purpose Fine 50 Glowworm Shining in the Grass 51 Fate 52 Unanswered 53 In the Night 53 The Shepherd is upon the Hills 54 The Organ Monkey 55 Lay Him Aside 56 Today 57 Over and Over 57 We Miss Them So 58 Traveling Home 59 The City Birds 60 Of the Dust 60 The Ladder 61 On the Main Highway 62 A Whistle in the Dark 63 The Loving Laborer 64 God's Laughter 64 Old Doctor Cheerfulness 65 CONTENTS SWEETHEART LAYS PAGE Sweetheart 69 Within Our Word 70 The Magic Finger 71 Love's Enchantment 72 The Golden House 74 The Building of the World 75 My Love, There Is No Love Grows Old 76 The Road to Arden 78 Through Love to Light 79 Love, the Living Beauty 80 Elation 81 The Inner Sight 82 In Arcady 83 December Song 84 The Smile of a Woman 85 The Age of Love 86 LITTLE SAINT CHILD Little Saint Child 89 The City of Childhood 90 The Bachelor's Child 92 The Beautiful Vision of Little Tot 94 Boy Eternal 96 A Crown of Childhood 98 The Battle of the Baltic 100 Reversals loi Boyhood Town 102 The Pirate 103 Two Dusty Shoes 104 The Nightnoise 105 The Holy Stairs 106 The Charge of the Night Brigade 107 His Mother 109 The Little Children iii CONTENTS PACE Little Schoolgirl 112 The Christmas Spell 113 The March of the Much Beloved 114 The Lamplighter 115 A Glory I May Keep 116 Counting Hi-Spy 117 The Little One 118 Girls 120 Her Last Doll 121 The Poor L ttle Feller What Hasn't No Ma 122 A Little Child 124 Childhood Spirit 125 Little Child at Christmas 126 The Washerwoman 127 The World 128 The Fat Little Girl 129 Mud 131 ROUND THE YEAR WITH NATURE The King of Spring 135 How the Fishing Fever Comes 137 September in the Lanes of Dream 139 Ha wherries 140 Song of the Thrush 141 The Garden Cure 142 A Vernal Event 143 The Red-Wing 144 Earth's Looking Glass 145 A Child in Spring 146 The Preacher of the Sunhght 147 The Magic Banjo 148 The Careless Singer 149 His Catch 150 After Death in Arcady 152 Earth's Gladness 154 CONTENTS PAGE The August Moon 155 Calamus 156 Snow on the Dream iS7 Nature Deceives Me Not 158 The Sermon of Light 159 The Fairy Shore 161 The Blue November Nights 162 In the Spirit of Walton 164 July Night 166 The World of Autumn 167 In Meadow's Still 168 Premonitions 169 The Flute of Twilight 170 Fire 171 The Brotherhood of Bloom 172 The Palace Builders i73 Miss Holly i74 The Comfort of the Woods i7S FeeHng Fiddlish 176 A Woodland Invitation i77 The Dead Butterfly 178 Vast Nature Keeps Her Counsel Still i79 The Kentry 180 The Gospel of the Green 181 An Epitaph 182 The Morning Mail 183 Lighting the Flowers 184 MARYLAND MAGIC The Moonlight Hills of Maryland 187 Holly Hall 188 Spring on the Severn 190 Kent Island 191 Ante-Bellum 192 Charles Street in the Fall i94 CONTENTS PAGE The Cardinal's Yard i9'> Maryland Garden 196 September Tide 198 Talking Talbot 199 The Old Bateau 200 The State House Stairs 201 The Honeyman 203 Hinchhffe's Store 204 Snow upon the Hills 205 The Old Campaigners 206 Dear Maryland Skies 207 Annapolis 208 The Phantom Ship 209 Miss Tabby's School 211 The Lily Lady 213 Strawberry Man 215 Oyster Wharves at Crisfield 216 Cambridge 217 Fields of the Green Tobacco 219 The Old Main Line 220 The Red-Clay Hills of Cecil 222 Beneath the Trees of Druid Hill Park 224 Frostburg 226 The Hills of Howard 227 Deer Creek Valley 229 Love Point 231 Elk Landing 232 Spring in Southern Maryland 234 Charles Street 235 October on the Harford Hills 238 Shanghaied 239 WTien the Bay Boats Blow 241 The Sunset Hills of Frederick 243 CONTENTS IN DIXIE PAGE The Shade of Lee 247 Old Friends from Virginia 249 Shenandoah 250 Onancock 252 A Mother of Virginia 253 BoHvar 255 Virginia Fields of Autumn 256 Berryville 257 April Down in Dixie 258 OLD-FASHIONED THINGS The Greenville Band 263 Denial 264 Candy ELisses 265 The Shoemaker 266 Hangin' on the Wagon 268 "A Young Girl by Thomas Sully" 270 The Old-Fashioned Beau 271 The Two-Pin Show 272 The Temple of Old Mothers 274 The Little Brother of Brittomar 277 Sleeping in the Garret 280 The Army of Jim and Bill 282 The Balsam-Apple Lady 283 Plum-Colored Pants 285 The Chestnut Vender 286 The Poorhouse Yard 287 The Train in the Night 289 The Greenville Oyster Parlor 291 The Scissors Grinder 293 The Store that had the Bell Above the Door 294 The Sleeping Mother 296 Apple Toddy 298 Old Man Tobacco 299 CONTENTS PAGE Old Virginia Ham 300 The Lass Beneath the Bonnet 301 The Know-ing Friend 302 Goodnight 304 THE APRIL SPIRIT HURRY, APRIL MAKE the moonlight dream of April, Make the winds themselves contain All the silver ebullition Of her bloom and of her rain. Make the starlight tell of April, And the sunrise walk with her To the music of the meadows And the green vale's dulcimer. Let the dear one know we're waiting, Let her feel our heartbeat clear At the shadow of her footstep, At her great dream dawning near. Let her hurry, hurry, hurry. That our poignant grief may stay And the soul go out to meet her Where the woodbloom leads the way. Make the far sea murmur April, Make the hillsides whisper low That she lurks around the corner Like a ghost of long ago. All her girlish, winsome wonder. All her laughter and her tears. And the dew-bell of her dancing Coming down the twinkling years! 7 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE SLEEPING BEAUTY MUTE the silver bugles now; Courtier, doff your plume and bowl Low, low, whisper low As beside her couch you go! Regal in her purple gloom Sleeps she in her purple room; Years and years and years agone She put slumber's beauty on; Golden tress and cheek of rose, Throat more marble than the snows; Lips too sweet for love to kiss, Love to kiss, love to kiss! Halt your steed, impatient knight. Here is Beauty, breathing light! Little hand in careless spell Fallen like a coral shell On her breast, so pure the day Turns its garish beams away. Arm above her little face. Molded in Minerva's grace — Years and years ago in sleep Came the shadow-wings acreep In her eyes, too sweet for thee Evermore to open see. Older than the antique lace Curtaining her form of grace; Older than the breath of musk 8 GREEN WILLOW Breathing here its bloom of dusk, In the silence of her lips Is the cry that never slips From the heart within her breast, Aching centuries of rest Till the golden note be heard. Till the right tongue utters word Of the living speech that dwells In love's lost, archaic spells! GREEN WILLOW GREEN grows the willow-o, Green grow the grasses Where we kissed and let them go — All the bonny lasses; Where we kissed and let them go — Don't you let their mothers know! Green grew the willow-o In that land of long ago, Gone, gone forever! Green grows the willow-o, Fast fades its gleaming; Sweetly the song and low Drifts through our dreaming; Shadows, shadows through the years, Memory walking in her tears, Green grows the willow-o In that land of long ago, Gone, gone forever! 9 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE FACE OF A CHILD IT may not have mattered much, And it really was nothing at all — A child with that infinite touch Of a child with her arm round a doll: But somehow wherever I went And whatever took place all day, Her face was a sacrament sent To keep me from going astray! Some would not have given a thought To so purely a commonplace thing As a child with her visage enfraught With the light and the bloom of the spring: But it followed me, haunting and sweet, And her laughter rang on in my ears, And I smiled through the dust and the heat And forgot there were sorrow and tears ! It might have no meaning at all, Mere fancy, a flash and a gleam, But I felt all the day in the thrall Of a radiant and lovable dream: Just that the face of a child, A glimpse of it, passing, and then The laughter of Hps ringing wild. Kept me sweet in my battle with men! ID A DAY A DAY YOU will remember the day, and so will I, will I, When a ladder of snow-white roses leaned down from the soft blue sky, And there on the violet rungs, with wings of the feather- bloom, She came tiptoe to our wintry world with a breath of the May's perfume. You will remember the day — oh, who could forget such a gleam. When we looked again from the barren lanes to the far blue deeps of dream. And June in a winter world came down with her golden hair, Rose by rose on the violet rungs of the ladder stretching there. Over her all the song, over her all the glow, The drifting shimmer of sky and cloud, when buds on the plum bough blow; Dainty her steps as the tink of far-off fairyland bells. And we felt her weave in a dance of spring the web of her wonder spells. You will remember the day, and so will I, will I, When earth looked up from hei wintry sleep to the blue of an April sky; When out of the cloud and gleam a ladder of roses swung, And down she came to the barren lanes, violet rung by rung ! II SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE MAN WITH THE VISION HE who has the vision sees more than you or I; He who Hves the golden dream lives four-fold thereby; Time may scoff and worlds may laugh, hosts assail his thought, But the visionary came ere the builders wrought. Ere the tower bestrode the dome, ere the dome the arch, He, the dreamer of the dream, saw the vision march! He who has the vision hears more than you may hear. Unseen lips from unseen worlds are bent unto his ear, From the hills beyond the clouds messages are borne, i Drifting on the dews of dream to his heart of morn; | Time awaits and ages stay till he wakes and shows ; Glimpses of the larger Hfe that his vision knows! ? He who has the vision feels more than you may feel, Joy beyond the marrow joy in whose realm we reel — For he knows the stars are glad, dawn and middled ay, In the jocund tide that sweeps dark and dusk away. He who has the vision lives round and all complete. And through him alone we draw dews from combs of sweet ! MASTER AND MAN GOD can take a petal and a calix and a stem And make a rose of beauty for a garden's diadem; God can take a hollow and a basin and a rise And from them rear a mountain peaked with beauty to the skies; Man can take a piston and a lever and a wheel And make a mighty engine — but the mountain bore the steel! 12 OH, MISS SPRINGTIME God can take a raindrop and a million years of dew And make a shining ocean where the heaven is mirrored blue ; God can take a morning and a bird with azure wing And turn a lane of bluets into amplitudes of spring; Man can take a hammer and a footrule and a saw And build a noble temple — but His spirit gives the Law! God can take some pollen and a blossom and a tree And make a fruited orchard on a barren tract of lea; God can take an acorn and where craters used to smoke Implant the rugged beauty of a grand and glorious oak; Man can take a keelson and a hull and in a slip Construct a mammoth vessel — but God's oak is in the ship! OH, MISS SPRINGTIME OH, Miss Springtime, flirting with me In the catkin bud on the willow tree; Winking, Winking, blithe and spry. With a breast full of bloom and a cheek full of sky! Oh, Miss Springtime, aren't you sweet. With a song on your lips where the rose-buds meet, A buttercup in the gold of your hair. And a heart that's a regular devil-may-care! Oh, Miss Springtime, give me your hand For a romp in the dell and a race o'er the land, A breath of the bloom and a cup of the blue. And a kiss from the lips that are burning for you I 13 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THIS MORNING THIS morning, I felt just so bad I could not see how hearts were glad In such a world where day by day We have to rise and face the fray, And on and on through all the years — And yet, I thought, the sunlight cheers! This morning I turned over twice And said, why, is it worth the price This strain, this stress, this up and off, With pain and ache and chill and cough, And day by day the same old thing — And yet, I thought, the world does sing! This morning I woke up so blue I almost failed — as all men do — To see how wide and sweet God's day Walked to my heart from far away. And pouted there in my wee room — And yet, I thought, God sends the bloom! This morning, thuSj from dark to light I came at last to know my night Was not such night, my pain not pain. My world not dark nor toil in vain, For somewhere, always, love lifts wings, And always, always something sings. 