o o, HERP^O || J\IiICEWlLIiIJ\M^F\0TriEl(R) mmm *m A^V ^Wi B^T^ ***' Take thou my Dragon with silken sails," Said Olaf, " The Ox shall be mine in place. If it pleases our Lord to send me gales, In either vessel I'll win the race. With this exchange art satisfied ?" " Ay, brother! " the crafty one replied. (13) 14 The Sailing of King Olaf King Olaf strode to the church to pray For blessing of God on crew and ship; But Harald, the traitor, made haste to weigh His anchor, and out of the harbor slip. « Pray ! " laughed Harald Haardrade, "Pray ! " The wind's in my favor. Set sail ! Away !" As Olaf knelt by the chancel rail, Down the broad aisle came one in haste, With panting bosom and cheek all pale; Straight to King Olaf 's side he paced : " Oh, waste no time in praying," cried he, " For Harald already is far at sea!" But Olaf answered : "Let sail who will, Without God's blessing I shall not go." Beside the altar he tarried still, While the good priest chanted soft and slow; And Olaf prayed the Lord in his heart: " I shall win yet if Thou take my part! " Cheerily then he leaped on board; High on the prow he took his stand, " Forward," he bade, " in the name of the Lord !" Held the white horn of the Ox in his hand: " Now Ox ! good Ox ! I. pray thee speed As if to pasture in clover-mead ! " The Sailing of King Olaf 15 The huge Ox rolled from side to side, And merrily out of the harbor sped. " Dost see the Dragon? " King Olaf cried To one who clung to the high mast-head, " Not so! " the watcher swift answer gave, " There is never a boat upon the wave." Onward then for a league and twain, Right in the teeth of the wind they flew : " Seest aught of the Dragon upon the main ? " " Something to landward sure I view ! Far ahead I can just behold Silken sails with a border of gold." " The third time Olaf called with a frown. "Dost see my Dragon yet? Ho! Say!" Out of the mast-head the cry came down: " Nigh to the shores of Norroway The good ship Dragon rides full sail, Driving ahead before the gale ! " " Ho! to the haven! " King Olaf cried, And smote the eye of the Ox with his hand. It leaped so madly along the tide That never a sailor on deck could stand; But Olaf lashed them firm and fast With trusty cords to the strong pine mast. 1 6 The Sailing of King Olaf " Now who," the helmsman said, "will guide The vessel upon this tossing sea? " " That will I do! " King Olaf cried; " And no man's life shall be lost through me." Like a living coal his dark eye glowed, As swift to the helmsman's place he strode. Looking neither to left nor right, Toward the land he sailed right in, Steering straight as a line of light: " So must I run if I would win; Faith is stronger than hills or rocks, Over the land speed on, good Ox!" Into the valleys the waters rolled; Hillocks and meadows disappeared. Grasping the helm in his iron hold On, right onward, St. Olaf steered; High and higher the blue waves rose. '■ On! " he shouted, " No time to lose! " Out came running the elves in a throng, Out from cavern and rock they came: " Now, who is this comes sailing along Over our homes? Ho! tell us thy name?" " I am St. Olaf, my little men, Turn into stones till I come again.' The Sailing of King Olaf 17 The elf-stones rolled down the mountain-side; The sturdy Ox sailed over them all. " 111 luck be with thee! " a carline cried, " Thy ship has shattered my chamber wall! " In Olafs eyes flashed a fiery glint: " Be turned forever to rock of flint ! " Never was sailing like this before: He shot an arrow along the wind ; Or ever it lighted the ship sailed o'er The mark: the arrow fell far behind. " Faster, faster! " cried Olaf, " Skip Fleet as Skidbladnir, the magic ship ! " Swifter and swifter across the foam The quivering Ox leaped over the track, Till Olaf came to his boyhood's home; Then fast as it rose the tide fell back. And Olaf was king of the whole Norse land When Harald the third day reached the strand. Such was the sailing of Olaf the king, Monarch and Saint of Norroway; In view of whose wondrous prospering The Norse have a saying unto this day: " As Harald Haardrade found to his cost, Time spent in fraying is never lost /" PASSING " What ship is this comes sailing Across the harbor bar, So strange yet half familiar, With treasure from afar? O comrades shout, good bells ring out, Peal loud your merry din ! O joy! At last across the bay My ship comes sailing in." Men said, in low whispers, " It is the passing bell. At last his toil is ended." They prayed, " God rest him well." " Ho Captain, my Captain, What store have you on board ? " " A treasure far richer Than gems or golden hoard. — The broken promise welded firm, The long forgotten kiss, The love more worth than all on earth, All joys life seemed to miss!" The watchers sighed softly ; " It is the death-change ! What vision blest has given That rapture deep and strange ? " (18) Passing 19 "O Captain, dear Captain, What are the forms I see On deck there beside yon ? They smile and beckon me; And soft voices call me, Those voices sure I know!" " All friends are here that you held dear In the sweet long ago." " The death smile," they murmured, " It is so passing sweet, We scarce have heart to hide it Beneath the winding-sheet." " O Captain, I know you! Are you not Christ the Lord? With light heart and joyous I hasten now on board. Set sail, set sail, before the gale, Our trip will soon be o'er; To-night we'll cast our anchor fast Beside the heavenly shore!" Men sighed : " Lay him gently Beneath the heavy sod." The soul afar beyond the bar Went sailing on to God." UNAWARES A song welled up in the singer's heart, (Like a song in the throat of a bird,) And loud he sang, and far it rang, — For his heart was strangely stirred; And he sang for the very joy of song, With no thought of one who heard. Within the listener's wayward soul A heavenly patience grew. He fared on his way with a benison On the singer, who never knew How the careless song of an idle hour Had shaped a life anew. (20) WAKE-ROBIN [rondel] Wake-robin's peeping from the mould, " Hey, Robin, Robin, wake! Vanished is the white snow-flake, Loosed is winter's icy hold ; Spring is coming o'er the wold, Be merry for her sake! Wake-robin hus, who founded the city of that name in Cyprus. Ovid, Met. w : q. What is it that you ask of me, My lord and master, whose skilled hand Called from the burnished ivory This fairest shape in all the land? Ah me, you miss — Alas! alas! Something that never was. Am I not fair as when the flame Of life, Jove-sent, thrilled first each limb? Each curve and dimple is the same. Is my cheek paler? Mine eye dim? You gave me grace and form — the whole. Could you not give — a soul? Ah no. Souls come of suffering, Of midnight anguish, pain and tears, Of bitter agonies that wring The heart; of wrong that burns and sears. I — what have I to do with these, Shut up in soulless ease? (40) The Wife of Pygmalion 41 One time I thought a soul began To stir within me, when I felt The warm breath of our baby fan My breast; and you beside me knelt With that new rapture in your eyes, And a great glad surprise ! And once, too, when your rapt eyes burned With such fire of creative art, To share your thought I dumbly yearned; So wild an anguish rent my heart — Almost, I thought, the pang and glow Might be a soul's birth throe! Oh, pray for me, that I may know All shades of human suffering, The very height and depth of woe, — If so the grief and pain might bring Into this perfect form of mine At last — the Soul divine! THE SAGA OF THE QUERN-STONES King Frode from Sweden Two giant maidens brought; With many a shining gulden From King Fjolnir bought; For in all the realm of Gotland No hand was to be found To grasp the huge quern-handle And turn the mill-stones round, — - The wonderful grey quern-stones, Of his treasures best by far, Once wrested from the giants By his great ancestor Thor; Now whoso turned them roundabout Could grind good luck or ill, Gold and jewels, joy and plenty, Could summon at his will. " Grind, grind for me! " cried Frode, " Beneath your mighty hold These magical grey quern- stones Shall grind me gems and gold." (42) The Saga of the Quern- Stones 43 Then Menja and Fenja They stood up at the quern, And slowly, so slowly, The stones began to turn, Then swifter, and swifter, Until through all the land The gold and silver money Was plentiful as sand. " We grind good luck to Gotland, Rich harvest-fields of grain ; No vessel sails from harbor That comes not back again. " " Grind, grind for me ! " cried Frode, " Grind love and joy and peace, Till Gotland is the richest realm, Your grinding shall not cease ! " " There is no beggar in the land, Each peasant has his hoard, And nowhere in the kingdom Does the warrior draw his sword, " Now give us rest, O Frode! " " Then rest ye," said the king, " But only while the cuckoo's note Is silent in the spring." 