0^ TS 3 5 9 
 
 Book , Ac - L£_a 
 Copyright^ — 
 
 1 9 14 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
BALLADS OF CHILDHOOD 
 
By the Same Author : 
 
 (Verse) 
 
 The Road Beyond the Town 
 
 and other llttle verses 
 
 (Prose) 
 
 Melchior of Boston 
 
 Stuore 
 
 The Wedding Bells of 
 Glendalough 
 
Ballads of Childhood 
 
 BY 
 
 MICHAEL EARLS, S.J. 
 
 New York Cincinnati Chicago: 
 BENZIGER BROTHERS 
 
 Publishers of Benziger's Magazine 
 1914 
 

 $3 t 
 
 Copyright, 1914, by Benziger Brothers 
 
 MAY 21 1914 
 
 S&e 
 
 ©CI. A 3 744 4 9 
 
To 
 
 AND 
 
 Jour ®%r ^rienus 
 
 He Knows 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 To Bayard 9 
 
 A Garden of Wheat and Vine 11 
 
 Saint Holly 17 
 
 Sailor Lad 19 
 
 Bobby Brim 22 
 
 Great Travellers 24 
 
 To James 26 
 
 The Child's Play of Men 28 
 
 A Fellow I Know 29 
 
 The Autumn Painter 30 
 
 At London Bridge 33 
 
 A Little Farmer 35 
 
 To Dorothy 37 
 
 Baron von Dougall 38 
 
 My Hunting Grounds 41 
 
 In the Photographer's Studio 43 
 
 May-Day 44 
 
 Bonnie Prince 0' Spring 46 
 
 7 
 
8 Contents 
 
 Friends Again 48 
 
 My Gallery 50 
 
 An Autumn Rose-Tree 53 
 
 Batchee le Blanc 55 
 
 After Vacation 57 
 
 A Little Railroad Man 58 
 
 In a Sea-Shell 61 
 
 A Mother's Care 63 
 
 The Easter of the Flowers 65 
 
 Mother and I in the May 67 
 
 To Catherine 69 
 
 The Song of Workaday Mill 71 
 
 The Last Gift 73 
 
 To Helen and Gerard 74 
 
 A Little Christmas Song 77 
 
 The Lights of Worcester Town 78 
 
 Envoy: My Walks 81 
 
TO BAYARD 
 
 '""THOUGH I have read of goodly men 
 
 And deeds that claim renown, 
 Though I shall read good deeds again 
 
 Of future field and town, — 
 Come all the men of gallant days, 
 
 From past or times to be, 
 I would not equal them with praise 
 
 My Bayard has of me. 
 
 0, well I know of Arthur's clan 
 And hosts of Cid and Finn, 
 
 And worthy knights where ramparts ran 
 To let brave honor in: 
 
 Yet far-off legend and its song 
 In robes of courtly art, — 
 
 I read them best where honors throng 
 
 In Bayard's loyal heart. 
 9 
 
10 To Bayard 
 
 Not only by achievements done 
 
 On fields of bright applause 
 The forts of loving hearts are won 
 
 That serve good honor's laws: 
 But little words and little deeds, 
 
 With loyalty for king, 
 Go flowering up from little seeds, 
 
 And keep all years in spring. 
 
 I love the deeds of goodly men 
 
 With Arthur, Cid, and Finn, 
 Who drove off harm from fort or fen 
 
 To let brave honor in: 
 Yet all the knights of gallant ways 
 
 Of past or times to be, 
 I would not equal with the praise 
 
 My Bayard has of me. 
 
A GARDEN OF WHEAT AND VINE 
 
 YV 7HEN I came back to Boston Town by 
 good roads and by tumbledown, 
 
 (From ten long years of travel and the won- 
 derlands I know), 
 
 I glanced across the olden scenes, the market 
 crowds and public greens, 
 
 And thought to find two children and our 
 love of long ago. 
 
 0, I could know them far or near, their 
 voices out of thousands hear, 
 
 The two that said, " We wait for you what- 
 ever year you come: " 
 
 Yea, if a pageant passed my way whenever 
 kings made holiday, 
 
 My heart would listen elsewhere, and their 
 
 merriment was dumb. 
 11 
 
12 A Garden of Wheat and Vine 
 
 So on through Boston Town I went, from 
 Ponkapog to Paddockbent, 
 
 I asked a hundred folk or more who smiled 
 and sped along: 
 
 What wonder if they did not care, whose 
 quest was money everywhere, 
 
 And mine two little children and a friend- 
 ship meet for song. 
 
 The afternoon came on apace, I met the 
 
 Mayor in his place, 
 With Sheriff Sirs and Counsellors that by 
 
 him sat in state; 
 His honor stood and greeted me and all gave 
 
 welcome courteously, 
 Said, " Found you Boston looking fair across 
 
 from gate to gate? " 
 
 " From Blue Hill Road to Winthrop Ware, 
 the Town is — well — is debonair," 
 
 I answered with what heart I could and 
 slowly turned to go: 
 
A Garden of Wheat and Vine 13 
 
 ' Yet fairer would it seem to me, if now two 
 
 children I could see — " 
 'Two children?" quickly cried surprise: 
 alas! they did not know. 
 