14 THE FLOOD THE FLOOD ALL comes back in a flood some moment, The word we spoke or the thing we did; Yesterday's lie and the heart's wild foment, The shamefaced thing that the years had hid. All comes back in a flood onrushing, The childhood venture, the foolish act. The word ill-spoken, the faith ill-broken. All the Past loomed up in a deathless Fact. A thousand miles from the place it happened. A dozen years from the time and chance — But there it is when the flood comes rushing, The faces glow and the figures dance! Never were thoughts so far from the matter, Yet out of the dim, dead years it flies; And there is the deed, or the silly chatter. The awkward scene or the bitter lies. This comes, then, as the dead truth, certain. That all we have lived — till our lives have end- Is there in the folds of the velvet curtain. In the arrased nook where our memories wend: All comes back in a flood some moment When least expected, when none may know. The lie and the cheat and the heart's wild foment. Between the eyes like a sudden blow! 15 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE SOMEWHERE SOMEWHERE a softness glows, Somewhere it comes and goes Into your life and mine, Mortal and yet divine! Somewhere a sweetness speeds Unto our sorest needs; Under the gloom, the clod, Upward it grows to God. Somewhere, in field or stream; Somewhere, in deed or dream; Somewhere a sweetness clings Round us with wandering wings! Somewhere, in darkest hour. Bird-song or bloom-o '-flower, Lo, at our weary feet. Somewhere, its sweetness, sweet! OPTIMISM A SONG in the shadow, A smile through the gloom ; Beyond the rained river A garden in bloom. Again to the hill-top And over and on, i6 THE VOICE OF THE FIDDLE Though death and the battle Loom dark in the dawn! A star in the heavens, A bow in the sky; A heart beating dauntless, A head lifted high. A faith in what happens, All things for the best, While God's in His heaven And love's in the breast! THE VOICE OF THE FIDDLE THE fiddle is naught if it is not human. With the soul of a bird and the voice of a woman, The heart of the hill and the melody Of a thousand ages of wind on the sea! The fiddle is fine when they wake who will The sobs and laughter that leap and thrill From buried valleys of bird and rose The lovers that deep in its heart repose! The fiddle is spring, with its chrysalis gloom Blown by the breath of the birth of bloom Till hill and meadow are honeycomb sweet With dew of the clover beneath love's feet! The fiddle is joy in the midst of a tree Trembling to tell of the deeps of its glee, Shouting and ringing and bursting with pain, Then whispering sadly — a woman again! 17 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE HERITAGE WHAT is this that calls me out, What is this that sets me wild With the dream of fairy rout, With the lightheart of the child? Father Adam, I am sprung From the old, old garden spell, When the seas were all so young, And the green hills, and the dell! Was I gypsy on a time, Like a wind that wants to go Now across the mountain's rime, Now where valleyed rivers flow? In some old, ancestral day Did I keep my master's sheep, With a reedy flute to play Till the charmed things came a-creep? Was I once a soldier lad. With a breastplate and a spear? Or a sailor, always glad That the seas were always near? Something vagrant in my heart. Something eldrich in my soul Takes me out where green hills art. Takes me out where gray seas roll! i8 1 HERITAGE In the silver of the moon, In the amber of the sun, Glow my dawns with dreams of June, Gleam my days with youth begun; I had grandsires who were men On the coasts of old romance. And their blood is mine again, And their javelins and their lance ! I was sometime little child On a beach of coral bloom. And my braided locks blew wild On a foreland's rocky flume; That is why the sea is sweet. And the hills are sweet at morn, And the reeds around my feet Wear the shape of Triton's horn! Blood beyond the blood of birth, Joy beyond the joy of Hfe, Bring me back to mother earth Like a Pagan with a fife; I am with you, shepherd man, And our sheep are on the hill; And the pibrochs call the clan, And the claymores come to kill! 19 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE PAN'S PERISHED PIPING IT was on a merry day in the bloomy marge of May Pan sat piping, Sweetly piping, On his reedy pipes of passion in the old familiar way. But it sounded very clear To the world's distracted ear — Perished piping, like an echo from a far, forgotten day! There were teardrops^in his throat, but where deathless echoes float Pan sat piping. Sweetly piping. The same old god, half human, and the same old god, half goat, And the sleeping naiads woke To the wind-dance of the oak And the old, remembered cadence of a vanished woodland note! Where the willow rushes quiver by the marges of the river, Pan sat piping, Sweetly piping. Tears of dream were in his eye and his lips were loud with sigh. But to me in tones of old O'er and o'er his piping told That the gods are dead forever, but the song can never die ! 20 MISS MORNING MISS MORNING I HAVE drunk the rhythmic dew, I have felt the silver sun Touch me where the skies of blue Round a golden margin run; But the beating of my heart — Ah, it will not yet be still — When upon her feet of rose Stood Miss Morning on the hill! I have loved a quiet world, With a little corner set For the greenwood dreams we knew Who are fairy children yet; But it never seemed so quaint, And it never hushed so queer. Till in exhalations faint Came Miss Morning tripping near! What were bolts and what were bars That the world put up at night? For with fingers that were stars She hath pushed them back with Hght! Here she dances, there she goes, Up the hill and o'er the stream. Half a radiance, half a rose, Sunshine sifted through a dream! Now I mind me, all the years She hath come and she hath gone, 21 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE Oft in smiles and oft in tears, Shapes of dusk and flash of dawn; But tomorrow, as today. Wherefore that the wine is sweet. She will be as new-mown hay. She will glide on twinkling feet! Enter, lady, bow and sweep. We are young whom time called old. And the dew we drink in sleep Turns the dream of dust to gold! Bells and hammers cease their din, Mawls and mallets pause on high; God has come to lift a sin — And a rose falls from the sky! She will tiptoe and advance. While the little noises wait. And the blush-rose hides its glance Till she passes Beauty's gate; She will swerve and she will swing, And the lips of love will thrill With the matins that they sing To Miss Morning on the hill! I have felt this touch before; It was somewhere, I was what? Morning in the gone before. Sunrise in the life forgot! 22 A LITTLE MORE CROSS But the dew I taste, 'twas then As it is and yet will be — Wine of child in hearts of men, And the morn upon the sea! A LITTLE MORE CROSS A LITTLE more cross and a little less creed, A Httle more beauty of brotherly deed: A little more bearing of things to be borne. With faith in the infinite triumph of morn. A little less doubt and a little more do Of the simple, sweet service each day brings to view; A little more cross, with its beautiful light, Its lesson of love and its message of right; A Httle less sword and a little more rose To soften the struggle and lighten the blows; A little more worship, a little more prayer. With the balm of its incense to brighten the care; A little more song and a Httle less sigh. And a cheery good-day to the friends that go by. A little more cross and a Httle more trust In the beauty that blooms like a rose out of dust; A little more lifting the load of another, A little more thought for the life of a brother; A little more dreaming, a Httle more laughter, A little more childhood, and sweetness thereafter; A Httle more cross and a little less hate. With love in the lanes and a rose by the gate! 23 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE KING'S DUST ^ ' T AM king's dust, don't kick me so!" 1 I tossed it careless on my toe. A barefoot boy might thus have done On dusty roadways in the sun, As thoughtless as a lad that day I heard the voice but kicked away. '' I am king's dust! " Why, over there A thousand kings may He. Don't care ! A thousand captains, maybe more. Are swept each morning from the floor Of this great room of life where we Dance in the dust that once was glee! " I am king's dust ! " On with the dance ! He had his day, he took his chance, He lies as low as Csesar did. Whose dust may now be some stone lid For crockery. Though with putty mended, The Roman fiddler's day is ended! "I am child's dust!" Ah, that's more true! My feet, indeed, turn back from you! Child's dust, sweet dust, such dust as men- If all were kings — might well lift up And bow to and weep for again In some Greek urn or sacred cup! 24 UNTO THE STARS UNTO THE STARS UNTO the stars, and still the stars, the stars, Ever the caged wings beating against the bars, Ever the hunger of body for bread of soul; On the high steps where universes roll. Oh, for the wished-for, starlit regions there. From peak to peak to leap along the air; Prospero's cloak to wake the magic gale And summon Ariel on a courier wing; And yet, how futile! Conquering, or to fail, A gust of effort and a race unrun, A light life lived along a verge of spring, Joy of the morn and dalliance of the sun. Crowned, uncontented, ever new fields to find, Roses of red dawns faded, young eyes blind; Life, with its aim of the starry and starlit way, Dust on the lip, a shadow at end of day, A bubble of silver broken along the wind! Unto the stars, unto the stars and on. Out of the night to the hills of the utmost dawn! Oh, for the starlit regions, wished for height. And then, but a little of lily and April light, A little of laughter, a blown thing, eerie and wild. Lost in the dust of valley of little child! Oh, for the starlit regions ! Roaring they go. Seekers of golden apples, builders of bloom. Planting their blocks of kingdoms row on row. Breaking their bones at benches of spindle and loom. Stepping the steps of the silver and singular dream: 25 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE Commoner, laborer, emperor, belted earl, Dandy and driveler, bearers of banner and beam, Poet and painter, balladist, dancing girl. Chieftains and shepherds and keepers of prairie herds. Maskers and mummers, healers, and men of words: Spun-gold people — unto the stars, the stars, Ever the caged wings beating against the bars, A Hght and a gloom, a lily, a song of lark, Blind in the beat of the bUnding and nearing Hght, Out of the ocean a wind and a sudden dark, Lips at the foot of the wall dumb in a wail of the night! Unto the stars, ages and ages still. Thunder of feet of the throngs at the foot of the hill; Prophet and prelate, jester and baubled clown. Children of hope to a piper of Hamelin town Tripping as children have tripped in a legend old Unto the shores where the seas of the dead unfold; Hundred-eyed buildings, cages to hft life up. Swarming like bees in the bloom of a honey-cup; Oh, for the starlit regions, ribbon and thread. Laughter winding its web in the life half dead; Roaring stations pouring in rumbling street Comings and goings of hordes of a million feet. Ships like leviathan cities, lightning along a wire, London talking to Lapland, tongued with fire, Boston boasting to Bagdad, over the seas Of poles invisible harnessed to catch and toss Words of the wind on the multiple routes of the breeze. And the wild night hung in the loop of the Southern Cross! 