44 The Saga of the Quern- Stones " O never in the springtime Does the cuckoo's calling cease, So bid us somewhat longer From labor find release." " Then rest ye while a verse Of my minstrel's song is sung."- Upon the handle of the quern The sinewy hands are flung. " We grind good luck to Gotland ; To Frode quiet sleep; Be heard no sound of wrangling, No eye be seen to weep! " Now give us rest, O Frode; Have you not had your fill?" " Rest only while a verse is sung, Or the cuckoo's note is still." " Black are the skies above us, The cold winds beat our breast, The frost is keen and biting; O Frode, give us rest! " * * " Revenge! Revenge, O Menja! We are of giant's blood. Grind, grind, O sister, swiftly — Bring ruin, fire, and flood ! The Saga of the Quern-Stones 45 A ship comes sailing, sailing, With valiant warriors manned; We grind them near and nearer. Say, Frode, shall they land? " ** A ship comes sailing, sailing! To Gotland hastening. Awake, awake, O Frode, Or be no more a king! ; Tis Mysingr the viking; Thee sleeping shall he find? * * * Grind faster, grind harder, — To Frode death we grind!" The quetn-stones and the giant maids The vikings bear on board, With Frode's crown and jewels, And all his shining hoard. " Of golden store we need no more; But here no salt we find : Ho Menja! Ho Fenja! Grind salt, weird sisters, grind ! " " From noon of day till noon of night We labor at the quern! Ho, viking, hast thou salt enough? " But still he bade them turn. 4.6 The Saga of the £hiern- Stones " The ship is filled with salt, O king, So well thy slaves have ground ! " Beneath the weight the vessel sinks, And all the host are drowned. " Grind, Menja! Grind, Fenja! The quern-stones shall not halt Till all the waters of the sea Are filled with shining salt!" Unto this day the quern-stones whi. And still the salt out-pours, And where they sank off Norway's coi The Maelstrom seethes and roars! MOLY Where is that healing plant the ancients fable? Moly they named it; all the flower was white, And the root black; and the clear juice was able To heal all wounds, to put all ills to flight. It blooms about us still, Yet does it borrow Beauty and grace from no mere earthly sod. Deep in the soul, from the black root of sorrow, Grows the white perfect flower of Trust in God, (47) HOLY POVERTY " La Poverta, la madre di tulti le arti.'* O Poverty, the mother of all arts, No dreamer of vain visions is the son Nurtured by thee! Only the duty done Thou dost accept; bidding him in the marts To stand and strive among the foremost. Hearts Grow strong by striving. Laurels are not won Save by long steady effort. Who would run Must bate no jot the pace wherewith he starts. Madonna Mia, holy Poverty! I lift for kisses lips that late reviled. Nor will I flout thee more, (Forgive thy child!) But hand in hand walk with thee to the end, However bleak the path thou ieadest me. Stern tasker, harshest teacher, truest friend. QUATRAINS i THE MAXIM OF APOLLONIUS Better in some mean shrine beside the way To find a statue of ivory and gold, Than in a lofty temple to behold A huge, coarse figure of the common clay. ii NOW Has one a tender thought of me? Speak it (I pray!) O friend, to-day. To-morrow betwixt me and thee Like a shut door the grave shall be. in THE FALLING STAR See where yon star falls headlong, flashing Across the purple twilight air! — An Angel bears to earth from heaven The answer to a mortal's prayer. (49) 5 o Quatrains IV ON READING Little I love these lines of thine Drunk with rhythm as if with wine. Wheeling and reeling they recall Only the dance of a Bacchanal. v A WOMAN'S CHOICE No laurel — nay ! Give me heartsease, I pray. Laurel grows on the heights so lone and cold ; But heartsease clusters by the warm threshold, And brightens with its blossoms all the day. VI A CHILD'S ANSWER What makes the buttercup so yellow ? O, he caught a golden sunbeam in his cup, And would not yield it up — The saucy fellow ! VII LARGESS Ah, when a kingly soul doth largess give, How far its worth exceeds the gift itself! The slightest thing outweighs a miser's pelf When round it cluster memories that live. Quatrains 5 1 VIII A NARROW LIFE A narrow life, shut m by petty care, Has room for duty and for beauty too; Beauty of faithful serving. — What more fair Can angels offer to the Master's view? IX THE UNWRITTEN MESSAGE To carry thought how weak Are words, mere idle signs. Heart-deeps to heart-deeps speak Between the lines. x FROM SCHILLER Only Life repeats itself forever, Fantasy immortal youth doth hold. What in time and space existed never That, alone, can not grow old. XI OF TIRELESS PATIENCE [A Persiofi Fable.] Before the close-barred gate of paradise A poor man watched a thousand years ; then dozed One little instant only, with dulled eyes; That instant open swung the gate— and closed. 52 Quatrains XII SEPTEMBER Lush juices of ripe fruits; splashed color flung From Frost's first palette — purple, gold and red; The last sweet song the meadow -lark has sung, Dirge of the Summer dead. WHERE'S THE BABY? Oh dear, where is the Baby gone? I can't tell where I missed him ; Why only last night in his crib I tucked him safe and kissed him ! This boy, with marbles, top and ball, In knickerbockers dressed, This cannot be the baby small I cradled on my breast. I want the weenty teenty thing In dresses soft and white, That I could cuddle, kiss, and sing Soft by- lows to at night. But stay — here are the self -same eyes, His very dimpled chin, These are his rosy pouting lips With milk-white-teeth within, This is my Baby. — But how changed ! I hear his merry shout As he goes sliding down the stair, And dancing in and out; (53) Where's the Baby? 54 Splashing and dashing through the brook. With brow and cheek of tan. Heigho! My baby's gone; instead I see, — a little man. Ah well, when evening comes again With sleep and story-time, A little white-gowned form will come Into my lap to climb; His wee head cradled on my heart Will still this yearning pain. O then I'll know that I have found My baby-boy again ! THE SINGER A singer went singing adown the world, Now in green meadows and now in the town, Anon where the smoke of the battle whirled, Then off where the autumn woods lay brown. Singing, still singing. Ay, nothing but that. When the trumpet summoned the hosts to war And the soldiers rushed at the rat-tat- tat Of the deafening drum, she stood afar: And sang of the conflict in ringing tones, Of the laurel wreath, of the victor's death — Till the dying silenced their shuddering groans, And smiled as they drew their final breath. She sang of duty. Her weak hands failed As she strove the burden of life to bear; But through all of the song no sadness wailed As she sang, still sang, in her white despair. She sang of love. From her eager hand Love's brimming chalice was dashed aside. As her steps drew near to the Unknown Land She gazed on the past and wistful sighed: (55) 56 /%£ dinger " In all the fray I have struck no blow ! Ah! welladay; but the hours were long: When evening comes what have I to show Save here and there the thread of a song?" But the warriors knew at the conflict's end, When the roar of the battle had died away, That song which seemed with the cannon to blend Had strengthened each arm in the deadly fray. And the souls that in duty's lonely way With faltering steps had journeyed long, When the voice of the singer reached them that day Felt the hearts within them grow brave and strong. And happy lovers, that hand in hand Wandered together the wide world o'er, From that song they but vaguely could understand, Learned a deeper love than they knew before. 