 Away I went before the night: I saw the 
 
 priest's house and a light, 
 I told him why I rang the bell and got his 
 
 answer kind: 
 " They live — the two of whom you say, just 
 
 westward — there, a sunlit way, 
 A wheatfield and a vineyard by the cottage 
 
 will you find/' 
 
 Indeed it was a pleasant mile, I stayed a 
 
 moment by a stile, 
 A wheatfield called me, " Here's the house;" 
 
 a vineyard spoke the same. 
 I hardly sang a line or two, — old playful 
 
 songs the children knew, 
 When wide the door flew open and two 
 
 voices called my name. 
 
14 A Garden of Wheat and Vine 
 
 The hedgeblooms and the stars were bright 
 for token of a great delight, 
 
 As " Welcome home and welcome home," 
 came ringing down the lane; 
 
 It sounded like a yesterday, ten years for- 
 gotten dropped away, 
 
 To find two little hearts unchanged, the past 
 all young again. 
 
 With legends out of every clime and tales 
 
 of Once-upon-a-time, 
 We wove the sixty-threaded hour, till I stood 
 
 up and said: 
 " I saw a field of wheat without, and good 
 
 grapevines for hedge about; 
 Who tends that quarter acre, and for whom 
 
 the wine and bread? " 
 
 "The vines I planted," answered she; "And 
 I attend the wheat," quoth he; 
 
 " And ready for your Holy Mass have we 
 the bread and wine." 
 
A Garden of Wheat and Vine 15 
 
 Then graciously they drew a door, and showed 
 
 with love the little store, 
 And whispered, "In to-morrow's Mass to be 
 
 the Bread Divine." 
 
 And at the early morning Mass (God bless 
 
 the word) did come to pass 
 The Miracle! the Miracle upon the altar 
 
 stone: 
 The goodly village folk were there with hearts 
 
 of faith and love aware 
 Of Christ in forms of bread and wine, the 
 
 Bread of Life alone. 
 
 And took they Blessed Food that day and 
 
 joyous walked their homeward way, 
 And three the last that happy went, two 
 
 children were and I, — 
 Two children from the wheat and vine whose 
 
 hands prepared the bread and wine, 
 And I, who may the words proclaim that is 
 
 a rite divine. 
 
16 A Garden of Wheat and Vine 
 
 When out of Boston Town I went, past Chel- 
 sea Gate and Tappan Tent, 
 
 My heart would keep a-whispering along 
 the happy air: 
 
 " Whatever years await ye two, and all your 
 deeds a long life through, 
 
 In gardens full of God's good love, be mir- 
 acles of prayer." 
 
SAINT HOLLY 
 
 (Not yet canonized) 
 
 " IS a saint that has my name? " 
 
 Asked a child of me: 
 " Any one that I may claim 
 For my Saint to be? " 
 
 " And the name, what is it, dear? " 
 Then I questioned her: 
 
 11 Hildegarde or Guinevere, 
 Maybe Edelburh? " 
 
 " None of these, 0, none of these," 
 Came the quick reply: 
 
 " Holly is it, if you please 
 That they call me by." 
 
 " Holly? holly is a tree," 
 
 Grave I spoke and slow: 
 
 " Yet a saint's name may it be, 
 
 If you wish to know." 
 17 
 
18 Saint Holly 
 
 " Who the Saint and lived she where? " 
 Sought the glancing eyes: 
 
 ' Tell me how to call her care 
 From the far-off skies." 
 
 " Holly," said I, listen, dear, 
 Is a tree keeps green, 
 Bright with beauty all the year, 
 Storm and calm between. 
 
 " Bright with beauty may a child, 
 Grace of God within, 
 Keep its heart, however wild 
 Rage the storms of sin. 
 
 " Keep forever heart and mind 
 Strong in heavenly grace, 
 And shall one named Holly find 
 With the Saints a place. " 
 
SAILOR LAD 
 
 OAILORS go from Gloucester town 
 
 Off across the briny deep; 
 I sail out from Pillow-down 
 On the gentle Sea of Sleep. 
 
 Gloucester sailors seek the cod 
 In the faroff northern seas; 
 I can catch with my dream-rod 
 Any kind of fish I please. 
 
 Storm or calm is all the same, 
 
 On the ocean, in the bay; 
 
 Every harbor knows my name, 
 
 I know every fish's way. 
 19 
 
20 Sailor Lad 
 
 Once I struck an awful gale 
 Off the Banks of Midnight Dune, 
 And I saw a monster whale 
 Waiting for my long harpoon. 
 
 How he piled the sea with spray, 
 As I shot him through the back; 
 Then he turned and sped away, — 
 Close was I upon his track. 
 
 Off we went to Behring Sea, 
 Back again to Singapore, 
 And I slipped and cut my knee 
 On an Indian coral shore. 
 
 When we came to Cripple Crow, 
 I was tired and hungry, too; 
 And the whale, — I heard him blow, 
 " I will breakfast now on you." 
 
Sailor Lad 21 
 
 So one final dash I tried 
 
 For the shores of Rocky Rhyme: 
 
 Dad stood calling at my side, 
 
 " Sailor, wake, it's breakfast time." 
 
 Sailors go from Gloucester town 
 Off in danger o'er the deep; 
 I sail out from Pillow-down 
 On the wondrous Sea of Sleep. 
 
BOBBY BRIM 
 
 T ITTLE Bobby Brim, 
 
 (Now don't you bother him) 
 Is busy, just as busy as can be, 
 
 A frock he has to don, 
 
 And with his jumpers on, 
 He goes to urgent labors, don't you see. 
 