26 THE HELP UNSEEN Unto the stars — babies hold hands and dimb, Starward moving to starlit regions of time; Beat, white wings, at the bars of the cage of strife, Unto the starlit regions beating to life, Broken and baffled! But what are the legions that come Out of the dust of valleys of ages dumb: The broken unbroken, the baffled unbaffled, the dead Quickened with climbing to tread with the dauntless tread Age, with a bone-worn finger clutching and hung Unto and over the rust of the utmost rung; Youth, at the bottom, with blood on a golden curl. But a rose in the lip of the dust that was lip of girl. And a song God sings for the lips that were dead ere they sung ! THE HELP UNSEEN THERE is no shadow, however drear. But the silver lining is there, my dear; There is no trouble, or grief, or care. No hopeless burden and dark despair. But someone's message of cheer and love Is drifting down on the wings of dove. And someone's gentle and helpful smile Is warm and bright at the end of the mile! There is no burden, however great, No cross to carry, of sin or hate. But under us, fainting, to Hft and hold, The unseen, beautiful clasp and fold Of arms of comfort and cheer and grace Reach out from the spiritual bournes of space ! 27 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE BEAUTY SHE never complains, If it shines or it rains. She never forgets — In a world of regrets — That holy all purpose is, Sacred all will — The dew in the valley. The blue on the hill! She takes with contentment, Nor breath of resentment. The rough and the tender, Well-knowing the Sender Designs in each test The one thing that is best For beauty that serveth For those who behold her, And dreaming the dream. To their spirits enfold her. She comes to all moments Unchangeably true. Above all the foments In me or in you, A holiness helping her serve and not sigh When the banners go by 'Neath the bright of the sky Or the bitter, the rain. 28 THE LOVELINESS WITHIN Even down in the dust Of the street and the plain "I will sing!" is her cry: ''I will trust!" THE LOVELINESS WITHIN THERE must be loveliness within — no man can live a life Clean of the heart-corroding stain that blurs the deeps of strife, Lest there be back of strength and will, the courage and the might. An inner loveliness that leads to sweetness and to light. There must be loveliness within — no artist paints a face With tender and immortal bloom of beauty and of grace, Unless behind the face a soul — profound and pure and sweet — Burns in the loveliness to make the portraiture complete. There must be loveliness within — the marble visage glows Not with the sculptor's dream alone, but with the thoughts that rose Of the ennobling life and deed his subject — man or woman — Gave to the world to help it grow more wise and sweetly human. 29 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE LAUGHTER BUBBLE on the pipes of spring, Blown by lips of violet May; Music on a wandering wing, Velvet in a dream of play; Essence of a bloom of light Dropping by a dewy hill, Honeyed in a summer's night On a fairy daffodil. Rippling of a liquid lute Bosomed on a bending stream; Lily, with her yellow flute Piping in a purple dream; Echo of a far-off vale, Throbbing with the muse of sleep, Caught by raptured nightingale Lonely on a rhythmic deep. Youth upon a trembling voice. Beauty in a shaken mist; Heartbeat of a dawn's rejoice, Kissing of a maid unkist; Patter of the feet of rose, Tinkle of the fairy dance; Love, with all the things she knows. And she knoweth not, perchance. Moment of an airy spell, Lifting of a heavy fate; 30 THANKSGIVING Poetry, from a dreamy dell, Leading through a rosy gate; Clapping of the hands of trees, Opening of the lids of June; Roaring of a thousand seas In a shell of antic tune. Morning of a voice of cheer, Starlight of a sound awake; Music on an anvil clear Where love's silver hammers shake: Laughter — oh, what may it be But the sledge the lovesmith swings, Fashioning by his silver sea Childhood out of dewdrop wings! THANKSGIVING LET us give thanks at Thanksgiving That we're singing and laughing and living; Thankful, we say, just to live by the way In sunlight and starlight that scatter their ray; Thankful, indeed, for the rose and the gleam. The smile and the song and the beautiful dream. Let us give thanks for the glory. The daily life's wonderful story, The fields that we know and the hills where the glow Of sunlight falls soft and the water brooks flow; Thankful, sweetheart, for the joy and the bliss. The arms 'round the neck and the love-laden kiss! 31 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE OUR HOLY TRIALS THE holiest things in our life, I say, Are the trials that harrow us day by day. The holy trials, that are hard to bear — The loss and sorrow, and grief and care, ■*T| Sent by a wiser will than ours, ; Just as the wild birds are, and flowers! Yea, they are hoHest things, I cry. To teach us sweetness of living by; And truth and honor and patient trust, And sweet content in the blinding dust Or sunny cool of the morn that lies Dewy and bright in the sunlit skies. Trials of suffering, trials of loss. The burden of bearing a bitter cross — Holiest ornaments, these, of life; Tenderest symbols of lofty strife; Trials to worship, not blame and curse With a discontent that makes them worse. Holy trials are these trials of ours — Weeds that mingle among the flowers To help us open impartial eyes, In deepening vision to realize How sweet the blooms that we might not see Were it not for the trials 'neath which they grow, Till, braving the battle of hfe, we go To lift the shadows and set them free! 32 THE UNSATISFIED THE UNSATISFIED A WAILING out of Askelon, a cry from Babylon — "Oh, wherefore should we suffer thus for that which we have done!" An echo from the buried dust of Rome and Greece and Tyre — "We are forespent who gave our oil and burned our altar fire!" A moaning where the temples rise, and out of Nineveh Tlie discontent of nations Hfts its voice against the sea: But over all the wailing wind From throats that parch for wine. Three crosses on a lonely hill All in the starlight shine! With Dives crying in the gate and Lazarus at the door; With wealth because it is oppressed and want because 'tis poor, Oh, hear the voice of Babylon, the cry from tomb and fane Of what they lack and what they want and what they feel of pain — Unsatisfied, unsatisfied, unhappy. Lord, are those Who tremble when it rains the rain or when it rains the rose : But over all the echoing cry Of Tyre and Nineveh, A bleeding side, a crown of thorns — Lama sahachthani! Oh, weary world, what more to ask, what thirst ye cannot slake. What pity in the voice ye lift, the wailing cry ye make? 2>Z SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE For if ye suffer and ye bleed, or if I — being one Who walks uncovered to the wind, unsheltered to the sun — What have we borne, what have we known of all dark loss and hate Who build our marts against the sky, our temples in the gate? For over all our paltry ache, Our wailing and our moan, A woman at his bleeding feet On Calvary's mount alone! Thus, when from Babylon ye call, and out of Rome ye cry, And when in Tyre and Nineveh ye lift your hands on high, Why should not Time stand still and laugh, and many smile who know That blood-red chronicle of grief, that high, sweet soul of woe, That perfect patience and content, that cross supremely borne; That wounded side and pierc-ed brow and bleeding hands and torn? Why should not Pity turn her face And Sorrow scorn your prayer, All in the sight of that dark night He made atonement there! Peace, little love crouched by my side! Peace in our hour of gloom! We who have little have so much ! White roses are in bloom Beside the road to Babylon and on the way to Tyre, And Nineveh is not all lust and Troy not all desire! 34 --1 WILL-O'-THE-WISP All, all the way a wailing comes from Dives at the gate, And Lazarus beside the door at Mammon hurling hate: But over all the wailing word Of throats that parch for wine. Three crosses on a lonely hill All in the starlight shine! WILL-O'-THE-WISP IT was a globe, it was a gleam, It was a shadow on the stream; It was a light, it was a ray, It was a goblin dressed in gray: But where it went or how it flew, I could not answer that: Could you? It might have been a little gnome With lighted candle wandermg home; It might have been a glowworm hid The lazy lily leaves amid: But now I think, whate'er befall. It wasn't anything at all! It might have been a firefly sent To light some elfin sacrament; For, oh, such priestly calm befell The quiet beauty of the dell, It seemed a childhood soul went out To see the night and walk about! 35 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE WAYFARER NOW I have come to a little green way And I set down my pack in the twilight gray; Now I have come to a silver-bright stream, And I lie on the moss by its brink for a dream ! Oh, dream that I dream by the little green way. As I set down my pack by the twilight so gray; Dream that I dream by the little green shore, Oh, dear, how it seems like old lives lived before! So, I wake and I wander again on my road, With my pack on my back and each day a fresh load; And I wonder and wonder some day when I lie. With the shadows above and no light in my eye; So, I wake and I wonder what dreaming will be When I lie, little heart, in the silence with thee; And I hope and I trust it will be, it will seem Like a life unto life and a dream unto dream! THE YOUNG AND THE OLD THE oldest man I ever knew Was a little lad whom Fate Had marked with care when life was new And he was half-past eight! The youngest man I ever saw Was a wrinkled chap and eld Who in his heart that lad's lost youth Like a white rosebud held! 36 THE HAPPY MEDIUM THE HAPPY MEDIUM NOT to be Hfted too high By the hopes that are bright and fair; Not to be cast too far By the shadows of Hfe's despair; Not to be made too glad With the wonderful wild dream winging; Not to be made too sad With the bells for the dead dreams ringing! Not to be made too sure Of the triumph beyond the fight; Not to count all life lost Because of a little night; Not to expect too much Q Of the infinite struggle^ and strife; Not to be too much hurt By the infinite wounding of life! Not to be lifted up More than is proper or wise; Not to feel doom or defeat In the little drawbacks that arise; Daily a measure of cheer, The hlting of laughter and song, With wisdom of faith and of fear To suffer and still be strong! 