1S73 UNDER THE BEECHES In the grey beech shadows Dewy violets hide, Anemone and blood-root Blossom side by side; And the tall, white trillium On her slender stem, Like some pale Court beauty Bends to them. In the grey beech shadows It was years ago When last I saw the wind-flower And Spring-beauty blow: But my heart grows tender With a yearning wild For the woods I strayed in When a child. Is there any dainty Tasting half so sweet As the wild May-apple That we used to eat ? Any costly, jewel With as rich a glow As the red rose-heart showed Long ago? (57) MIDWINTER The sad earth cowers beneath the snow- That wraps her like a shroud, Around the house the bleak winds go With waitings shrill and loud. But soft and low my heart doth sing: " I know, I know — After each Winter comes a Spring, When roses blow ! " What time my soul in sadness lay Compassed by shadows drear, When gladness seemed so far away And grief so near — so near; Still soft and low my heart would sing: " I know, I know — That after sorrow there comes a morrow With joy aglow." (58)^ CRICKET Cricket, you're no summer friend! When the snows have hid the earth To the dreary winter's end, Blithe you sing beside my hearth: "Chirrup! chirrup!" Filling- all the room with mirth. Fairer far are butterflies Blossom-winged and gold-bedight, But beneath the summer skies Only, will they bless my sight ; " Chirrup! chirrup!" You make blithe the winter's night. Not for flaunting, fair outside, Will I make my friends my own, Lest my fortunes they deride. Cricket clad in dusty brown, Constant ever Friends like you will still abide. (59) THE SNOWDROP When Eve, outside the gate of Paradise, Watched the first snowflakes whiten hill and dell; Hot blinding tear drops rilled her gentle eyes, With bitter grief her heart began to swell For the lost flowers of Eden loved so well. "O my lost buds and flowers," she sighed," to whom Sweet names I gave, and whom I reared with care! In all this wilderness there is no bloom, But cruel thorns and thistles everywhere Set thick about the path our feet to tear. " My heart goes wearying for you day by day, Knowing I ne'er shall see you more, alas! And now the cruel snow will hide away Even these poor little tender blades of grass That stoop to kiss my tired feet as I pass." An angel swift-descending spake: " O Eve, Our Lord hath heard. He leaves not comfort- less (60) The Snowdrop 61 His erring ones. He bids you cease to grieve; Your willing hands to patient work address, And make an Eden of this wilderness. "Even as repentance cometh after sin, Softening the heart and healing sin's dark wound ; So after Winter's storms shall Spring begin With gentle showers to soften all the ground And strew on every side her grasses 'round. " Root out these thorns and brambles from the soil, — As from your hearts the discontent that lies Therein. And after months of earnest toil On every side shall blossoms bright arise, Only less fair than those of Paradise. " And that ye well may know these things are true, I i/ive a siini," he said. A flake of snow fc> o " He caught, and kissed, and lightly earthward threw ; There, rooted deep, and wavering to and fro, The flake became the snowdrop that we k?tow. WESTWARD HO ON BOARD THE FLEET OF COLUMBUS: A SPANISH SAILOR SPEAKS Ay! We have seen them on the far horizon, Lying all bright against the Western sky, These Fortunate Isles! The summer sunbeam lies on Their peaks when daylight in our clime goes by. Still, Westward Ho, Sailing beyond the sunset let us go! I do not hold with this new-fangled notion Of Senor Cristofero, that the world Is round, not flat. The waters of the ocean Over the edge would speedily be whirled ; And thus — all dry Before our eyes the ocean bed would lie. That's too absurd. But ne'ertheless, signori, He's a brave man and learned, our Admiral. And, ere six days are gone, you'll see before ye That fertile country which the Norsemen call Vinland. — But / Hold just before us those same Isles must lie! (62) Westward Ho 63 When Spain was o'er-run by the Moorish legions, Did not seven Bishops with an exile band (Six centuries gone), set sail toward those regions, To found seven cities in the unknown land, Where the True Faith And its adherents should be saved from death ? The Isle of Seven Cities is the nearest Of these same Isles I speak of. One may see From the Canaries, when the air is clearest, Its castled peaks, old mariners agree. Of all the host That since have sailed, but two have reached the coast. One was a Portuguese, a pilot ; steering South from the warm Canaries, he was caught In a wild storm of wind and rain, and veering Westward, chanced on the very land he sought ; Was tempest-tossed, Half dead with hunger, on the rocky coast, And walked and talked with men who spoke Cas- tilian After the old style; saw the Cross raised high Upon the churches; slept in the pavilion Of their first General; sailing — suddenly 64 Westward Ho Once more was tossed By cyclones till all reckoning was lost. Yea, often I, myself, have heard the story Told by my grandsire, of one Don Fernande Who swore for him alone should be the glory Of re-discovering this wondrous land. So he set sail With a good fleet; and marvelous is the tale Of his adventures: — how he found the city, Was hailed Adelantado of the Isle, And flirted with the Alcayde's daughter pretty ; Served with distinguished pomp and state the while : And, on the morn, In the Alcayde's own barge was shipward borne : Saw from before his eyes his vessels vanish, Barge, rowers, Alcayde, disappear! And, far At sea, himself, was picked up by some Spanish Or Portuguese; close clinging to a spar! To Lisbon straight They bore him, pitying his wretched state. Well, hear the end! He finds himself forgotten By every one, name, rank, and mission,— all ! Westward Ho 65 The very lintels of his hall are rotten. From brasses on the old Cathedral wall, Lo, it appears His sweet-heart has been dead one hundred years. Some wisepates call these histories a farrago Of idle nonsense ; say the men were daft, Crazed by long shipwreck: but by St. Iago I hold they were more sane than those who laughed At them, forsooth, Because their blear eyes had not seen the truth. Certain it is some land to Westward stretches, For I myself have seen upon the shore Of the wild Orkneys, strange bright seeds and vetches, And drifting weeds, of kinds unknown before ; And a canoe Carved of some wood our builders never knew! St. Brandan be our guide! Good angels be Our guard, and aid us where the many fail! The wind is rising- — Ha, who knows but we May be swept thither by this very gale ? The Genoese Says land lies somewhere in these very seas! 66 Westward Ho When in the Bay we ride again at anchor They will not scoff, — Yon fools who doubt the truth. Westward-Ho, comrades all! With hearts to con- quer The El Dorado and the Fount of Youth— On, brave hearts, on To the bright land beyond the setting sun! CARMINA VOTIVA TAKE HEART OF GRACE TO E. C. S. [With a Little Book] Take heart of grace this morn of May, My little song, and go your way. Your coming he'll not take amiss, But read between these lines, I wis, The faltering words I fain would say Of thanks for helpful thoughts. I pray You, stand no more on Yea and Nay But haste — to meet that glance of his Take heart of grace. An if his path with garlands gay Be strewn? — The one wild-flower we lay Thereon, he will not flout for this! In poet souls no scorn there is. The first swift impulse blithe obey — Take heart of grace. May 30, 1886 . (69) A POET'S GIFT TO E. C. S. A poet's gift before me lies, Gazed on through dim, tear-moistened eyes; A letter with a line of praise, A volume vellum-clad. The rays Fall slantwise — the sun glorifies My gift to gold: the morning flies. I linger still, with happy sighs Slow-murmuring in sweet amaze: "A poet's gift? All else may fail me, — high emprise Youth dreamed of, wealth, the friends that rise To greet success, — "Yet" (my heart says,) " One thing is mine through all my days, A thing which Time himself defies — A pocfs giitl" July, 1886 (70) WOMAN AND ARTIST TO E. W. T. If she neglected one especial gift And turned from laurel crowns she might have won, From the high tasks that genius might have clone, Dropping the pencil or the brush to lift Wee baby feet across the stones, to sift Meanings from childish prattle, and to croon Low, tender, cradle-songs in dreamy tone; Catching from baby eyes, as through a rift In clouds, the light of heaven.