 It's not to build a shed, 
 
 Or paint the new fence red, 
 It's not to mow the lawn or stack the hay; 
 
 Nor wildest things to shoot, 
 
 Nor pick the orchard fruit, 
 That Bobby wears his working-clothes to-day. 
 
 But if you'd like to view 
 What little hands will do, 
 Just peep a moment through the cellar door; 
 
 22 
 
Bobby Brim 23 
 
 You see a row of pans, 
 Of glasses, jars, and cans, — 
 Bob's ma is setting by the winter store. 
 
 And Bob is there to see 
 
 Just where the things will be, 
 The hidden things of every shelf and tray: 
 
 To know just where he'll find 
 
 The jars and cans (you mind?) 
 When mother wants them on some cooking- 
 day. 
 
 Of course, now, Bobby Brim, 
 
 (You don't think wrong of him) 
 Will often by the cellar shelves be found: 
 
 He must taste each jar of jell, 
 
 And the twenty jams to tell 
 If Johnny Frost, the thief, has been around. 
 
GREAT TRAVELLERS 
 
 YV7HEN teacher tells us stories 
 
 Of lands this way and that, 
 And all the wonders in between 
 
 From here to Ararat; 
 Two little lads beside me, 
 
 At first seem very slow, 
 And will not marvel at the tales, 
 
 For better things they know. 
 
 " Huh! talk about that Naples," 
 Then one of them will say, 
 
 " But I see wonderfuller sights 
 In clouds of Evening Bay; 
 
 Along by seas of purple, 
 
 Where hills and islands stand, 
 
 The galleon ships go sailing on 
 
 To Make-Believe-a-Land.' , 
 24 
 
Great Travellers 25 
 
 " And talk of plains of battle," 
 
 The other one replies, 
 " Why, bigger wars I know about, 
 
 And no one ever dies; 
 For in our fortress-orchard 
 
 I start a mutiny, 
 And two or four great pirates fall, 
 
 Just apples from a tree." 
 
 So half a hundred stories 
 
 They tell that come to pass, 
 When they like knights and musketeers 
 
 Win kingdoms in the grass ; 
 Or sail by wondrous islands 
 
 That come and go like dreams, 
 Where everything is safe and big 
 
 And nothing is that seems. 
 
I 
 
 TO JAMES 
 
 CANNOT find in all the names 
 
 One I would like to use for James; 
 I can't say Jimmy, no, nor Jim, 
 For they don't look a bit like him. 
 
 If he were Scotch (how strange it seems) 
 I then could call him cannie Jeems ; 
 Mori petit Jacques is what he'd be, 
 If he were French, and said, Oui> Out. 
 
 If he were but some Irish lad, 
 Shemus aroon would make him glad; 
 Or were his home in Germany 
 Mein Kleiner Jacob would he be. 
 
 Were he some Spanish mother's dear, 
 
 Santiagito would he hear; 
 
 And if from Italy he came, 
 Then Jacobino were his name. 
 
 26 
 
To James 27 
 
 But I can't find in all these names 
 One that I'd like to use for James; 
 
 Because— because, dear James, you see, 
 Dear James is good enough for me. 
 
THE CHILD'S PLAY OF MEN 
 
 IT must be fun like dad to play 
 
 In his big store down town, 
 To have a lot of games all day, 
 
 And never stop to frown: 
 To measure yards of everything, 
 
 And weigh big things and small, 
 To hear the voice of traffic sing, 
 
 And prices rise and fall. 
 
 For that is all dad has to do, 
 
 As far as I can see, 
 If St. Augustine's word is true 
 
 That mother told to me. 
 " For children's play," Augustine said, 
 
 " When they are grown to men, 
 
 Is children's play, though earning bread, 
 
 They call it business then." 
 
 28 
 
A FELLOW I KNOW 
 
 I KNOW a fellow at our school 
 
 And all he's good for is to fool; 
 He cares no more for class and books 
 Than fishes do for empty hooks; 
 His only business is to play 
 And kill the time in any way. 
 
 I know a man lives on our street, 
 The saddest man of all I meet; 
 He goes his lonely-looking way, 
 And has no heart for work or play; 
 For when he was a boy at school, 
 His only business was to fool 
 
 29 
 
THE AUTUMN PAINTER 
 
 I HAVE seen the country painter 
 
 At the corner of the lane, 
 And his name in great red letters 
 
 Printed on the window-pane. 
 I have watched him mixing colors, 
 
 Bending over with a stick, 
 Turning, lifting, till he finished, 
 
 And I'm sure I know the trick. 
 
 So I'm going to do some painting, 
 
 And no little job have I; 
 It's no fence along the roadside, 
 
 Nor a chimney near the sky; 
 But I'm going to paint the orchard, 
 
 And the trees upon the hill, 
 All the hedges by the garden, 
 
 And the willow near the mill. 
 
 30 
 
The Autumn Painter 31 
 
 For the summer now is over, 
 
 And the leaves must change the green 
 To a thousand tints and colors, 
 
 When October takes the scene; 
 Brown must be the oaks and beeches, 
 
 Crimson must the hedges be, 
 Twenty shades upon the maples, 
 
 For my Autumn Queen to see. 
 
 So I'll gather up my colors, — 
 
 Sunset gold and red of dawn, 
 And the mountain mists of purple, 
 
 And the white fog on the lawn; 
 Then the winds will do the mixing, 
 
 And my brush will be the breeze; 
 Cold and clear will be the canvas, 
 
 When the rains have washed the trees. 
 