37 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE LITTLE APPLES THE Lord made little apples, And He made them one and all To fulfill a special purpose And to meet some urgent call; They are not always perfect, And they're knotty as can be Just like some little people That are known to you and me. The Lord knew little apples Would be scoffed at and forlorn. And so He gave them patience And a hardness unto scorn; And He made them extra sturdy, And as sweet as they could be — Just like some little people That are known to you and me. Often thus, the little apples Keep the longest, last the best, When the populace has eaten And forgotten all the rest; And we like them all the better Just for being what they be — As we like some little people That are known to you and me. 38 THE SAMARITAN WHEN THE LAST DREAM DIES WHEN the last dream dies, then let me go; When the last bloom fades, then lay me low; When the last child sings on the stairs of light, Good-by, proud world, and a last good-night! When the last dream dies, then let me sleep. Where the green grass grows and the daisies creep; When the last sweet laughter of childhood rings, Ah, carry me, Death on thy wide gray wings! When the last dream dies, dies the last hope, too. And the last bright flash of youth and dew, And the last desire of the mortal will As the heart-beat stops in a world grown still! THE SAMARITAN GOD'S hand under the heart that sinks, God's wing over the head that droops — He shall not fail, if he will, who drinks Of the waterbrooks where the white rose stoops! He shall not falter whose cross is borne For lips of love and the kiss they bring, Whose toil is joy and whose faith is morn. Whose hope is a rare, wild bird of spring! He shall not perish, he shall not fall Who goes on doing the best he can — With God's grace under and over all — To dream and dare for the good of man! 39 SONGS OFTHE DAILY LIFE THE LITTLE BLOOM-STREET I CAME along down by the little bloom-street, A-dreaming a dream by the way that was sweet; I came along down by the little green lane, With a tune in my heart of my youth come again! I came along down by the way I had known In the days that are dust and the years that have flown; And everything seemed as it used to be, sweet. In the little green lane and the little bloom-street! I came along down, and the maples were there, And my heart was as light as a leaf on the air. For I knew the old way and I knew the old place, And each friend that I met wore a smile on his face! Ah, happy and happy, and happy the day That I came along down by the little green way. For the song in my heart brought me back the old gleam, And the joy of my youth bloomed again in the dream! IDEALS LIFE must have its ideals; what would it be without? Merely the tradesmen's tumult, merely the myriad's shout; Down in the daily struggle, down in the storm and stress, Cometh the wings of dreaming, lifting us out of the less, Lifting us out of the minor unto the major chord. Blaze of the awful banners, light of the sword! 40 MOTHERHOOD Life must have its ideals; what would it be to go Daily upon the darkling, limitless round of woe? Ever without the lifting thought and hope and bloom Of higher and beautiful purpose changing the ancient gloom Into auroral splendors, widening our scope of thought. Ever upon the forges beauty by beauty wrought ! Life must have its ideals, else it were dreary indeed. Dust in an ancient service, motes in a mindless creed, Beating our wings as bats do ever against the wall Till in the utter darkness unto the dark they fall; Fairy the light, sweet fanc}^; noble, indeed, the gleam, Lighting the life around us on to the higher dream! MOTHERHOOD TO wait till every child comes home. With patience by the hearth to keep Watch for the little hearts that roam Back to her breast that gave them sleep. To journey every day their way In dreaming and in thoughts of love, Shining unseen amid their play, Bending on unseen wings above. To mend them and to make them whole, To heal them and to make them strong; Then, at the last, O lonesome soul, Gone, and no listener to her song! 41 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE LANES OF LAUGHTER I WISH to go down in the lanes of life's laughter, To sing the sweet songs that are here and hereafter; I dream of an April, I long for a May Before the old fashion of joy passed away, A green lane of life in the valleys of sun Where the very first fancies of life have begun; The lanes of life's laughter — ah, lead me to life In the vales of the sun from the cities of strife! I wish for the fairies, and wishing is sweet — For the fairies of life in the apple-bloom street. Ho! for the dancing, the music, the gleam. The dream of love's dreaming in valleys of dream; Beneath the green oak and the wide-spreading beech, With song on the lips and with love in our reach: The lanes of life's laughter — sometimes they are far, Beyond the blue hills and beyond the green star! I wish for the days of the bloom of bright wings In the groves of sweet life where the nightingale sings; The plashing of waters along a wild shore. And the Httle child-hearted adventures of yore; The violet-fresh fancies that lifted us high To the deeds that we'd do and the deaths we would die: The lanes of life's laughter, its mystical trees, Its silver, its sobbing, its world-circling seas! I wish to go down to the fragrant, green places Of phantom and shadow and bloom-girted graces; The tinkling of bells where the cattle cross over, 42 MY FATHER'S HOUSE The vales of the vine and the meads of the clover; The hills of the sheep, where the keeper of sheep Is little Endymion white with pale sleep: The lanes of life's laughter — ah, let us go down To the calm of their heart from the thunder of Town. MY FATHER'S HOUSE Y Father's heart is like a rose That in the balmy April blows, As tender as a velvet flower Between two dawns of sun and shower. M My Father's smile is like a gleam Of golden vapor in a dream, A ray that falls around my feet To light the road with bloom and sweet. My Father's song is good to hear As any brook that ripples clear. Or marvel of the wildwood note That raptures from the redbreast's throat. My Father's hand is held to me From out the cloud, across the sea, As tender as a velvet bloom Of love to lead me through the gloom! My Father's house is wide and long As love's farewell on lips of song, And there He bids me come and keep The feast of life, the fast of sleep! 43 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE BLACK SHEEP BLACK sheep, black sheep, lost and gone astray, Wrecked upon the shaUows in the glory of his way; Black sheep, black sheep — turn and let him go, Stranded in the alleys with the creatures none would know! Black sheep, black sheep, adrift upon the main. Battered by the billows and engulfed by every rain; Drifting to destruction with the serpents in his hair. And his heart a burning prison of the fever of despair! Black sheep, black sheep, wandered from the fold Of mother arms that held him in the days of hair of gold- Mother arms are waiting, be ye blacker than the night. To lead ye with their loving to the valleys of the light! Black sheep, black sheep, in a world of hate Buffeted and baffled by the bitter waves of fate; Dreaming of her lost child, yearning late and long, A mother's lips are murmuring his name in her song! CONFIRMATION A BLADE of grass or a stalk of mullein, And where are your skeptics then? A grain of sand or a wave of ocean, And the scoffers flee again. A butterfly's wing and a drop of water, A maple leaf and the cone From a roadside pine confirm man's wonder In the things that are God's alone. 44 BLINDNESS MORNING HERE to begin again, to start all over and swing Into the circle of do and dare fresh as a robin in spring ! Yesterday dead, with its night, shallow and deep of its tears, Only a burden laid off in the burial mound of the years! Here to begin again, with morning upon the hill; Here, from a Httle sleep, to leap with a new-born thrill Of hope and glory and song and venture and heart and dream Into the splash of the seas of dust laved in the dew and gleam ! Here to begin again, night and the past a blur — Only the hills, with their bugle call and myriad wings astir! Oh, to begin, begin! Give me your hand, and cling! Morning and youth and hope, my dear; love, and the bloom o' spring! BLINDNESS WE are blind who go with sight Seeing only gloom and night; We are blind who look and say: ''What an ugly world today!" We are blind, with all our eyes, Who forget that beauty Hes Radiant in its veil of gloom Waiting for the touch of bloom That he brings, who with his heart Tears the chrysalis apart! 45 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE ULTIMA THULE THE nectar-sipping gods have gone, The breasts they drained are dust, And Egypt in her desert sand Unto the thighs is thrust; Apollo is a golden mist And Helen's lips a dream, But oh, that morning of the earth Is still with dew a-gleam! The thunder of the charging steeds Before the walls of Troy Has died upon the wind of time, But Love is still a boy; The temples of the sun are deep Beneath the crust of Rome; But ah, that April of the heart When Argus sailed the foam! Imperial Antioch is lost, 'Tis ashen Carthage now. And death is on Gomorrah's lips And dust on Sodom's brow; The eagle of Apulia soars The mists of Charon's sea. But oh, that bloom of Babylon, That breath of Attic glee! In death or dust, and over them Olympus rises still, 46 EVERYDAYNESS And he who runs may hear the rune Of Pan-pipes on the hill; For that was life and that was youth, And all that love divines, Which still along those roseate deeps In dewy dayHght shines ! EVERYDAYNESS TRYING one's best to be patient with life. Bearing the burden and facing the strife; Trusting and hoping, and off with a song, A mite 'mid the many, a mote in the throng — Life with its everydayness, dear. Isn't it terrible, isn't it queer! Over and over the same old thing, Bloom and berry and bird a-wing; Love's good-by at the gate, and then The arms that welcome us home again — Life with its everydayness, sweet, Isn't it lovely, and hard to beat! Loss and sorrow and toil and rest, Dreams of love on a sweetheart breast; Nursing, rearing, the fight, the foam. The lifelong building to build a home — Oh, for the everydayness, love. With God and the blue sky up above! 47 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE MOTHER'S DAY WEAR the white rose of the day ;flB For the mothers old and gray, ^m For the mothers young and sweet — - Strew the violets at the feet Of the mothers, every one, Who have made the world a place Where the days in beauty run And the years are full of grace. A carnation white as snow, Wear its blossoms where you go On this day that's set apart For the centering of the heart On the mothers; wear the gleam Of a manhood free from guile That her life may walk in dream Through the country of sweet smile. Oh the mothers ! Weave for them Bloomy crown and diadem. Bind the chaplet o'er them now, Kiss in love the wrinkled brow! Golden mothers of the land. Strew the rose and lift the song For the truth that in their hand Keeps its finger on the throng. Every day a day of thought For the good that they have wrought — 48 EACH IN HIS PLACE Mothers young and mothers old, Half the truth has not been told, But we know them every year Better for the good they do — Let the white rose hide the tear; Holy mothers, love to you! EACH IN HIS PLACE EACH in his place, whatever it may be — Servants to serve and kings to set men free; Some for the heights, the bloom on peaks of bloom; Some for the vales where no ray breaks the gloom; Whether the humble, or the proud and blest, Each in his place, to strive and do his best! Each in his place — the bootblack's humble lot Gains oftentimes the proud lip's scorn, but not That of the wise whose inmost sense declares Even the bootblack in life's purpose shares. And being the very best bootblack in the land Is worth the aim, the heroic aim and grand. Each in his place, however small; be true, Doing with zeal the thing there is to do. Sure that no effort's ever lost to light That for its law has fundamental right; Be it the king's task, or the clown that sings. Or the meek dreamer poised on waxen wings. 