— Is this a lot To be deplored? Nay, would she if she could Exchange? First, woman— after, poet— what You will! Her soul has seized the greater good: The dizzy heights of Fame were well forgot To sound the wondrous depths of Motherhood. (7i) A SINGER'S BIRTHDAY TO H. W. L. What idle tale is this of silvered hair? — 'Tis but the radiance from his Crown of Song; Nor are those wrinkles which are deepening there, But furrows such as to deep thought belong. Poets grow never old like mortal men. When their life's golden legend all is told, And from the wearied fingers falls the pen, They walk with God as Enoch walked of old. Yet — though this world of bustle and of din Be but the Wayside Inn wherein you wait A little while, before you enter in To the vast temple of Song; where Homer great, Dante and Shakespeare, all strong souls w r e know, Wait but your coming to complete the choir; — Stay with us yet for many a year below To cheer our hearts and lift our tried souls higher. (72) A Singer's Birthday 73 Make not your pleasure but our need your choice: A hundred years were far too brief a time In which to give life's mellowed wisdom voice, To fit the perfect thought to golden rhyme. Sing on, O Master, on whose tuneful breath The world hangs listening ; think not to die— For should the Reaper come whose name is Death, We'll hide you in our hearts till Death goes by! February, 188o DESERT-BOUND TO E. S. P. Would I, if any wish of mine Could change my lot to one as fair As yonder soul's, that sips the wine Of life and rests on roses there, — Would I to such a wish give voice ? Or in my loneness onward press, Crying: "Rejoice, who can rejoice' I choose my rock-strewn wilderness; " I choose the bitter with the sweet, The thorn-pierced brow, the bleeding feet? Even this soul-hunger fierce, if so, My soul diviner life may know." O desert-bound and held apart From crowded street and busy mart, Denied that human sympathy, The very wine of life to thee; (74) Desert-Bound 75 Be comforted. The locusts here And honev wild for thee are best. Perchance that fair lot seen too near Would scarcely prove to thee so blest. He knows, the All-wise, that some trial Too fierce for thee therein must lie; And love is kindest in denial That puts the poisoned chalice by, January 31, 18S0 ACROSS THE SEA TO S M. B. P. Across the sea my little rhyme I scud you, mindful of the time, O once-seen friend, I sought your door Beside the blue Ohio's shore, One " primrose time." Ah, in our clime No primrose marks the Spring's blithe prime, But wind-flowers, wan as Winter's rime, And violets, — bluer do skies bend o'er Across the sea? Do you not hear in dreams the chime Of "dog-tooth" and blue-bells that climb That hillside ? " Come ! " (all tongues implore) "Return! — They cannot love you more Than we love, even in lands sublime Across the sea." June, iS36 (76) THE TWO PATHS TO * * * Strike hands and part? But no, not so. To the same goal our paths must go : But while yon mountain path you tread My feet through blossoming lanes are led. I name the Name your lips confess In Love and Truth and Righteousness: Blame me not, friend, that still for me Made warm and human Faith must be. O not to all is given to bear That higher, rarer atmosphere Of the Eternal Silences, Where only noblest souls may press. Only the prophet soul with God The veiled peak of Sinai trod; Low on the plain the multitude For some clear message waiting stood. (77) y8 The Two Paths For you, enough the spirit's flame; My lips the spoken word must frame. The cross you do not need, must be A strength and a support to me. Then not " Farewell " twixt me and you, Rather the nobler word Adieu, With God we walk, or here or there ; God with us — for us each His care! 1S86 THE DANDELION TO S. M. B. P. The dandelion disks of gold Like mimic suns the greensward dot, In woods beyond the meadow-lot The violet's shy blue eyes unfold. Bid blithe farewell to winter's cold And troop to field from hall or cot The dandelion disks of gold Like mimic suns the greensward dot I'm jealous, sweet, lest you should hold The primrose dearer!-— Ah, be not In English primrose time forgot Our own gold-daisy, brave and bold, The dandelion — whose disks of gold Like mimic suns the greensward dot! 18S6 (79) RHYMER'S REASON TO W. E. B. We've lived our sonnet, you and I. We've had all best that life can show Of smile and sigh, of throb and glow ; What reck we though Youth pass us by? We've lived our sonnet, you and I. Life moves no more to rapid rhyme. We sing not now with easy art Of loves and doves, of heart and dart, As erst we sang in sonnet-time: But " age " and " sage," instead we chime. Yet who, with saucy mocking tongue Dare call us old? We smile, and know Grey hairs and wrinkles we can show — Antic disguises merely, flung To hide the masking soul still young. Whom Love hath kissed grows never old. The draught he gave he stole in truth From yon fount of Eternal Youth, Hid in the fabled land of gold, To which fond pilgrims fared of old. (80) Rhymer's Reason 81 So, listening to life's vesper chime, We lift our children on our knee; And in their dancing eyes we see The dawn of love, the bliss at prime, The glad youth of our sonnet-time. ROSE SONGS, ETC. PRELUDE "It is the Wood of Faerie With linden-fragrance brcatJiing, The wondrous spell of the weird moonlight Around my heart is wreathing. I wander on, and as I stray A song comes downward ringing : It is the nightingale, of love And of lovers sorrow singing, Of love and of lovers agony, Of laughter and of weeping ; So sad, so sweet — across my heart Forgotten dreains come sweeping." Translation from HEINE. (85) ROSENLIED I said to the rose, " O rose! What was it the nightingale sang? For all night beneath my lattice In the dusk his clear notes rang." Then the hue of the crimson rose Was dyed a lovelier red, And she trembled with passionate longing, And drooped her gentle head. " Last night beside the lattice, Before the white moon set, Two stood within the shadow — O heart! dost thou forget? "A kiss; and two hands close clinging In a silent, long troth-plight, — O heart, O heart, thou knowest What the nightingale sang all night!" (37) ROSENLIED The nightingale sang to the rose Through the livelong night, Till its hue from a ruby- red Turned wan and white. All night it rose and fell — That silvery strain, And the heart of the red rose throbbed With divinest pain : " O love, O love ! " (it rang), " I love but thee. Thou art queen of all flowers," (he sang), " And queen of me ! O love, my love!" he said. Before the dawn The rose on its stalk hung dead. The bird was gone. (88) THE DYING ROSE TO THE NIGHTIN- GALE What were the gifts of a thousand lovers To that one perfect song of thine, Whose liquid cadence around me hovers Steeping my soul in bliss divine. to live and to love forever! Out of my petals fades the red ; The night and thy song, O love, are over; I am dying, and thou — art fled. Fled! Live on then, — and love another; That can not rob me of my bliss, Though thou shouldst woo a hundred, no other, Never a one, wilt thou love like this ! Thou too must pass death's shadowy portal ; Naught will remain but this song of thine. Life is fleeting but song is immortal; Half of thy fame is also mine. 1 dare not weep though I fade forever; More from a century none could win. This is my joy, that never, oh never, Save for me, love, thy song had been 1 (89) THE PAGE SINGS u It was a squire of low degree Loved a King's daughter of Hongrie." There's a crown of red gold in your hair, Lady mine, And on bosom and neck rich and rare Jewels shine ; But dearer to me are the fair golden tresses Than all of the wealth that a monarch possesses, The fair brow more precious I hold Than the crown of red gold! The King and his court are asleep. Only I Am awake: '"neath your bower I creep, There to sigh To the nightwind, that moans with my heart, all my passion; To gaze on your casement the while that I fashion Your features and form in my mind, And that last look — so kind ! (90) The Page Sings 91 Send down from your far window's height, Lady mine, One glance from the eyes filled with light So divine. My princess — Ah sure you may grant a boon that is So slight, to the page who sings under your lattice! Draw near and