 Look, while still the lawn and woodland 
 Hold the green of summer days! 
 
 Look, and fill your eyes with wonder 
 When you see October's ways. 
 
32 The Autumn Painter 
 
 Soon my canvas will be ready, 
 
 Soon my brush will ply its trade; 
 
 Then you'll see my gold and purple 
 Over all the forests laid. 
 
AT LONDON BRIDGE 
 
 Q, HERE is London City 
 
 And this is London Town, 
 And here do I stand asking, 
 " Where is the Bridge is falling down? " 
 
 But no good man will answer 
 But laugh and pass by me, 
 For not a bridge is falling, 
 As far and far as I can see. 
 
 0, not a bridge is falling, 
 And yet I thought it so; 
 I heard it said in London 
 A bridge was falling long ago. 
 
 I heard my mother sing it, 
 
 Her mother sang it, too; 
 
 And here IVe crossed the ocean, 
 
 And find, alas! it is not true. 
 33 
 
34 At London Bridge 
 
 Then must I wait a twelvemonth, 
 A twelvemonth and a day, 
 To prove the song will happen 
 And London Bridge will fall away? 
 
 0, I will wait no twelvemonth, 
 But I will wait a day, 
 And all good men that pass me 
 Will look and wonder why I stay. 
 
 And surely when I'm sleeping 
 
 To-night in London Town, 
 
 I'll hear far voices singing, 
 
 " See, London Bridge is falling down. 
 
A LITTLE FARMER 
 
 COME folks like to be a soldier, 
 Others like the trackless sea, 
 But a good and healthy farmer 
 Is the only thing for me. 
 
 I will tell you where my farm is 
 If you come with me awhile. 
 Close your eyes and listen closely, — 
 Will you promise not to smile? 
 
 It is in a pleasant valley 
 Where a river gently flows, 
 And the hills that rise beside it 
 Stop the north wind when it blows. 
 
 Forests like some marching army 
 
 Up and down the valley go, 
 
 Guarding with their arms so sturdy, 
 
 Verdant fields for things to grow. 
 35 
 
36 A Little Farmer 
 
 Berry vines and grapes in clusters, 
 Cover all the fences round; 
 Pumpkins fit for Jack-o-'Lanterns 
 Lie like gold upon the ground. 
 
 Up the hills are prancing ponies, 
 In the groves you'll see a deer; 
 Look! like clouds out on the pasture, 
 All the sheep that I have here. 
 
 Just like clouds, when night is falling. 
 Look now, open wide your eyes: 
 See them! See them! Clouds like sheep there, 
 Going home across the skies. 
 
TO DOROTHY 
 
 \V THAT is in a name? you ask, 
 
 This I know is true, — 
 Doron, gift, and Theos, God, 
 Spell the name of you. 
 
 Gift-of-God, may the name 
 Bless a long life through; 
 
 And may heaven welcome then 
 Gift-to-God of you. 
 
 37 
 
BARON VON DOUGALL 
 
 /"^vLD Baron von Dougall who lived in a 
 
 glen, 
 laugh ye or cry, is the pity of men: 
 
 In folly one day, 
 
 His heart went astray 
 
 And so lost its way, 
 Above on a mountain or down in a fen. 
 
 The Baron was proud and he thought himself 
 
 wise, 
 He learned bits of everything under the 
 skies: 
 He wrote a big book, 
 And wore a deep look, 
 His back had a crook 
 That helped him to carry his learned dis- 
 guise. 
 
 38 
 
Baron Von Dougall 39 
 
 But wisdom is humble and wisdom is kind, 
 And dwells like a child in the halls of the 
 mind; 
 
 But never with pride, 
 
 When scoffers deride 
 
 Will wisdom abide, 
 Or light up the roadways if learning is 
 
 blind. 
 
 And Baron von Dougall, alas! would not 
 
 see 
 That life is no riddle but plain as can be;— 
 
 Life's pathways are clear, 
 
 To eye and to ear, 
 
 All times of the year, 
 If humbly with God you walk mountain or 
 lea. 
 
 But on and still onward von Dougall would 
 go. 
 
40 Baron Von Dougall 
 
 Alone without God and alone to his woe; 
 
 With pride for his light, 
 
 And thoughts that affright, 
 
 The day turned to night, 
 And lost went the Baron, let everyone know. 
 
MY HUNTING GROUNDS 
 
 HTHOUGH I always stay at home 
 
 I can hunt like any man 
 And my jungles I can roam, 
 Like a very African. 
 
 Africa is black, they say, 
 
 But I know a blacker land, 
 
 Where there is no sun or day, 
 Only stars like grains of sand. 
 
 When the nighttime comes around, 
 I jump in my jungle bed, 
 
 And I see the forest ground 
 
 In the dark above my head. 
 
 Soon the things begin to come, 
 
 Some can crawl and some can fly, 
 
 Some you know the way they hum, 
 Others scare you when they cry. 
 
 41 
 
42 My Hunting Grounds 
 
 Lions come with open jaws, 
 Big as caves beside the sea; 
 
 And the tigers show their claws, 
 
 Pointing them right straight at me. 
 
 When they all get very near, 
 I jump up in awful fright, 
 
 But they quickly disappear 
 
 In the dreamlands of the night. 
 
 Africa is black, they say, 
 
 But I know a blacker land, 
 
 Where there is no sun or day, 
 Only stars like silver sand. 
 