49 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE PURPOSE FINE AMID our light a sudden gloom — But don't despair! Mid all the blight of joy and bloom Some purpose there Still keeps its swift and keen defense Of all our good That we may cry dim ages hence We understood! At height of all we toiled for, dark, But don't give up ! Our Ararats still have their Ark The sea's bright cup Shall bear unto the morning shore Of peace and rest — Some dove bears olive to the door Of every breast! The triumph, then perhaps the loss — But don't repine! Behind the burden and the cross The purpose fine! The riven flesh and then the tomb, But ever nigh Our deep Gethsemanes of gloom The morning sky! Through all life ever lived on earth, This purpose runs — 50 GLOWWORM SHININGINTHE GRASS The shadows mingling with the mirth, The clouds with suns, So, weakling though the spirit be, Look up, keep sweet. Tomorrow even we may see His naked feet! GLOWWORM SHINING IN THE GRASS GLOWWORM shining in the grass. Close where mortal feet must pass, Vital part of nature's scheme, On nothing and with naught, to gleam; Yet, divinely through you glow Vast purposes we may not know. Being of humble service there, Sparkle of some primordial glare; Under some footstep — God forbid — Crushed and forever after hid, Still must the consciousness to you Of doing all you could be due. Make me, O Father, in my trust. As a mxcre glowworm in the dust. That with its patience and its sweet I may my lamp for passing feet Hold as my duty of the night To give them my all, if all be light! 51 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE FATE TO never get your deserts, and never come into your own; To blow the bubbles and see the last of them broken and flown; To struggle and strive and hope, and summing it all at the end, '-^ Count only a mountain of loss, feel sure of not even a friend. To never get all you are worth and still make your worth the more; To go on patient and sweet in defeat as you went before; To see less able than you go upward and win success Through luck, while your own luck turns, though your value be none the less. I \ To part with most all you held dear, to watch e'en the roses fade ' From the cheeks that were sweet by your side when you first fell in love with a maid; To never have failed in a trust but always to fail in reward; To be trampled down deep in the dust, yet still keep your faith in the Lord. I tell you, if fate is this, and you answer it manly and true, There's some time a dawn in the east that will rise over doubt for you. And the less you have won out of life for the more you have served and been sweet Will that dawn bring the gift of the bloom of the roses of life to your feet. > 52 IN THE NIGHT UNANSWERED WHAT makes the little cricket sing All day along the lane? Has it no sorrow and no grief, No trouble and no pain? What makes the common world content With what the Master gives? What makes the insect pour its song In joy because it lives? Ah, if my heart could answer that I'd know, while ages fly, Not only how to live, my dear, But also how to die! IN THE NIGHT WE could not hear a single sound, No footstep seemed to touch the ground. All silent through the night the breeze Swayed not the branches of the trees. So quiet were the very stars. So soft the ripples on the bars, That far and wide in all the land No sound was heard on any hand. And yet when morning broke, we heard The trumpet of a sudden bird. And Nature cried in accents clear: ''Why, bless my heart, the spring is here!" 53 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE SHEPHERD IS UPON THE HILLS THE shepherd is upon the hills, And with a song of gold He plays upon the oaten pipes That charmed his flocks of old; In simple garb of homespun weave, And brown locks blowing free, He guards the gates of dew and dawn And sings beside the sea! Oh, yesterday I heard his voice And heard his golden lay, As on the sweet, archaic pipes He paused awhile to play: Perhaps Endymion to the moon, Or Orpheus to his dear — The song that made Diana swoon And Love lean down to hear! Beside my ^dndow o'er the street I saw the vision pass Across the green, delightful hills And o'er the cool, green grass; The oaten pipe, the listening flock. And yonder through the tree The cloven earth where in her bloom Emerged Eurydice! Now, I am neighbor to the desk And bondman to the task; Nor aught of life but leave to toil And joy to live I ask; 54 THE ORGAN MONKEY But, oh, the shepherd's on the hills, And I can hear him play, And it is very hard, you know, To dream of it and stay! To dream of it — to see afar That figure on the hills, The weaning lambs that gambol by, The nereids in the rills; The quiet world, the green retreat, The oaten pipe — and then, A dreamer in the city's heat Nailed on the cross of men! THE ORGAN MONKEY WITH nimble antic, odd grimace. The monkey in the market place Moves on before the organ's sound. Passing his panniken around. Over his masters legs and up He climbs to empty out his cup. The while the motley audience smirks At the insensate thought that works In brain so small to ape the man So far as such a creature can! ''Quite human," round the whisper drifts, And monkey from his perch uplifts His eyes to gaze across the frond Of curious faces, to respond. With easy challenge, that, at least, Man sometimes acts much like a beast! 55 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE LAY HIM ASIDE LAY him aside, he is getting too old; Faithful and trusty and sound as gold, He has served long years, and we know his worth, But the young are crowding him off the earth; Over his head with a leap they go — Lay him aside; he is most too slow! Lay him aside; he has served his day, And he's earned far more than his meagre pay; But others are pushing their way ahead, And he's had his turn, and his chance has fled; Lay him aside, while the young go up With lips to the brim of the victor's cup! Lay him aside; he has saved us much, And earned us more, and his heart's in touch With every interest of ours; he'd give His life and all to see us live: But the young press on for the highest place, So lay him aside; he has lost the race! Lay him aside; he is true as steel. And his help is earnest and fine and real; But he's getting old, and the young hearts burn. And they steal his chance, and they block his turn; Lay him aside; Don't mind his tears. Nor the life he has spent for us all these years! 56 1 OVER AND OVER TODAY IT means so much, this Httle day, this now, Wreathed with the wreath of victory on its brow; Crushed with the cross of crimson, or the stain Of fruitless battles fought in vain, in vain! It means so much, this clustered bloom of time: Noble achievement, music, magic rhyme. Sorrow, defeat, despair and endless gloom. Or shall it be the beauty of bright bloom? It means so much, it is so much, to make Or mar our destiny. To build or shake Our towering temples aimed toward the sun — So much, so much can in a day be done! OVER AND OVER OVER and over and over, life is a day after day; Sweeping and dusting and cleaning, taking the heart out to play; Sewing and mending and patching, round in a ring life goes. Till twilight comes with the lily and love leans down with a rose. Over and over and over, the battle, the bloom, the song. The infinite lesson of patience, the toiling and being strong; The bubble of hope far gleaming, the light and the lure, and then — The sewing and mending and patching, the sweeping and dusting again! 57 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE WE MISS THEM SO H WE miss them so, ^^i The ones that go— ™' Try as we may Through grief to say: "Ah, well, 'tis best, He's now at rest!" The voice comes broken, And when we choke The tears back in the throat, behold. The heart brims over, many fold! We miss them so. The loved who go! And when we try Just not to cry; To bravely tread Our way alone, The loved ones dead, The sweet ones flown, Rise in the memory and we say: "Oh, Father, bring them back today!" We miss them so. The loved that go! Each place they sat. Some cloak, some hat, Some cup, some trinket, favorite chair — Day after day we see them there. Or think we do, and think we hear 58 TRAVELING HOME Loved voices falling soft and dear: How can we help it, then but weep O'er the dear dust of those who sleep! TRAVELING HOME 1SAW them come over the water, I saw them go down through the land. Some lonely on feet that were weary; some smiling, with hand clasped in hand; And where are ttiey going? I questioned; Oh, what do they see where they roam, That their eyes seem to dwell on a vision? '^Home, home — they are traveling home!" I saw them come out of the cities, I saw them go over the hill; I saw little children, old people, swart sons of the forge and the mill; The 3/oung with the feet of light dancing; the old with a yearning for rest, I "They are traveling home,'^ said the shadow, "to lie down on K the dear mother-breast!" I saw them in shadow and sunshine, I saw them at dawn and at night Go on, and go on, and go over the road to the lilt of delight; Diviner than anything hum.an the glow on their faces who roam: "They are traveling home," cried the shadow; "home, home — they are traveling home!" 59 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE CITY BIRDS MY little friends upon the ledge, Far flown from country lane and hedge, Storm-wanderers on the strange wind-sea, With httle bills peeked up at me: Hail, beautiful, and frail, and sweet Crumb-seekers in the city street! Through icy blast and whirling snow From sill to sill in song they go. Blithe feathered signposts of that love Which watches from the blue above To guard and guide and safely bring Through storm and stress each tender thing : Oh, little friends, I, too, am there Upon the ledge, beneath His care; And, with you, through the storm, I find He has been very good and kind! OF THE DUST I DENY not any dust, Since the dead are in its trust! That the wind blows unto me May be ideality Of a loved face lost to time, Or a lip that rang with rhyme! Why, the ground beneath our feet May have been a vision sweet, 60 I THE LADDER Dancing, with her red cheeks ripe, To some perished minstrel's pipe! E'en this handful in the door May have been a troubadour, Serenading moon and star With his silver-stringed guitar: Yea, this very grain that flies From the pathway to my eyes, Might have been a giant who fell In some paleolithic dell. Or a soldier, in the flash Of the battle's cannon-crash! Tender touch and tender tread Dust that may be from the dead Lips of Httle babes that fleet In the whirlwind round your feet! THE LADDER T^HE rungs by which we climb are rough, 1 The ladder tops beyond the stars; We sometimes cry: ''Enough! enough!" We know we'll never cross the bars. Yet, suddenly, upon the heart. Some deeper aching than our own Seems for a moment from some sphere Of other trial to our trial flown. And then with perfecting of trust In ultimate and golden ends, We take the rough rungs in our hands And lean to lift some weaker friends. 