look down while I sing; He is sleeping — the king. WOOING [he speaks] At last I spoke. O faint and sweet As a strain of distant song Was the smile that just touched mouth and eyes As we two passed along, Through sun and shade of yonder glade Where early violets throng. It's " O love, my true love, And will you be my wife? Love like mine for you, love, Ends not even with life!" A sigh, a glance, a rosy blush, A softly whispered " Yes " — And it seemed that all the joy of heaven Came down my soul to bless, In that first bliss of warm troth-kiss When lips to fond lips press. " And O love, my true love, Be but true to me, As I to you, love, Evermore will be." (92) Wooing 93 " Sweet, sweet, sweet! " the wild birds trilled, A-buildmg their tiny nest, And " Sweet, sweet," the brown bee hummed As it swung on a clover-crest, And " Sweet," sighed low a summer wind As it swooned on the rose's breast. And " O love, my true love, Strong are Time and Death, But love like mine for you, love, They can not change!" he saith. CAMPION I placed a scarlet campion flower In the wreathed tresses of my head. " No damosel in hall or bower Is fairer than my love," he said. Years after in a folded book I found a withered campion flower; And paled, with that swift backward look That ghost-seers have at twilight hour. O withered heart, O love long dead ! " Poor faded flower that shone so fair, Well suits thy phantom bloom " (I said) " With the white tresses of my hair." (94) A SONG OF FLEETING LOVE Love has wings as light as a bird, Guileless he looks, as a dove, of wrong.— Whatever his song, be it brief or long, It still has this for an overword: " Love has wings ! " Though to-day the truant may stay, Though he woos and sues and sings; Only sorrow to maids he brings — Pout him and flout him, laugh him away: Love has wings. Hold your pulses calm, unstirred — Calm and cool as a woodland pool, Let not his song your heart be-fool; List, through it all, for the overword: " Love has wings." (95) • THE POISON FLASK [Temp. Louis XV.] A crystal flasket: one drop (ay, that's all) Of its clear contents well administered — Dripped in the succory water, say, — she'll fall Dead in a. flash, with no accusing word. Not that I mean to do it! Nay, the nerve Is scarce mine. Something, though, it is, to hold Here in my hand the subtle spell might serve To stretch that supple body stiff and cold ! Gods, how I hate her! — with those sleepy eyes Like two gray agates filled with lambent light Hate that full bosom's lazy fall and rise, The red ripe lips, the cheek's vermeil and white ! I loathe your lush blonde beauties. I am dark — Small and so dark — eyes, brows and dusky hair, My skin's a clearer white than hers though, mark,— If she were gone the king would find me fair. (0) The Poison Flask 97 If she were gone. — This liqueur has the hue Of liquid diamonds, what a flash that was! This gold top's chasing, now, is curious, too: How clear the crystal is and free from flaws. Venetian ? — fit to hold (the chymist said) These Medicean drops — the very same That Catherine used to mingle with the red Wine draught of certain friends who crossed her game. If Artemise were gone. A better way Might be — to spoil her beauty by the art Of some infernal wash, some acid, say, In her cosmetics, to eat, scar, and smart. That is a wild dream only! What I seek Is something quick and final. — Not a trace Left of the method. — Dead folks never speak, Even if they return to haunt the j:>lace. A poisoned ring would be at once suspect, That's such an old device; and the bouquet, And gloves with poisoned perfumes, all reject Save the mere novice. If — mind if, I say, — The deed were done with this, there is no clue Whereby Justice the author could divine. She lives but at my will! And I — I know o8 The Poison Flask If she were gone the king — the king were mine! How small the flask is. Small enough to swing Here at my girdle with the silver keys Held by the chatelaine. I'll wear the thing Just so upon the chain ; and if she sees And wonders at the bauble, I reply It is — 'tis my scent flasket, vinaigrette! — No, no! I'll wear it not! I'll put it by In the carved casket there with jewels set. So, then, I turn the key upon the flask Of liquid death. I shall not use it — No. But it is sweet to feel how slight a task 'T would be to bring her insolent beauty low. I'll keep it then ; sometimes, perhaps, unlock The casket's secret drawer, hang gloating o'er My deadly treasure. — Ha! Was that a knock? Some one is standing just without the door. 'Tis Artemise herself. "Yes! Enter, straight." What means the look of triumph in her eye? "How radiant, sweet! — robed as for some grand fete! What lovely pearls! — a queen for such might sigh. The Poison Flask 99 Ah— How; You dine tonight, love, with the king? You happy girl! Nay, wait one moment yet. I'll scarce ten seconds keep you tarrying. See! I but fasten on— my vinaigrette? JUNE ROSES O roses, June roses! From yonder beds of bloom Is wafted toward me your subtile faint perfume, Which draws me, half-willing, as 'twere a greet- ing sweet, To stay in your presence the going of my feet. O red rose, deep red rose! the emblem of a heart Encrimsoned with passion and youthful love thou art; But white rose, the right rose art thou, beloved, sure, To symbol that heart made by pain and sorrow pure. O roses, fair roses, you bring me bitter ruth, You mind me of yonder fair summer time in youth — Two stood by a window where clung the wild sweetbriar, And roses whose hearts glowed with strange and subtile fire. O roses, list, roses: he murmured, " Take this rose Which symbols the passion that in my bosom glows ; O take it and keep it and keep the love as well ! " The love I had no word for the blushes rose to tell (ioo) jfune Roses ioi And roses, O roses! — that rose, I have it yet, No longer its petals with morning dew are wet, Its hot crimson blushes are faded now and gone, It lies in my casket all scentless, white and wan. roses, O roses! that love died long ago. 1 wept not its going : I knew 'twas better so. And I put by a ring and a broken troth-plight When I put by my red rose, had faded into white. roses, June roses, my life is fair and bright, I've passed from the night-gloom of sorrow into light; But in the June weather when purple roses blow, 1 sigh, through all my smiling, at thought of long ago. THE SPINNER FROM THE GERMAN OF VOSS I sat and spun before my door: A youth along the road came straying, His hazel eyes a deep smile wore, And blushes on his cheek were playing; My glance was from the distaff won, I sat abashed, and spun and spun. In friendly tones, " Good day ! " he spoke, With timid grace approaching nigher: Startled was I, the thread it broke, My foolish heart leapt high and higher. The thread once more I fastened on, And sat abashed, and spun and spun. He clasped, with tender touch, my hand, And vowed none could with it compare- The very loveliest in the land, So swan-white, plump and dainty fair! As with his praise my heart he won I sat abashed, and spun and spun. (J02) The Spinner 103 Upon my chair he laid his arm, And praised the finely-wroughten thread. So near his mouth, so red and warm, How gently: " Sweetest maid! " it said! The while he gazed my face upon I sat abashed, and spun and spun. His handsome face toward my own Meantime he bent with glances winning; It touched, by some odd chance unknown, My head that nodded in the spinning: He kissed me, this audacious one ! — I sat abashed, and spun and spun. I turned, reproof in earnest tone Upon his forwardness bestowing ; He clasped me close and, bolder grown, He kissed my face with blushes glowing. O tell me sisters — every one! Is't strange that now no more I spun? PLIGHTED. A. D. 1874 "Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one." nellie loquitur. Bless my heart! You're come at last. Awful glad to see you, dear! Thought you'd died or something, Belle — Such an age since you've been here! My engagement? Gracious! Yes. Rumor's hit the mark this time. And the victim? Charley Gray, Know him, don't you? Well, he's firi?ne. Such mustachios! Splendid style! Then he's not so horrid fast — Waltzes like a seraph, too, Has some fortune — best and last. Love him? Nonsense. Don't be " soft." Pretty much as love now goes; He's devoted, and in time I'll get