IN THE PHOTOGRAPHER'S STUDIO 
 
 TJERE is a funny kind of sea, 
 
 The waters do not flow, 
 And never is a noise of waves, 
 
 And ships stay always so. 
 For here are only painted things, 
 
 Like clouds that cannot fall, 
 Or wrinkled canvas just for rocks, 
 
 And no soft sand at all. 
 
 It's very easy you can tell 
 The place is Make-believe, 
 
 That it is just a picture-sea 
 All made up to deceive: 
 
 For if the ocean really was 
 So near us where I stand 
 
 My clothes would look quite otherwise 
 
 From playing in the sand. 
 43 
 
MAY-DAY 
 
 TV THAT rapture thrills along the hills 
 
 In welcome of the Spring! 
 In bright array they greet his way 
 
 With flowery offering: 
 Abloom are trees with melodies 
 
 Where birds all joyous sing. 
 
 Yet fairer far the lovelands are 
 
 Within our souls to-day! 
 Like wondrous flowers in springtime hours, 
 
 Our hearts in fragrance sway, 
 And bloom all sweet before the feet 
 
 Of Mary, Queen of May. 
 
 here we bring for offering 
 
 The lily's heart of white, 
 
 The love that blows from lilac rows 
 
 In purple splendor bright; 
 44 
 
May-Day 45 
 
 And every hue that blossoms drew 
 From mines of golden light. 
 
 Dear Mother, take the gifts we make 
 From springtime's flowering; 
 
 And take, above the May-time, love, 
 Our hearts all gladly bring, 
 
 Eternal be our praise of thee, 
 Mother of Christ, the King! 
 
THE BONNIE PRINCE 0' SPRING 
 
 THHE little green soldiers are here at last, 
 With their waving blades and spears; 
 And across the hills they are marching 
 fast 
 With the drill of a thousand years: 
 And I wave afar, and I shout, Hurrah! 
 Till I hear their echoing cheers. 
 
 A bonnie prince is at their head, 
 
 And his love all the legions know: 
 
 For he gives them rest where the twigs 
 are red 
 At the hedges cool in a row: 
 
 And afoot are they soon to a birdlike tune 
 
 On the northward march to go. 
 46 
 
The Bonnie Prince o Spring 47 
 
 Oh, I am leal to the marching men, 
 To my bonnie Prince I am true; 
 
 For he tells me the way to his tented glen, 
 And the secret password too: 
 
 And he sets in my hair a blossom to wear, 
 Like his own good horsemen do. 
 
 Then I will follow on all the day 
 
 Where the bonnie Prince has led, 
 
 Till we drive the Winter foemen away 
 And throne my Prince instead: 
 
 And sing willaloo! with the birds, willaloo! 
 For the Winter King is dead. 
 
FRIENDS AGAIN 
 
 U'OR some rebuke, poor, little lad, 
 
 His heart waged war on me; 
 The friendliness that once he had 
 Now fed on enmity. 
 
 He came across my wonted path 
 With dark, averted face; 
 Upon his brow hung puny wrath, 
 Where once was merry grace. 
 
 And should I leave him to his pride 
 
 And petty childishness: 
 
 Or cast all harsher thoughts aside 
 
 And do sweet deeds that bless? 
 48 
 
Friends Again 49 
 
 The morrow came; we two were near; 
 I greeted him " Good-day " — 
 His voice came back all sweet and clear, 
 His heart again was gay. 
 
 And so, good Lord, I pray to Thee, 
 If e'er I give Thee pain, 
 0, let Thy Heart's humility 
 Come bring me back again. 
 
MY GALLERY 
 
 A MAN from Paris told us, 
 
 (And pictures did he show) 
 Of artist works of wonder 
 In galleries in a row, 
 Where travellers may go. 
 
 He showed us scenes of England, 
 And paintings out of Spain, 
 
 And countless other marvels, 
 Like lands that needed rain, 
 And kings that stood in pain. 
 
 But never were his pictures 
 So wonderful to me, 
 
 For in my little attic 
 
 Are greater things to see, — 
 To look at them is free. 
 
 50 
 
My Gallery 5 1 
 
 They lie upon the ceiling, 
 And cover up the wall, 
 
 And if you come I'll show you 
 The big ones and the small, 
 When evening shadows fall. 
 
 There! see the fearful tigers, 
 (You think a smoky stain) 
 
 I make them turn to anything, 
 A mountain or a plain, 
 Or tigers back again. 
 
 Now watch that dusty ceiling 
 
 And faces will look out, 
 As plain as some big army: 
 
 And listen, " Rightabout !"— 
 
 I think I heard a shout. 
 
 There's Africa and Iceland, 
 
 And here is Baffin Bay, 
 And up there in the corner, 
 
 (Where rain fell in one day), 
 
 Why, that's a load of hay. 
 
52 My Gallery 
 
 Now look again! it's China, 
 And fairies on a hill, 
 
 And tigers run from kittens, 
 Out by the window sill, 
 Where night is very still. 
 
 The travelling man had pictures, 
 But pictures, that was all; 
 
 But mine can change to anything 
 On ceiling and on wall, 
 When evening shadows fall. 
 
AN AUTUMN ROSE-TREE 
 
 IT seemed too late for roses 
 
 When I walked abroad to-day, 
 October stood in silence, 
 
 By the hedges all the way: 
 Yet did I hear a singing, 
 
 And I saw a red rose-tree: — 
 In fields so gray with autumn 
 
 How could song or roses be! 
 