6i SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE ON THE MAIN HIGHWAY ANY a man on the main highway That you watch with envy and hail with cheers Would very much rather, a child at play, Be back in the path of the yesteryears — The little green path where the clover nods And the old worm fences wind and twist, And the sumach bends on its slender rods And the sea of the spring is an amethyst. Many a man whom you see go by On the gilded road of a wide renown Would rather be back 'neath a soft spring sky In the tender dream of a childhood town; Would rather be following, barefoot still, The little green path to the swimming hole. And the bloomy lane to the old sawmill, With the lilt of the morn in his heart and soul. Many a man whom you watch go up The golden stairs of the hall of fame. Draining the gilded and sparkling cup. Would rather be out where the lilacs flame. Would rather be down at the old home place, Down in the path of the rose and dew. Driving the cows, with a sunburned face. And an April light in his eyes of blue. The main highway is a gilded lure, And the street of fortune and fame is fine; But many a heart aches there, for sure, For the little green path to the tangled vine; 62 A WHISTLE IN THE DARK For the little green pathway over the lea, And the brook and the meadow, the hill and stream, And the far white sails on a silver sea, In the old sweet places of childhood dream! A WHISTLE IN THE DARK THERE'S a whistle in the dark, and I know the lips that call Are the lips of little fellow walking where the shadows crawl, Just to keep his courage up and to fill his heart with cheer 'Gainst the dark that drifts around him and the whispering things of fear! There's a whistle in the dark sounding sweetly down the dale, And a little fellow sounds it, and I know his cheeks are pale, And he whistles in the shadows down the roadway of the night Just to keep a braver spirit till his pathway winds to light! There's a whistle in the dark where a negro strays, no doubt. By a graveyard where the ghosts lift a voice in hollow shout; And a strength is in the song, and a power is in the lay To cure the utter loneliness and chase the dread away! Let us whistle in the dark — oh, along the vales of night Let us fill the heart with hope of the coming of the light, Till the ghosts of care shall flee and the phantoms say good- by, And we walk upon the rose and the sun is in the sky! 63 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE LOVING LABORER DOWN to sowing and to gleaning, back to resting and to sleep; Back to comfort and beguiling when the dusky shadows creep; Down to toiling and to trusting — then the little lanes at night, With the lips that lean for loving with their crimson bloom a-light; Song and laughter, dance and story, quiet hands and folded eyes, And the Loving Laborer watching all the night within His skies! Down to planting and to reaping, down to conquest and to crown, Then the little lovelights leading to the cot in lane and town; Rest and revel, romp and rapture — then a sleep, with heart- ache gone. While He toils that we may waken in His miracle of dawn! GOD'S LAUGHTER SOMETIMES when in the sunshine I walk the city street, Down by the road of faces and the thunder of swift feet, I think I hear the sunshine as well as feel its ray — The sunshine is God's laughter, and it rings along my way! Sometimes when in the glory of the bright beams of the morn I find some little corner where the wayside blooms are born, 64 OLD DOCTOR CHEERFULNESS Around me and above me — in the trees and in the air — I hear the ringing laughter of God's sunshine gleaming there ! Sometimes when in the sweetness of the lane that leads me home I look across the verges of the crimson sunset dome, I'm sure I hear a whisper winging o'er the meadow-mile Of heav'nly love made audible in God's sweet evening smile! OLD DOCTOR CHEERFULNESS TWENTY drops of sunshine, mix 'em all together. Take 'em with a mile or more of bright fresh weather; Twenty drops of smiling heart, laughter ringing out — Soon we'll have you well enough to up and be about! Half a mile of exercise on the bloomy highway. With a little sparkling eye lifted to the skyway; Forty grains of atmosphere, with a bird song in it — Why, you're convalescing, lad; better, every minute! Dozen kindly deeds a day, helping some one's trouble Break and blow a mile away like an airy bubble; Good ! you're getting on so fine soon be time to leave you To the lips o' love-of-life waiting to receive you! Morning glory plaster, plain, on your rheumatism; Little gHmpse of morning gold through love's azure prism — Why, you're growing young again ! Say, you're well all over I All you need's a buttercup and a field of clover! 6s SWEETHEART LAYS SWEETHEART SWEETHEART, I am coming where you sing beneath the rose In Arcady, the beautiful, the fair; The Hghts are out in Athens and the play has reached its close, The wine is very bitter flowing there! Sweetheart, I am coming, from the battle and the blight To Arcady, the quiet and the sweet; The temples are abhorrent and the city moans at night. And hearts are burned to cinders in its heat! Sweetheart, I am coming to the valleys of our rest In Arcady, the garden of the gleam; The stones are sharp in Athens and the arrows pierce the breast, And fame is but a shadow in a dream! Sweetheart, I am coming to the sunshine of your face. The song of heart's delight and heart's refrain, The simple, quiet spirit of the wayside charm and grace, With love within a cottage in the lane! Sweetheart, I have listened to the siren voice full long, The false, the fickle music of the crowd; The trumpets die in echo and the hills forget their song, And Athens is so busy being proud! Sweetheart, I am weary of the hollow, insincere, Selfish and self-seeking heart of man; I'm coming back to Arcady, to Arcady the dear, Beside the reedy river and the perished pipes of Pan! 69 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE Sweetheart, I am coining where you sit with tender trust In Arcady, the bloomy and the bright, To purge my heart of vanity and cleanse my soul of dust And leave the lurid Athens to its night! Sweetheart, I am coming where you wait and are content, To seek the dewy fountains of the dawn, And change this garb of conquest for the white habiliment That they who go to Arcady put on! Sweetheart, it won't matter to the temples or the town. And Athens will go onward just the same When I go forth to greet you where the roses flutter down Beyond the bitter, burning brand of flame: But, ah, the all-revealing, unconcealing sweet of it In Arcady together, in the gleam. Beside the quiet porches in our youth-returned to sit. Blow the bubble, build the castle, dream the dream! WITHIN OUR WORLD WHETHER there's a finer world — this has got to do ! Whether there's a sweeter sky — ours is very blue ! Whether there's a better life — let us trust and wait. Love is in the lanes of rest, at the sweetheart gate! Whether there's a lighter toil — ours is at His will! Whether there's a brighter land — this is ours to till! Whether there's a kindlier age — here's our time and place. Love within the porch of dreams with her light, her grace! 70 THE MAGIC FINGER THE MAGIC FINGER THERE'S something in the way it lays its touch upon your head That shadows fly away and song and smile are there, instead. Some touch, and touch, and touch, and touch, and touch, and touch all day. But nothing seems to yield before the touch and fly away; While others come with gentle love and sympathy and cheer And quick as in a magic change the shadows disappear! It takes the magic finger, then, with magic touch and spell, To heal the aching heart and help the sickly world grow well. Some have it, and the moment they come in the room you feel The presence of a spiritual grace through all your being steal; Some have it, and without one word, but by some mark of grace. They bring the laughter to your eyes, the sunshine to your face. Oh, magic finger, gentle touch of balm on lips that burn. Love lays you on an aching heart and hearts no longer yearn ; Love lays you on a beating head and pain and fever-heat Turn to an autumn afternoon in meadows cool and sweet; The burden that made all the way seem midnight dark with gloom You touch, and every path beneath our feet is filled with bloom! 71 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE LOVE'S ENCHANTMENT SHE is lilac by the door, She is rose beside the gate; She is lily in the lane Where the lips of laughter wait; At her touch the common day And the common toil are sweet And she turns to bloom o' May Dreary alley, roaring street! Why, a very little hill. And a very little brook. Change unto a mountain, still. In a wood of Aristook; Change unto a sea that lies In the autumn twiHght there. Like a turquoise from the skies Where the gray dunes rise and flare! She hath caught the morning dull And her lips have brought the sun, In a dream-dance beautiful Of a crystal dew-web spun; She hath found the day a care And the tasks of day a pain. And her touch hath fallen there. Like a peace come back again! From a cottage window sill. From a step beside the road. She hath sent me forth a king In whose heart a dream abode; 72 LOVE'S ENCHANTMENT She hath brought me in the night To a hut by magic made Of her laughter and her hght Like a green room in a glade! She hath given me a sword Of Excalabar of old; She hath changed my pewter mug To a tankard of bright gold; With her song to say good-by, With her smile to say come home, She is bloom of April sky By a shore of silver foam! She hath laughed within the hall, She hath whispered o'er the sill, And the shadows, one and all, They have vanished, grief stood still; I am weary, I am worn, I have toiled till even-light. But she brings the lilac morn On her lips of fairy night! She hath hung a trellised vine At the gates of early dew; She hath filled my throat with wine Of the spell of heart-be- true; On mine eyes her Oberon hand Hath distilled me nothing less Than that juice from honey land Of the love-in-idleness! 73 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE GOLDEN HOUSE LOVE built a little house in the corner of the wood Where hearts could eat of light of the morning for their food; They had the fairy money with which to buy the dream, And every beggar at the door received a bowl of gleam. It was not built of beryl nor of the onyx stone, This little house that love had built all in the wood alone; But of the native pine and the birches and the beech. And everywhere she went there were berries in her reach. It sat along the road where it caught the morning sun. And in and out its door little creatures came to run. And birds built in the corners where the eaves were mossy deep And sang the silver twilight to the fairy dells of sleep. It wasn't very large and it wasn't very small, This little house beside the road that love had built for all; And kings came by and paupers and the holy men of zeal, And lordly dames and harlots and the shysters and the real. The corner of the wood that love built it in was, oh, A part of Eden garden in the days of long ago ! And so, in all the years it has stood there in the light — To see the passing pageant was a merry, merry sight. And thus the little path that they started to its door Who were the very first to discover it of yore Is now a mighty highway where the universe has trod The bloody thorns of battle and of beauty up to God. 74 THE BUILDING OF THE WORLD THE BUILDING OF THE WORLD LEAN the hill upon the mountain and the vale upon the hill, Cleave the rock and dig the channel for the waters of the rill; Plant the tree and sow the meadow with the blooms of eyes' delight, Hang the sun upon the morning and the stars upon the night; Pour the waters of the ocean round the verges of the spheres, Loose the thunder and the lightning, set the clouds and rain the tears! Cool the far, internal furnace of the molten globe with dew, Fix the heavens with their arches deep and beautifully blue; Loose the moon and nether planets in the orbits of the dark And the poles upon the center of the zodiacal arc; Bring the mollusk from the atom, till the ages, rung by rung, Climb the valleys of creation till the perfect world be swung! Then bring summer on the south wind and the spring upon the breeze, With a rose of April weather