used to him, I s'pose. First love? Humbug. Don't talk stuff. Bella Brown, don't be a fool! Next you'll rave of flames and darts Like a chit at boarding school. (104) Plighted. A. D. 1874 105 Don't be " miffed," I talked just so Some two years back. Fact, my dear! But two seasons kill romance, Leave one's views of life quite clear. Why, if Will Latrobe had asked When he left, two years ago, I'd have thrown up all and gone Out to Kansas; do you know ? Fancy me a settler's wife! Blest escape, dear, was it not? Yes, its hardly in my line To enact " Love in a Cot." Well, you see, I'd had my swing, Been engaged to eight or ten : Got to stop some time of course, So it don't much matter when, Auntie hates old maids, and thinks Every girl should marry young — On that theme my whole life long I have heard the chancres rung;! So, ma belle, what could I do? Charley wants a stylish wife, We'll suit well enough, no fear, When we settle down for life. But for love — stuff! See my ring? 106 Plighted. A. D. 1874 Lovely, isn't it ? Solitaire. Nearly made Maude Hinton turn Green with envy and despair, Her's aint half so nice, you see — Did I write you, Belle, about How she tried for Charley, till I sailed in and cut her out? Now she's taken Jack McBride, I believe it's all from pique — Threw him over once you know, — Hates me so she'll scarcely speak. O yes! Grace Church, Brown, and that, Pa won't mind expense at last, I'll be off his hands for good ; Cost a fortune two years past. My trousseau shall outdo Maude's, I've carte blanche from Pa, you know ; Mean to have my dress from Worth ! Won't she just be raving though ? SIC SEMPER '* Variunt et mutabile semper fentina." VIRGIL, B. IV J 569. sophomorus loquitur. I met her, you know, at that party Last summer at Minnie Latrobe's. Such eyes! and she knew how to use 'em. She wore the most gorgeous of robes. Her hair was the loveliest golden, Her eyes were a heavenly brown: Yes! I may as well own I was smitten, Hit hard, sir! Completely "bowled down." She said she did so like mustachios, And she glanced, as she spoke, at a pair That I think have wrought some execution In the hearts of susceptible fair. I vowed that her eyes were the loadstars That henceforth should guide my life-barque! (I got somewhat mixed in that figure— A fact which she didn't remark.) (107) io8 Sic Semfer She thought that small men were " just horrid'] (My height is just even six feet.) And she said that the lines which I quoted, From Byron, were " perfectly sweet." I treasured the flower that she gave me, Kept the glove that she lost on the lawn; And we walked on that shaded piazza, And talked till the guests were half gone. And all through the long weeks that followed We danced and we drove and we sung; Don't laugh, Hal! A fellow can't help it If sometimes his words are high-strung. She sighed and looked sad when we parted, And vowed she would never forget; She gave me the curl that I asked for, — That same golden tress I have yet. Corresponded? Of course. All her letters Are there in that desk, save the last — 'Tis that which imparts to my visage, At present, its serious cast. Look there! In that postscript she tells me She's engaged— to that muff, Oscar Brown ! " The wedding will be in December," She " does so hope " that I'll be in town. Sic Semper 109 « Varium et mutahle semper" — Virgil knew the whole sex, like a book , That's" the way with 'em all, false and fickle, However confiding they look. Confound it! who'd think it mere flirting, Who looked in those tender eyes then? Mind this! If I live to a hundred, I'll ne'er trust a woman again. [But he does.] THE INNER LIFE THE SIN OF OMISSION For it came to pass ■while thy servant was busy hither and thither, the man was gone.''' For I was busy hither and yon And to and fro ! Working the Master's work, I thought. Ah me, I know — Looking aback across the years — It was not so. Busy — pursuing, with blinded zeal, Some vague wild plan, Whereby the world should be sooner freed From error's ban, And Earth become Paradise once more, For sinful man. Over the bars of my garden gate, With wan pale face. One, wistful, gazed at the Summer bloom That filled the place; With hand outstretched, as if entreating A moment's grace. (113) 1 14 The Sin of Omission But I was busy with greater things — A whole world's fate; Should I turn from these to the beggar there Without my gate? And I said: " Not now, but another time, He will surely wait!" So I toiled at my task with fevered haste Till eve came on. Then I went my way in the sunset gleam, O'er the grass-clad lawn To my garden wicket: — But lo! I found The man was gone. And the deeds that I wrought that busy day, Proved vain, the whole, And now too late, ah me ! I know In my inmost soul, 'Twas an angel that stood in beggar's guise, And craved my dole. Now the livelong day with tristful heart, I stand and wait, Gazing and gazing adown the path; But ah ; too late ! The blessed presence will pause no more Beside my gate. IN THE KING'S NAME " In the King's Name!" will say Some day the Shadow grim, And we all silently Shall straightway follow him, Rending the veil away " As through a glass " to see No more, with vision dim. What shall our eyes behold When once that veil is lift? A new Jerusalem With radiant walls that sift Heaven's glory through many a gem ; With shining streets of gold, And the angels walking in them? — Or will the heavenly scene Be such as here we know ? The heavenly mansions be, Perchance, not all aglow With gold and glitter and sheen — But radiant with love that we Have known before — belozv! (ii5) n6 In the King's Name & Dear Lord, if this might be! — That it might be the same Dear home that in bygone days Made earth an Eden below! — How gladly would I go When the Shadow with veiled face, Bade come " In the King's Name!" THE WANDERING IN THE WILDER- NESS To Israel cherished of the Lord, Abiding in the stranger's land, Came her Jehovah's wakening word: «' Rise, follow my directing hand!" And through the dark sea's rolling tide, With His own glory for a guide, Went forth the band. My soul, abiding in the gloom Of error's night, His message heard, And. straightway in its living tomb The waking soul within me stirred ; " Arise, and follow ! In the sea, Or desert's waste, I am with thee; Thus saith the Lord." « Behold Thy servant, Lord!" I cried, And straightway rose and went with haste Forth through the sea's arrested tide, And entered on the desert's waste, And here my soul hath wandered long With aimless steps, by its own wrong And terror chased. (ii7) Ii8 The Wandering in the V/ilderness Because I murmured at Thy will, And longed for Egypt's vanished joys, And wept the heathen's food, which still Even of its v^ery sweetness cloys. But Thou hadst mercy and forbore Thine angered spirit chastens sore, Yet not destroys. The path I tread is long and drear, Aimless its wanderings seem to me, And oft in doubting mood I fear The Promised Land I ne'er shall see. But even though I faint and fall Within the path, I know in all Thou leadest me. And for the food in Egypt left, Thou giv'st the manna of Thy word ; To quench my thirst the rocks are cleft, And living springs within them stirred. Mine idolsThou wilt put away, And teach my stubborn soul to pray " Thy will, O Lord !" And sometimes as a cloud of grief Upon my way Thou guidest me, And often for a season brief The Wandering in the Wilderness 1 19 As living fire Thy might I see; But whether cloud or fire doth go Before my path, in each I know Thou leadest me. THE HOLY COMMUNION Who is the blessed guest Here present at the feast? Is it not Christ the Lord, Who comes, with silent tread, To join the table spread According to His word? He blest the bread and brake, Saying: " Take, eat for my sake.' He poured the ruddy wine: For love of me this do. My Father gives to you Share of the life divine !" And other guests are here, All that we held most dear; The loved and early lost Gather with us to-day, To kneel and feast and pray, — A shadowy, silent host. (120) The Holy Communion 12 1 With them and Thee at o?ie Make us, as we commune, Father of Life and Love! Fashion us to Thy will; Cast from our hearts all ill; Turn every thought above. O Thou, who knowest our need, Our hungry spirits feed With Thine own bread of life." Into our souls like wine Pour Thou the strength divine To aid us in the strife ! THE THREE-FOLD TESTIMONY ^God is Love. '—St. John. God is the Summit of Truth.