 Oh, it was never maple 
 
 Nor the dogwood's coat afire, 
 No sage with scarlet banners, 
 
 Nor the poppy's vested choir: 
 The breeze that may be music 
 
 When the summer lawns are fair 
 Will have no heart for singing 
 
 In the autumn's mournful air. 
 53 
 
54 An Autumn Rose-Tree 
 
 As I went up the roadway, 
 
 Under cold and lonely skies, 
 A song I heard, a rose-tree 
 
 Waved to me in glad surprise: — 
 A red cloak and a ribbon, 
 
 (Round the braided hair of jet) 
 And redder cheeks than roses 
 
 Of a little Margaret. 
 
 Now God is good in autumn, 
 
 He can name the birds that sing, 
 He loves the hearts of children 
 
 More than flowery fields of spring: 
 And when the years of winter 
 
 Gray with Margaret will be, 
 God will find her love still blossom 
 
 Like a red rose-tree. 
 
BATCHEE LE BLANC 
 
 /^VLD Batchee le Blanc is a queer French 
 man, 
 The queerest I ever did see, 
 He talks French easy and fast as he can, 
 As he shakes his head, 
 " Ba oui! " 
 And his horse and dog know French, of 
 course, 
 
 " Ba oui, mon cher, ba oui! " 
 
 His dog knows nothing of English at all, 
 Or the threats of Yankee law, 
 
 And never stops barking till Batchee call 
 With a big French stick, 
 " Tais toi! " 
 
 And the dog will hide as still as a mouse, 
 
 ' Tais toi, gros chien, tais toi." 
 55 
 
56 Batchee le Blanc 
 
 But his horse goes faster when told to, 
 "Whoa!" 
 Away with the two-wheeled trap, 
 And when he wants him to canter slow 
 He laughs and says 
 " Git-ap! " 
 With a light French laugh, he stops the horse 
 " Git-ap, cheval, git-ap! " 
 
 I asked old Batchee le Blanc to-day, 
 
 Could he teach his French to me, 
 And then will the horse and the dog obey, 
 If I speak to them, 
 " Ba oui! " 
 If I use a word or a stick in French, 
 " Ba oui, Batchee, ba oui! " 
 
AFTER VACATION 
 
 DY hill and vale September rules, 
 
 The summer suns no longer burn; 
 And in the woods and in the schools, 
 The leaves, alas! begin to turn. 
 
 57 
 
A LITTLE RAILROAD MAN 
 
 /. Now 
 
 r^ROM Boston Town to Frisco Bay 
 The crossing railroads go, 
 
 And some run down a southern way, 
 And some where north winds blow: 
 
 From east and west by night and day 
 Are countless roads, I know. 
 
 See, like a spider's web they stand 
 
 Across the colored chart, 
 They track the level prairie land 
 
 And crowd the busy mart: 
 And reach round like a mighty hand 
 
 That holds a countr 's heart. 
 
 58 
 
A Little Railroad Man 59 
 
 Oh, there is Good Hope by a sea, 
 
 And here is Santa Fe, 
 And over there is Merrilee, 
 
 And this is Spendaday: 
 And now we take a homeward way, 
 
 The best way that can be. 
 
 So if you want a day of fun, 
 
 I'll be the guide for you, 
 Across the map our course will run 
 
 As quick as lightnings do: 
 And we'll come home before the sun 
 
 Waves us a glad adieu. 
 
 //. Later 
 
 Like crossing lines in queer designs 
 
 Are other roads to know: 
 The ways of life through peace or strife, 
 
 Each human heart must go: 
 Now on it speeds by merry meads, 
 
 Now summits that are slow. 
 
60 A Little Railroad Man 
 
 We ride away and gladly pay 
 
 With work and prayer the toll: 
 
 O'er hill and dale God marks a trail 
 For journey of the soul, 
 
 And lights the skies for earnest eyes 
 That seek the one great Goal. 
 
 By mount or moor the way is sure, 
 And signal lights are clear, 
 
 Where faith and hope round every slope 
 Await the engineer: 
 
 And he is blest within whose breast 
 Is God who knows not fear. 
 
 Deep in your heart by mead or mart 
 
 God's graces go with you, 
 Through joy and pain, like hill and plain, 
 
 To keep your journey true, 
 'Till with His light you pass the Night 
 
 And wave the world adieu. 
 
IN A SEA-SHELL 
 
 /~\NCE a child beside her mother 
 
 Held a sea-shell to her ear, 
 Fancying the distant ocean 
 Far to windward she could hear. 
 
 " 0, my mother, why the moaning, 
 Sad and low it seems to be? " 
 'Tis the water's Miserere 
 For the dead beneath the sea. 
 
 " Now the sounds are sweet and hopeful, 
 
 Crooning low, but calling far: " 
 Some lone mother of a sailor 
 Calls the care of Oceans Star. 
 
 " 0, then tell me why the shrieking, 
 
 And a wild and lonely cry: " 
 For the sailor rides the rigging 
 And the wild winds whistle by. 
 
 61 
 
62 In a Sea-Shell 
 
 " Strong with joy is now the music, 
 Drawing near it seems to be: " 
 Near the harbor sings the sailor 
 Hymns of Mary, Star of Sea. 
 
 " Songs I hear all full of gladness, 
 Close beside a sunny shore: " 
 When the sailor greets his mother 
 Safe beside the cottage door. 
 