pouring down the rolling seas; Herd the lion with the leopard and the eagle with the lamb, Clothe the rock with bloomy verdure and the morning tides with calm; Charge with crystal all the fountains— till the land, the sky, the streams Roll in grooves of settled order in creation's dream of dreams! Still imperfect? Still unfinished? Yea, the Builder saw the flaw. Then the gardens of wide wonder and the deserts of wide awe 75 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE Shook with sudden, strange pulsation as a wondrous music woke And the air upon the billows in a thousand balsams broke, And the day and night divided as descended from above. Winged with white, the slender-footed, rose-encircled spirit — Love! Roads from roads in lanes divided, cities clustered street by street, Hammers swung and anvils sounded, forges flamed and sledges beat; Hearts responded, husbands labored, whistles sounded, day was done, Down the pathways thousands hastened till the gates of rose were won! Crowned and chapleted with beauty — world-created, land and foam, It is finished, sang the Builder, with the building of the Home ! MY LOVE, THERE IS NO LOVE GROWS OLD MY love, there is no love grows old; A thousand years from now They'll find still lit the living gold On Eros' burning brow. That which is ancient as the days. So long since it was born, 76 MY LOVE, THERE IS NO LOVE GROWS OLD Shines through the spirit with the rays Of deathless dreams of morn. Though Helen's dust is with its kin 'Neath many a fallen tower. The glances of her eyes are in The velvet of the flower. Though Priam's arm is like a tree That withers in the blast, His tale of love still sets us free From doubts that hold us fast. As old as Cheops, and as young As yesterday it seems — This love that is a mystery swung Like pendulums of dream. You know him as of Adam's time And look to see his staff, But, lo, he is a wisp of rhyme, A frolic waif of laugh. Tomorrow he will not have changed, Nor in the changing years — He is the spirit that hath ranged The Apennines of tears. The valleys of the violet joy His feet have trodden, too. And he is still the same sweet boy As when he aimed at you! 77 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE ROAD TO ARDEN IT falls in a twilight moment, when the mill-wheels cease their roar; A drift and a dream of music, a face in a roseclad door; . Away to the forest of Arden, on the road to Arden sweet, Where Jacques and the rest will gather and the trees overhead will meet: Oh, follow, my heart, through the valley, O'er meadow and mountain, down The road to the wood of Arden, From the reek of the dreamless town! It shines in a new-moon glory, a little white winding way That leads to the Rosalinds waiting at the lilac gates of day; The old and young upon it, the weary and faint, the new. The pale and the pained, the rugged and fettled and fresh as dew: Oh, merry the music ringing. And the lure of the song, how fine, Sweet Arden road to the lifted load And the lips that will lean to mine! I have watched all day at the ofl&ce the road to the Arden hill, I have heard all day its music outsinging the mart and mill; And the brothers beside me faltered, and the live who are dead heard not, For the gray in their lives of struggle and the dreams that their hearts forgot: Winding away I saw it, And the whistles, they blew me there 78 THROUGH LOVE TO LIGHT On the road to the wood of Arden, O'er the hills of the wine of air! It will come at a touch of fairy, it will glow when the moon is white, And down to the road of Arden we will go in the dream of light; O Mother of Melancholy; O God of the Rest We Earn, It will be so sweet when I feel my feet on the road where the long lanes turn! Ah, merrily unto the forest, For the green of its dream, its rest, I will go for the sleep to follow On the great Earth-Mother's breast! THROUGH LOVE TO LIGHT THROUGH love to light— ah, in its ray With joy they go the love-lit way Who dance to sweetness and the dream When hounds of twilight chase the gleam. Through love to light — ah, in its glow The darkness breaks, and inward flow Upon the heart's green fields the tides Whose sweetening water heals and hides. Through love to light — though blind, they see At last the sun rise splendidly. As unto Adam's primal gloom, Eve brought the genesis of bloom. 79 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE LOVE, THE LIVING BEAUTY LOVE is living beauty, And all of life is dead That is not on its honey And on its spirit fed. Love in song is singing, Love in art is life, The beacon and the burning, The scorning and the strife. Love is living beauty, The sunbeam and the clod Are not until it burneth, It is the flame of God. The picture and the problem, The music and the tower Are not until it wakens. It is the flower of flower. Love is living beauty, Opaque the songless night Till love dawns down the ages In light of splendid light. Truth takes it to the battle, Joy takes it to the dance; It is of one the music, It is of one the lance. 80 ELATION ELATION THE bright, blue day, how much it means, How much it does and brings; The fine faith surging through the blood, The feet on lightheart wings! The windy flare of autumn hills, The morns of silver rime — Thank God for youth that lasts through life And love that outlasts time! Lift up, O heart, and feel the joy. The bloom within, when dies Along the faded fields the bloom Rained down from April skies! Sing out, O lips, and shout, O soul. The year is in its prime — Thank God for youth that lasts through life And love that outlasts time! Yea, when the windy hill I tread, Or in the fine wood walk, I hear the dreams that once were dead Rise from the dead and talk! With air so blue and skies such hue, Were all the world a crime — Thank God for youth that lasts through life And love that outlasts time! 8i SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE INNER SIGHT IT is not that the world is sweet, Nor that the skies are blue, It is not roses at our feet, Nor rose-breath of the dew; It is not morning on the hills, Nor mist, nor bloom-brimmed air, But love that from her azure spills Delights for us to share! It is not beauty that we see. Nor rapture that we feel When God confronts us with a tree Or meads their bloom reveal; The mystery reigning round us now Like dew from violets blown Is only love that tips our brow With ointments of her own! Here in the city where the roar Of traffic and its dust Teach us how alien and how poor Must be life's sternest "must," Sudden a clear drop from the sun, A cool breath from a gleam, Down the deep, brick-walled valleys run- Love's memory out of dream! Ah, momentary, brief, but sweet, In meadow lands of light, 82 IN ARCADY Or in walled way or lurid street- That touch of inner sight! It is not roses that we smell, It is not stars we see, But love that in her faery spell Turns us to ecstasy! IN ARCADY THE skies are blue in Arcady, Though clouds be gray in Rome; The blooms are bright in Arcady — Come home, my love, come home! Across the world a weary way We wander and we sigh For heavens that in their cheery way Within our dooryard lie! The skies are blue, the blooms are bright, The roses smile, O love. And there are stars to shed gold light In thy dear eyes above! Farewell to Rome, it is not there, The thing for which we long. But in this life of human care, Of simple joy and song! 83 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE DECEMBER SONG THOUGH love may bring me April And joy should bring me May, A warm hearth in December, Is not that well-a-day? Though laughter bear me blossoms And music makes me spring, Ah, fireplace of December, *Tis sweet to hear thee sing! Come, roaring night of winter; Come, hail and wind and sleet; The violet's in the valley. The bloom of dream is sweet; Shake, shake the cottage timbers; Beat, flood, against the pane, Sing-ho for fender journeys To heart of primrose lane! Had I the spirit's choosing. Had I the will to say, I do not know what April, I do not know what May I'd take for wild December — For love hath still its spring In hearts that dare remember And souls that dare to sing! 84 THE SMILE OF A WOMAN And, better love's December, Ah, better love that knows The gray dusk of the ember, The white ash of the rose! For May-love hath true laughter, And June-love hath sweet song, But old love lives hereafter. And mellow love lasts long! THE SMILE OF A WOMAN THE smile of a woman — it brings back the sun When shadows drift down and the dayhght is done ! The smile of a woman — it lifts and it leads The heart that is heavy, the spirit that bleeds! The smile of a woman in worlds that are dight With garments of winter, wind-driven and white. Dawns down the dark valleys and over the hills Till spring laughs again on the lips of the rills. And summer's soft morning comes back to the land With a rose in its hair and a bloom in its hand ! The smile of a woman — it brings to the earth The music of morn on the red lips of mirth. The hope and the joy and the dreaming of rest Where Love holds a little one's face on her breast! 8s SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE AGE OF LOVE YOUTH is love's young morning, youth its golden prime; Young love dreams of roses in an olden time, Long ere joy had perished, long ere pain had birth, In a fresh, sweet April of the antique earth. Middle-aged love ripens slowly unto flower, Dallying with the roses, dreaming in a bower; And, if unrequited, broken vow or trust. Dead and dumb its blossoms wither in the dust. Old love lives in shadows, old love dreams in tears, Half of it but memories of the other years: Then, there's only one love — why this idle rhyme? — For love is young forever with a youth outlasting time! 86 LITTLE SAINT CHILD LITTLE SAINT CHILD A WAYSIDE cross to her I raise And by it leave my beam, A little candle of the days Of innocence and dream. Ah, hoHest of holiness, Before this humble shrine I bow unto the loveliness Of purity like thine! Saint child, my patron and my friend, On every road I know. Help me to light unto the end Thy candles as I go. I know not whether angels come. As some were wont to say. Or whether sainted lips still dumb Like ghosts beside us pray. But saints, I know, will ever be On this earth while Saint Child Comes in the twilight to my knee With song and laughter wild. Saint child, let others choose at will, My patron is my sweet Who lieth in my lap full still Where dusk and dreaming meet. When from the ardor of the fight I come with weary soul; 89 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE It is the flickering of her light That saves and keeps me whole. Amid the roaring of the fray, The heartache and the care, I am anointed for the day Because Saint Child is there. In valleys of the kindly earth, On hills of storm and strife. Her white cross leadeth us to mirth Through pilgrimage of life. By every stern and stately tree In forest or on road, Oh, let me raise a shrine to thee, That all who bear their load May cast their burden for a while By every shrine I've lit And at the coming of your smile Kneel down and worship it! Kneel down in reverence as to one Whose pure soul maketh us In this sweet worship justified And not idolatrous. THE CITY OF CHILDHOOD IF ever I tire, beloved, of the care and toil and beating Of wings on the air that offers no resonant motion of flight; If ever I weary of waiting through years that engulf and are fleeting, The bloom of the hopes that perish in a breath 'twixt the dawn and the night. 