— Emerson. God is the Best that Man can ^ww.-Mattiiew Arnold. Still " from faith to faith" uplifted, Living out his sense of right, Man moves Godward through the ages; Climbing slow from height to height. "Father, Son and Holy Spirit"— So the earlier souls confess: We, their latest heirs, inherit Love and Truth and Righteousness. Christlike Love — the Eternal Human, Shall walk with us through all time; Righteousness — the Eternal Helpful, Lifts us toward Truth sublime. Something grander than our finite, Something higher than our best; All enfolding, all upholding, To the soul made manifest. This is God, the great Eternal, Be he what he may, or where, In His being He uniteth Wisdom, Love and Helpful Care. (122) AFTER LONG WAITING " Wait? Wait? — Dear God, how can I wait! When I would fain arise and go Forth to thy fields to till and sow, Early and late?" And still He bade me : " Wait." " Rest ? — But I pant for action ! Rest ?— Nay, rest I can not. Let me strive ! Rest 's for the dead ; I am alive, And toil is best." Yet my Lord answered : " Rest." I waited ; chafing hour by hour At enforced idlesse, wasted strength. Lo, now He bids me work, at length, With all my power, In this the eleventh hour. And now my tired eyes clearer see How all my zeal had been misplaced ; Toil had been fruitless; haste been waste. Be patient: — He, From all beginning, the end doth see. (123) THE SPIRIT OF TRUTH "The Spirit of Trttth, zohich we * hold forth to be the saving rule of life, and jrom which the Serif hires proceeded, is the greatest of a//."— William Williams, His Journal, 1810. Rite, temple, priest, psalm, Word, Not these the spirit needs: The " still small voice " is heard Above the clash of creeds. That voice unto each heart In gentlest tones will speak, If it but draw apart, From all, in reverence meek. Law, temple, priest and rite — For these we thank Thee, Lord, For the uplifting might Within Thy written Word. But, Lord, we thank Thee most For this small voice within! This is Thine Holy Ghost, Our safeguard against sin. * The Society of Friends, more coini.ionly known as Quakers. ("4) The Spirit cf Truth 125 This is Thy living Word, Which speaks to every age: By earnest seekers heard, Or peasant, priest, or sage. Thy temple is mine heart — " Thy kingdom is within:" Thy priest, myself; thy rite, Each conquest over sin. Temple, priest, Word, law, rite, Hath not each true soul then. That striveth for the Light? Yea, Lord, — Be praised ! Amen. MAGDALEN M We commit to the ground the body oj this our deceased sister."— Burial Service. " This our sister." Turn the earthclods under, Heap them high above the quiet breast; Ceasing longer now to fear or wonder, This, our sister, is at last at rest. " This, our sister!" Surely you are mocking. Why, this self-same form I've seen before, Through the streets of yonder city walking, Pitilessly spurned from door to door. Driven swiftly to a sure perdition, Scouted, scorned and mocked with bitter jeers: Finding never place for her contrition, Though she sought it eagerly with tears. Never gentle hand outstretched for saving, Never voice to give in tender tone Aught of sympathy her heart was craving — Till hhe perished, outcast and alone. Surely, surely, had this been " our sister," We had hearkened to her frenzied prayer; Not unmoved our hearts had been to list her Contrite moaning and her wild despair. (126) Magdalen 12 J Had she been our sister — tempted, sinning — We had hastened to uplift and save, [ning Had deemed time and pains well spent in win- Back our sister from a living grave. One there was who felt no shame in owning, Publicans and sinners for his kin; Who withheld the rabble rout from stoning Such another, taken in her sin. " This our sister? " Ay, she was our sister! Covered though she be with sin's dark blight. And our hands — too dainty to assist her — Are they guiltless in the Master's sight? Cain's wild cry, "Am I my brother's keeper? " Think you it availed him much with God ? Friends, than Cain have we erred less or deeper, Towards the one who sleeps beneath this sod ? TIRED For only a little time if I might lay d®wn my life, Resting here in the silence, out of the heat and strife! Let me crouch down here in the shadow, while the noisy fray sweeps by — I am weary; so weary, comrades, if I rest not now, I die. What was our slogan? " Action is ever the soul's true rest ! *' Action ! — You'll witness, brothers, how long I strove with the best. From day dawn till dewy even with tireless hand I wrought. Woe, woe, that this final failure should make that record naught ! " Friends, when the Master cometh (as come he surely must,) When he finds me heavily sleeping and my good sword dimmed with rust, While you on your reeking sabres lean near, all flushed and warm; When he looks on your glowing faces, then down to my nerveless form — (128) Tired 129 O, tell him that never with terror or pain my face once paled, It was not the will that faltered, it was only the strength that failed ; That I'd fain have watched till his coming, even as he did command: — And somehow I think that the Master will surely understand ! What were his words ? " Ye weary and heavy laden, come!" Were they meant for me too, I wonder? Al- ready my hands are numb, And my eyelids heavily drooping. Is this the slumber blest He gives to his beloved ? Is this the promised rest? O, ye who strive ! your guerdon I pray you may surely reap, — For you is the golden harvest; for me is the dreamless sleep. Strive on, O strong and fearless! unheeding that I fall- But say to the Master, I fain would have ans- wered to his call. 1S74 DAILY BREAD " Give us this day our daily bread.'''' What is this bread Wherewith we're daily fed ? One time in thoughtful mood I questioning said. Is't wheaten loaves? Or bread fruit from the groves ? Or crust unleavened such as Jewry loves? Were such the feast, How better than the beast In yonder field, were man's life in the least? " By bread alone Man shall not live," said One Unto the tempter in rebuking tone. " By earthly bread Alone, man is not fed; But by each word that comes from the God- head." Each word ? — Each thought Which hitherto hath brought The soul more near the virtue which it sought ; (130) Daily Bread 131 Each earnest hope Which gives to Faith new scope, Each gleam that lights this darkness where we grope; And each desire Which lifts the mortal higher Toward that immortal whereto we aspire: — This is that bread Wherewith our souls are fed, Without which man, indeed, in sin were dead. Then day by day, Give me, dear Lord, I pray That bread which shall my fasting spirit stay! TOLD IN A PARABLE Who hath not eyes to see nor ears to hear — Eyes whose insight by sorroxv is made clear, And ears made keen by breathless listening For the slow steps of messengers that bring The answer unto prayers, — who hath not these, Willjind no line within this tale to please ' Let him look farther : only unto those Who hear and see, its meaning will unclose. One had a closet in a secret nook, And none, save him alone, therein might look. The many wondered oft and whispered low: " Thither in dead of night the man doth go! Does he not keep some treasure hidden there — Gold, it may be, or jewels rich and rare ? " But he, when he would hear, smiled bitterly, And closed his hand the firmer on the key Which hung upon his breast, and patient kept Vigil until the world about him slept; Then went his way, and stood, with anguished face, Gazing into the darkness of the place. No treasure there ! The gloom was tenanted By a gaunt skeleton, grewsome and dread, — (>32> Told in a Parable 133 A great crime or a sorrow? or the ghost Of a fond hope? some grand ideal lost? I do not know (the story's not mine own); And only God and that poor man alone Knew its full history. With sob and groan He bowed before it, grovelling in the dust, And bore its bitter taunts as one who must; Answering not again the while with jeers And cruel laugh it mocked his falling tears, And gloated o'er his misery. At length The very depth of his despair gave strength Unto his soul to battle with his woe; Till he could say : " I will arise and go Forth from these shadows to the