A MOTHER'S CARE 
 
 fJE was a wholesome-hearted boy, 
 
 With youthful freedom was he free, 
 And all his world was sunny joy 
 For all his heart's integrity. 
 
 Along the ways of life one day 
 
 We met by chance's happy art; 
 
 So likely seemed he every way, 
 
 I made of him a brother heart. 
 
 But even brothers may forget; 
 
 His glee one day, not understood, 
 Fchided hard; his eyes were wet 
 
 From what I said in heartless mood. 
 
 I left him so; his youth was weak 
 
 To answer back my heartlessness; 
 
 But, lo! there was a voice to speak 
 
 And champion his sad distress. 
 63 
 
64 A Mother's Care 
 
 For all that night I seemed to hear 
 
 His chiding mother — who was dead- 
 Speak for her boy and raise the tear 
 Within my eyes for all I said. 
 
 The years go on and brotherly: 
 
 No harshness e'er again is heard, 
 
 Nor ever shall, since unto me 
 
 His mother spake a mother's word. 
 
THE EASTER OF THE FLOWERS 
 
 /^VRPHANS of Summer, little seeds, 
 
 Whipped by the winds of Autumn, 
 Fell where their mother Summer died, 
 
 Into a grave of clotted weeds; 
 But in their hearts a faith was strong, 
 
 Hoping a resurrection, 
 Voicing their faith beneath the mold, 
 Calmly they kept this hopeful song: 
 "We know our Master ever lives, 
 The laws He made we strongly trust, 
 And when His word to Spring He gives, 
 His law shall raise us from the dust." 
 
 Hearing the song, with wounded pride 
 
 Angrily came the Winter. 
 Sealing the land with barrier snows, 
 
 Madly the seed-song it decried; 
 
 65 
 
66 The Easter of the Flowers 
 
 Soon came a message from the Spring, 
 
 Serving the seeds' great Master, 
 Warm grew the winds across the earth, 
 Up sprang the hearts of hope to sing: 
 " 0, we have risen as we said, 
 The trusted summons we have heard, 
 Our Master's word is never dead, 
 The law within us is His word." 
 
MOTHER AND I IN THE MAY 
 
 QUEENS may ride in a gilded coach, 
 With guards at every door; 
 Kings go out with their cavalry, 
 Trumpeters playing before; 
 And the city is gay 
 In a royal way, 
 Hail to the king! says the cannon's 
 roar. 
 
 I am a king in my own good realm, 
 
 And I have a royal sway; 
 
 Over the land is my mother Queen, 
 
 All in a queenly way; 
 
 And a throne have we 
 
 And chivalry, 
 
 Down in our valleys of May. 
 67 
 
68 Mother and I in the May 
 
 Never a guardsman walks with us, 
 When we go through the land, 
 Yet may a thousand liegemen come 
 To take us by the hand; 
 And everywhere 
 We hear the air 
 Echo a singing band. 
 
 Kind are the eyes that look at us, 
 Brave are the words they say; 
 Gentle the service the flowermen give, 
 Uniformed in our way; 
 
 Long be our reign, 
 Long live the twain, 
 Mother and I in the May! 
 
TO CATHERINE 
 
 (Aged Five) 
 
 P\OWN the roads of June with me 
 
 Went a little song, 
 Running on by brook and tree, 
 Luring me along. 
 
 " Kataleen! Kataleen! " 
 
 Was the song I heard. 
 Who was she that seemed the queen 
 
 Of a lovelorn bird? 
 
 Vainly watched I every throat 
 
 Up and down the glen; 
 
 Never thrush could sing the note, 
 
 Oriole or wren. 
 69 
 
70 To Catherine 
 
 Home I came across the green, 
 By the wooded lane; 
 
 "Kataleen! Kataleen! " 
 Still the sweet refrain. 
 
 Catherine was at the door, 
 Rose-like waved her hand, 
 
 Sweeter music than before 
 Ran around the land. 
 
 Now I know who is the queen, 
 Whose the minstrel art: 
 
 Catherine is Kataleen, 
 
 Sings a mother's heart. 
 
THE SONG OF WORKADAY MILL 
 
 T^HE brook runs down by Workaday Hill, 
 
 And turns the wheel of the valley mill — 
 The wheel and the brook that work all 
 
 day 
 With a merry song and joyful way: 
 " Welapse-is-leery, welapse-is-loo! 
 We never get weary; hist, do you? " 
 
 And mother she smiled, one day as we 
 
 stayed 
 To hear the song the waterwheel made; 
 The mill is the heart of the valley, said 
 
 she, 
 And the good folk work to this melody: 
 " Welapse-is-leery, welapse-is-loo! 
 We never get weary; say, do you? " 
 
 71 
 
72 The Song of Workaday Mill 
 
 Full wagons come down from many a plain 
 And bring the harvest of golden grain; 
 And out to the world goes flour for bread 
 From the good folk's work and the song that 
 said: 
 " Welapse-is-leery, welapse-is-loo! 
 We never get weary, and why should 
 you? " 
 
 And mother she said, as we came away, 
 That song is for work, as song is for play; 
 And the work God gives to us all, said she, 
 If done in His will, is a melody: 
 
 " Perhaps it's dreary, perhaps it's small, 
 But we never weary; God counts it all." 
 
THE LAST GIFT 
 
 /^VLD Santa Claus by night and day 
 
 Drove round the world his reindeer 
 sleigh, 
 By chimneyed roofs, with gifts and mirth 
 He sought the young ones of the earth. 
 