90 THE CITY OF CHILDHOOD If ever I answer "I cannot" to the call of life's labor and planning, And hands shall falter that fashion the dreams I have built for you; Before I have passed to the shadow and dread of defeat's unmanning, One day, one dream, one endeavor with God in the fields of blue ! One day for a dream together and no one to offer pity; Only a wall of world and a green earth for our feet; Where we shall build of love, and only of love, a city Of childhood confidence and the make-believes that were sweet! Only a wall of world and a quiet place for a palace, Airy as those we built in old blown bubbles of dream, Where, children of childhood cities, with lips to the charm-ed chalice. We built from winds of wonder the airy castles of gleam ! If ever I tire of weaving the shuttles that click and clatter, Beside the looms that tremble in hearts that cannot be still; It will not grieve nor wound and it will not seem to matter, If only I gain my hour with you and the field and hill! If only the dusk forsake me, and the wind of the four seas, sleeping. Comes with a breath of bloom from summers of old, old years; 91 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE From out my heart and life and the dark, dank chambers sweeping The moth and the dust and stain of the raining of bitter tears! Only a flash of garden, and field and a wall between |j| Our hour and the streets of thunder that sink in the flame and die, ^^ Till we build the childhood city of pearl and tourmahne, " And the dream of a childhood heart in a world of April sky! THE BACHELOR'S CHILD HE tosses her above his head, He romps until his face is red, He holds her arm's length just to see The wonder of her witchery; He talks in language soft and slow That only httle babies know, He pauses now and then to gaze Far off as if 'twere in a maze, And then with sudden sigh and start He presses her unto his heart. He sits her highness on his knees And hums her nursery melodies, He shakes her rattle, jingles bells. And, oh, such wondrous stories tells; 92 THE BACHELOR'S CHILD He lifts her little face to lay Its softness on his own, and play Her dimples were the deeps wherein A thousand drops of dew had been And with his lips upon the brink He'd lean to them to kiss and drink. He lets her sink upon his breast, He sings her little lays of rest, And when her little eyes are closed And all her baby grace reposed. He sits beside her little cot Thinking of things so long forgot, So far adown the long ago Wherefrom the tender echoes flow Of songs he heard, of gay love-rhyme, On lips whose roses fade betime. Be still — the shadows fill his room! A wrinkled, lonely bachelor's doom To yearn for things that passed him by, To hold the memory of a sigh. To glimpse the shadow of a face Once sunbright with its girlish grace. To toss in play and sing to sleep — When all the lonely shadows creep And o'er his heart a figure gleams — The little baby of his dreams! 93 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE BEAUTIFUL VISION OF LITTLE TOT IF I could have what I now have not, Give me, O Father, like Little Tot, The childhood vision, the fairy sight That looks through lenses of magical light, To beautiful glory of worlds like those She sees when she perches a-tippytoes On the hills of spring or the summer bowers Mid the lavender pageants of purple hours! The beautiful vision of Little Tot — I sigh for that when I have it not, For it takes her up when the spring comes by To the primrose path of the morning sky, And it leads her forth when the summer smiles To the beautiful morning-glory miles, And the buttercup lanes, Mid the old refrains Of the glad, new, jubilant, joyous thrill In creek and hill Of the sweet-voiced rill Playing its music on silver stops Of the lute where Ariel childhood hops And skips and jumps like a katydid In the far green silences, singing, hid. The beautiful vision of Tot, my child. Why, how could a heart be aught but wild 94 THE BEAUTIFUL VISION OF LITTLE TOT When over the autumn hills she sees, Not wind and cold and the leafless trees, But troops of purple and crimson things, With maple bonnets and sumac wings, And knights en-horse On a golden field Of the very cloth-of-gold, of course, With armor on and gleaming shield, And queens come down, with one in gray Who on a purple bier they lay, And she's a dream that died in May That love to Tot revealed. If I could have, as I said before. The things I've had but now have not, I'd choose the dreams that are no more — The beautiful vision of Little Tot, Whose bubbles break from the pipe and soar, And sink and rise, Green fields and skies And fairy cities amid them glowing, Even in winter, with all its blowing — For then more beautiful is her sight Than even in spring, with its April light; For then, if ever, the streets are stars. And lovely windows, and candy jars, And cakes and raisins, and dolls, and she Is a glorious bird in a Christmas tree! 95 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE BOY ETERNAL We were, fair Queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind. But such a day tomorrow as today, And to be boy eternal. — The Winter's Tale. WHERE is now that magic spell? Brothers, have ye still the dew Whereupon it once befell Boy eternal dwelt in you? Yesterday hath had its gleam, Long Ago is but a sleep; Comrades, do we dream the dream Of the rose of youth-for-keep? Turn the wheel and turn again. Lift the veil and blow the dust; Are we boys or are we men, Are we doubt or are we trust? Is tomorrow a today Of the lightheart, of the free, Bloomy in a breath of May, Blithe beside a silver sea? Crack the crust and dig ye down Through the gray rind of the heart — Here's the road to Boyhood Town, Where the days of dreaming art! Pike it with me, lad or sage, I Comrade of the whistling lip — '' i BOY ETERNAL He is king who laughs at age; Here is April, have a sip! Now, remember, we are child; Life was but a nightmare, so. With the heart of youth a-wild. Unto barefoot land we go! There has been no grown-up time, There has been no grief to feel; We are June, with Hps of rhyme, Dancing in a dewdrop reel! Fie upon your backward peep! Life was but a ghost of toil — Here we are in fairy sleep. Children of the vernal soil! Have no care for thoughts that bide, Thews that ache or bones that crack- Youth is on the silver tide Floating unto child-come-back! Leave it, leave the spindle's roar, Temple's lure and market's lust; Boy is boy forevermore. Rosy in a web of dust! We have never left it, friends, Boyhood stands and we are still — Lighthearts at a landing's end. Youngsters on a red clay hill! Something creeps to me at night, Quirk of side at end of day; 97 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE There a strand blows in the light Some might call a strand of gray ; Don't believe it! Nonsense, sweet! I am in a skirt of plaid: Boyhood, on its whirling feet; Laughter, on the lips of lad! A CROWN OF CHILDHOOD WHEN the season of the green leaf comes again. With its clean rebirth of beauty and its rain; When the bloom is on the apple, and they say It is happy for the crowning o' the May; Then I wander, as I wandered years agone. To a vision and a glory on the lawn, Where they sate her on a chair. With the roses in her hair, And her beauty broke as beauty breaks in dawn! Like a smile upon the pure face of a boy When the heart of him is full of life's clean joy, Glows the pageant of lost youth along the land Where we danced, as comrades dance, with hand in hand. And the thrushes sang around us, and the locusts cast their seed. And we rode the lists of tourney on our ponies cap-a-pied, And we brought her woven zone Of white daisies for her throne, And we crowned her Queen of May Day in the Land of Golden Deed! 98 A CROWN OF CHILDHOOD When the woods are full of whispers in the dusk, And the wild magnolia shakes around its musk, Through the ancient boxwood hedges, dark and tall, And around the gravels walks of Holly Hall A child pageant of old beauty and old bloom Strikes th^ light of lovely lances through the gloom, And a lane of white light follows Where the children through the hollows Lead the child-queen to her scepter and her plume! The winding river haunts me as of old. And the marshes, with their mallows pink and gold, And the deep, sweet C3^ress places. Full of haunting, phantom faces, And the cool, deep wimpling eddies, whirhng dim Where we leaped, wild brown-skinned youngsters, for a swim. Or beside the runnel's swish All the long day tried for fish — Little childhoods in a childworld of the purple seraphim! When the hylas on the swampsides croak and sing, And the old effulgence happens, and 'tis spring, I am yonder, I am yonder, where they came To celebrate May morning with wild game. And to crown her, crown the fair one and the mild. With the bloom of fifth-month beauty for a child; And it all comes back to me. With its laughter and its glee, When the season of the green leaf sets me wild! 99 SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC AT the battle of the Baltic we were two, we were two, A little old, old fellow and a lad of derring-do: The snaredrums beat to battle With a rattle, rattle, rattle. With a rumble and a grumble And a thrumble, thrumble, thrumble — And then the ships were ready, and they set to work with glee, At the battle of the Baltic on the waves of rainbarrel sea: We were at the fight together. In the days of derring-do, With our hearts as light as feather. Skies as bright as April blue! At the battle of the Baltic came the noble ships in hne. And some were made of shingle and some were chips of pine: The trumpets raised a rumpus With their grumpus, grumpus, grumpus. With their crying and their sighing And the groaning of the dying — Then the httle decks were bloody and the Httle ships went down In the whirl of rainbarrel waters by the shores of Boyhood Town: We were at the fight together. You with eyes of lad ashine. And the gray of winter weather In these fading eyes of mine! lOO i REVERSALS I At the battle of the Baltic you were Admiral of the Rear, And I was at the window looking down upon you, dear: Came the stately flagship soaring, Came the guns of war a-roaring. And the rattle, rattle, rattle Of the drums that beat to battle: Of the drums that beat to battle on that day you played with me, A little lightheart fellow by the waves of rainbarrel sea: We were at the fight together, And the shingle ships were fine, And our hearts were light as feather When the shingle whipped the pine! REVERSALS IN boyhood's day we longed to be Grown up and faring forth to see The world of wonder and delight Where men with men life's battle fight. But, after all, it was not much; And how we hunger, now, to clutch The flying phantom, fading gleam. That takes us back to boyhood's dream! lOI SONGS OF THE DAILY LIFE BOYHOOD TOWN KIND God, look down on Boyhood Town and keep it green forever, The long main street, with shade trees sweet, the wharf and the dreaming river! Oh, lead us there when bowed with care to hear its childhood story, Its song and speech of love that teach the light of love and glory! Ah, lead us down to Boyhood Town, when we are old and weary, To taste and know the golden glow of spirits fresh and cheery! Look down, we pray, on all that play in childhood's bloomy valley; Keep sweet the street where little feet of youth and gladness rally; Keep fair the place with pristine grace, that in our gray December We may be led with blithesome tread to love's undying ember! Kind God, look down on Boyhood Town and keep its soft lights gleaming ^jj^ In gardens fair that blossom there along loved paths of dream- ing! Look down, look down on Boyhood Town — for we are fain to follow The homeward way some well-a-day when all the world grows hollow! I02 ^4: H W W !>■ 72 H C/3 W w W a « « H H Cfi W g Q