sunlit earth, And drown my sorrow in her sounds of mirth." With that the awful shape pealed laughter worse, In its weird glee, than had been any curse. "Yea, go! " it said, " But ever at your side, Through each new scene of pleasure I will glide, Turning its bliss to bale, its song to shriek." He answered " Be it so. Then will I seek 134 Told in a Parable The company of mourners. It may be This much of solace may be granted me, — To lighten grief of others; to atone With painful care for evil not my own." " Go! go! " it cried, " But think not to escape. You must bear ever with you in some shape The memory of your past." " That memory," He said, " perchance shall teach mine eye to see Some woe another's might have missed!" And so He went his way. All mourners, high and low, He sought ; and strove to comfort and to heal All wounds his own grief taught his heart to feel. And ever as he worked, he was aware Of a strong presence at his side whene'er A deed of kindly charity he wrought, — A presence with an angel's features fraught With tender sympathy; whose words of cheer Strengthened his soul to put aside his fear, And seek in patient work for Mercy's sake A little to forget the bitter ache He bore within his heart. No woe, no pain That he could ease, to him appealed in vain. Told in a Parable 135 Through scenes of misery and vice and want, The " outer darkness " of the outcast's haunt, Wherever deed of wrong could be redressed, Cheering the faint, uplifting the oppressed, With pitying face and helpful hand he passed. Thus reaching out to all his race, at last His own tried spirit came in time to be Touched with all feelings of humanity; Weeping with those who wept, he came to know The joy of those who do rejoice also; Lifted above his old sore pain and grief, He found a solace in the same relief He tendered others; and the wild unrest Which drove him forth, departed from his breast. And so long years went by in loving deeds And patient 'tendance on the sufferers' needs, Until at length he came, with bated breath, Again to gaze into that house of death. And lo! There stood an angel in the place Of the gaunt terror he had left. The face Of the bless'd presence was the face he knew So long as his dear guide's! And straight, unto Him wondering, a voice began to speak 136 Told in a Parable In well known accents: " I am that ye seek, — The same, yet not the same. Nor think it strange, Naught is immutable since Time and Change Work as they have worked ever. Had you stayed, Cowering in secret, trembling and afraid, I still had been your tyrant. But since well You wrought for Truth's sake and for Love's, the spell Which changed your darkened soul changed also me, Tiil I became the shining one you see, Strong to assist and cheer as once to ban." Then hand in hand the presence and the man Passed on, and glad content filled all his days. I think GooVs mercy Jindeth many ways To comfort us when least we would expect / And even the rocks ivhereon our hopes are wrecked, When we look back across the years, shall stand Like hallowed altars reared by angePs hand. Tor life tends on and upward. By mistakes We learn. The hand which crushed our idols takes Our own, and leads ?is to ?iew shrines/ whose light Told in a Parable 137 Shines but the brighter for past errors night. All sin and sorrow, shame, disgrace and pain, Are made His ministers. From loss comes gain. Out of all ill it must be He will make Some good to come, for His dear Mercy 1 s sake; That we may find a?i angel in the place Of the gaunt skeleton with grisly face. GOD KNOWS God knows, not I, the devious way Wherein my faltering feet must tread Before, into the light of day, My steps from out this gloom are led. And since my Lord the path doth see What matter if 'tis hid from me? God knows, not I, how sweet accord Shall grow at length from out this crash Of earthly discords which have jarred On soul and sense. I hear the clash — Yet feel and know that on His ear Breaks Harmony — full, deep, and clear. God knows, not I, why, when I'd fain Have walked in pastures green and fair, The path appointed me hath lain Through rocky deserts bleak and (bare. I blindly trust — since 'tis His will — This way lies safety; that way, ill. He knows, too, why, despite my will I'm weak when I should be most strong, And, after earnest wrestling, still (138) God Knoivs 139 I see the right, yet do the wrong. Is't that He'd have me learn at length Not mine, but His — the saving strength? His perfect plan I may not grasp, But I can trust Love Infinite, And with my feeble fingers clasp The Hand which leads me to the Light: My soul upon His errand goes — The end I know not. But God knows. A SONG OF REST Beati, bcati, mortm. Nay — no sorrow. We but sleep, to wake to-morrow; Go your way, Leave me in my house of clay. Let me rest, with sunlight sifting Through the boughs, and red leaves drifting On the grass. No fear that I Shall be lonesome where I lie. Work is done, And my rest is but begun. Calm and still In my house upon the hill I have time to lie at ease, To hold converse with the trees, And the marvellous sky, and all Nature's wonders great and small. The procession of the year In review shall pass me here; Winter's miracle of the snow, Spring's display of bud and blow, Summer's wealth of roses, all Of Autumn's grand High Carnival. (140) A Song- of Rest 141 I shall hear the acorn falline, I shall hear the wild duck calling To his mate on yonder lake. I shall see the mornings break — See the cool diaphanous mist Turn from grey to amethyst, Watch the gathering twilight, Learn the mystery of the night, And the eternal stars shall see, One by one, shine over me. In this bed that holds but one It is good to lie alone For a little while, apart From all stir of brain or heart; Resting, waiting, learning still How the Master works His will. Yet so sure as I lie here Without pain and without fear Under the eternal skies, Yea, so surely I shall rise, When the time is come, and go On God's errands to and fro. " All our times are in God's hand." All — not one, you understand. 14 2 So??g of Rest Death no stranger is than birth, And life does not end with earth ; Other paths the soul must tread, All is not over for the dead. Dead? — There is no Death; — the rest In the music, just the pause Which is one of Music's laws, Is this time of quiet bless'd. Go your way. Leave me in my house of clay; Vex me not with idle sorrow: Death's of to-day hut Life is of the Morrow. HAR VEST HOME If the echo of my singing Has been, yet, the means of bringing Aught of joy to any spirit Overshadowed, faint with fear; If when any heart was breaking It has somewhat stilled the aching, Till the voice of God's evangel Through the silence might draw near; If in any night of sorrow It has whispered of a morrow When the sun should shine out clearly, All the clouds of grief be gone: Not in vain bc7ieath the sun Is the task my hand has done, To one talent which He gave me There is added other one. So, when through the evening 's quiet Comes to me the solemn fat : " Work is e?zded. — To the Master Bring the sheaves which thou hast bound! When the aw ef lied voice I hear, I shall rise up without fear, — Not, as once I thought to, trembling And heart-quaking at the sound. (i43) i^4 Harvest Home I shall rise and bear along In my hand my sheaves of song, And go humbly till I kneel me In the -presence of his face, And, with downcast eyelids, say; — u Master, in thy sight this day Let the offering (I fray thee!) That I bring to thee, find grace! " Little are my harvest gains, Not for me the crowded wains Heaped with golden grain : these few sheaves, Lord, are all I have to show, For my tilling of thy soil, For my years of tears and toil; Tea, these only can I give thee For the seed thou didst bestow. " But since faithfully I wrought, Toiling ever, resting not ; fudge not by the harvest's scantness Of the fervor of my zeal: And I pray thee (I shall say) That my humble offeri?ig may Still find favor with thee!" [Hushed then I shall listen where I kneel.) Harvest Home 145 And it haply then may chance That the Lord will bend a glance On my heart, and read it truly, And say : " She hath done her best. And is not its best the whole i have asked of any soul ? Rise, O spirit. Leave thy sheaves, then, Enter thou into My Rest"