 And when the bells in midnight chime 
 Rang from the towers of Father Time, 
 Then Santa drove up with a cheer 
 And gave old Time a bright New Year. 
 
 73 
 
TO HELEN AND GERARD 
 
 /"Y THERE was the shore like a cloth of 
 gold, 
 
 And blue was the sky that day, 
 And bright as a beam from the laughing sea 
 
 Came wonderment and they. 
 
 0, where was the shore and the cloudless sky, 
 
 And the sea so passing fair? 
 At a little chapel on Lady-day, 
 
 And the flower of friendship there. 
 
 When the tapers passed and the hymn was 
 
 still 
 
 And the organ's soul of praise, 
 
 To the doorway home two children came 
 
 And blessed all future days. 
 74 
 
To Helen and Gerard 75 
 
 0, the soft spring-buds take the old oak- 
 tree, 
 
 And the tiny hands took mine, 
 In the tendril fingers my heart was fast 
 
 Like a tower within the vine. 
 
 Now that was the day of the wondrous 
 sky, 
 
 By the shores of youth we strayed, 
 For the sand was gold and the sea was song 
 
 To the hearts of the boy and maid. 
 
 0, great were the towns we built in the 
 sand, 
 
 And oft did we sail the sea, 
 And we found a lost Utopian land 
 
 Though never a league went we. 
 
 But, alas! for the tides must rise and fall, 
 
 And, alas! for the years also; 
 Where the tides of time go east and west 
 
 On the separate seas we go. 
 
76 To Helen and Gerard 
 
 Yet the towns stand true by the singing shore, 
 
 All loyal in sun or rain, 
 And the towers we built in the Long-Ago 
 
 Look fondly over the main. 
 
 On the ship aloft where I set it safe 
 Is the banner of God's good will: 
 
 At rest in the bay or running a gale, 
 My prayer goes with it still. 
 
A LITTLE CHRISTMAS SONG 
 
 W7IDE ways speed to taverns bright, 
 
 And to halls of fame, 
 Those are red with sense delight, 
 
 These with honor's flame; 
 Soon they grow all cold and gray, 
 
 For the heart will tire; 
 No good man but will away 
 
 From a phantom fire. 
 
 Bleak though be a hillside lane, 
 Yea, and bleak the night, 
 
 Joy all surely men may gain 
 In the Shepherd's light; 
 
 Halls of fame may darkly frown, 
 Taverns close to them, 
 
 Yet they keep in field or town 
 
 Joy from Bethlehem. 
 
 77 
 
THE LIGHTS OF WORCESTER TOWN 
 
 IT'IVE great hills with groves and towers 
 
 Stand like a wall round Worcester Town, 
 Fair are they all days and hours, 
 
 Most of all when the night comes down : 
 Camped in beauty if winter snows them, 
 
 Royal they wear rich autumn's gown, 
 Gleaming if dawn or noontime shows them, 
 
 Fairest of all when the night comes down. 
 
 Up the hillsides, down the lowlands, 
 
 Jewelled with lights all Worcester glows, 
 
 Magical squares like fairy showlands, 
 Arbors of lily, or banks of rose: 
 
 Some like ghosts with footsteps stealthy 
 Pale on the hills where Spencer goes, 
 
 Others in windows warm and healthy, 
 
 They of the lily, these of the rose. 
 
 78 
 
The Lights of Worcester Town 79 
 
 Waters in Blackstone's courseway flowing 
 
 Hold in their eyes of pond and stream 
 Tier on tier, the mill lamps showing 
 
 Arches of light like a land of dream. 
 Motion of looms is pictured by them, 
 
 Passing of folk in a golden gleam, 
 Spindle and shuttle and men that ply them, 
 
 Weaving the tapestries fair as a dream. 
 
 Out from the deep dark hills come flashing 
 
 Trailing lights when the trains go by, 
 Eastward, westward, they are dashing 
 
 Quick as meteors cross the sky. 
 Beacons aloft on tower and steeple 
 
 Signal their words to the watching eye, 
 Ribbons of light see town and people 
 
 Flash like a comet across the sky. 
 
80 The Lights of Worcester Town 
 
 Five great hills all marked with highways, 
 
 Stand like a wall round Worcester Town, 
 Lights aglowing in halls and byways, 
 
 Magical look when the night comes down. 
 Silvery stars of a city gleaming, 
 
 Jewels bedecking its golden gown, 
 Lily or rose in gardens seeming 
 
 Parts of a fairyland night brings down. 
 
ENVOY 
 
 81 
 
MY WALKS 
 
 YV THEN shall my heart be wiser 
 And foolishness leave me, 
 When shall I make adviser 
 A many a man I see? 
 For they go gather money 
 
 On gloomy roads of care, 
 And feed on gall for honey 
 The golden thistles bear. 
 
 But I sing up the highways 
 
 And dream down lonely lanes, 
 
 Though never hills or byways 
 Give hope of golden gains; 
 
 Yet bring I home at night-time 
 My heart full of a joy 
 
 That makes the dark a bright time 
 
 And keeps a man a boy. 
 83 
 
84 My Walks 
 
 For childwise do I measure 
 
 The realms of sky and ground, 
 And find the hills with treasure 
 
 Of joyous thoughts abound, — 
 The stainless gold of graces 
 
 That gleam from cloud or sod, 
 Through all the pilgrim places 
 
 I walk abroad with God. 
 
 PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK