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O N G AND 
 
 TORY 
 
 GRACE ADA BROWN. 
 
 ) < J ' :> 
 
 PITTSFIEIvD 
 THE EAGI,E PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 1902 
 
COPY 8 
 
 / 
 
 • • • 
 
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 the dear Sister beJmid the Veil who is singing the " New 
 
 Song " and adding fairer chapters to the 
 
 ''Old Story r 
 
CONTEN 
 
 TS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 After All, ....... 1 
 
 Nasturtiums, 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 The Garden, .... 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 Alone, .... 
 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 The Grove, .... 
 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 Lilies of Desire, . 
 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 Wait, .... 
 
 
 
 
 14 
 
 Not Dead But Sleeping, 
 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 The Three Marys, 
 
 
 
 
 18 
 
 Tired, ..... 
 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 Toussaint L'Ouverture, 
 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 The Workman's White Eose, . 
 
 
 
 
 23 
 
 What, .... 
 
 
 
 
 25 
 
 The Lane, 
 
 
 
 
 26 
 
 On the Porch, 
 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 An Indian Legend, 
 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 Apple Blossom Time,. 
 
 
 
 
 34 
 
 Our Day, . 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 The Five Berries,. 
 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 A Morning in Etiwanda, 
 
 
 
 
 39 
 
 The Difference, . 
 
 
 
 
 40 
 
 Lu-it-see, 
 
 
 
 
 41 
 
 The Bruised Reed, . 
 
 
 
 
 44 
 
 To the Skies, 
 
 
 
 
 45 
 
 The Beaten Path, 
 
 
 
 
 46 
 
 Crux Yitae, . 
 
 
 
 
 47 
 
 Our Land, 
 
 
 
 
 50 
 
 America, .... 
 
 
 
 
 51 
 
 It is the Touch of God, 
 
 
 
 
 52 
 
 So Few ! . . . 
 
 
 
 
 53 
 
 Make Me Beautiful Within, 
 
 
 
 
 54 
 
 Annie, .... 
 
 
 
 
 56 
 
 Morning on the Kissaquogue 
 
 
 
 
 57 
 
 At the Rapids, 
 
 
 
 
 58 
 
VI 
 
 To A. M. M., . 
 
 
 
 61 
 
 The Question, 
 
 
 
 62 
 
 *' Words, Words, W^ords," 
 
 
 
 64 
 
 A Prayer, 
 
 
 
 66 
 
 The King at the Gates, • 
 
 
 
 67 
 
 Autumn, 
 
 
 
 68 
 
 Love's Sacrifice, . 
 
 
 
 69 
 
 July, .... 
 
 
 
 73 
 
 Bobolink. 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 The Seat Beside the Door, 
 
 
 
 76 
 
 Shaker Lilacs, 
 
 
 
 78 
 
 Snow Lilies, 
 
 
 
 80 
 
 October, 
 
 
 
 81 
 
 Frost Fancies, 
 
 
 
 82 
 
 A Mistake, . 
 
 
 
 83 
 
 Olivet, .... 
 
 
 
 84 
 
 Our Father Knows, 
 
 
 
 S6 
 
 Why? 
 
 
 
 89 
 
 Invisible Scribes, . 
 
 
 
 90 
 
 To Sister Ruth, 
 
 
 
 93 
 
 The Cattle Train, 
 
 
 
 94 
 
 The Message of Liberty, 
 
 
 
 99 
 
 Billy's Sad Fall, . 
 
 
 
 102 
 
 The Red Fan, 
 
 
 
 105 
 
 The Elect Lady, . 
 
 
 
 108 
 
 Beauty From Ashes, 
 
 
 
 111 
 
 Silent Slander. . 
 
 
 
 113 
 
 Father James, 
 
 
 
 116 
 
 The Christmas Baby, 
 
 
 
 120 
 
 Christmas and Christmas, 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 Deborah, . . . . 
 
 
 
 125 
 
 So Wee, . . . . 
 
 
 
 126 
 
 Only Have Faith, 
 
 
 
 128 
 
 Natal Night, 
 
 
 
 131 
 
 An Incident in the Siege of 
 
 Hamburg, . 
 
 
 133 
 
 The Teacher, 
 
 
 
 137 
 
 The Bridge of Gold, 
 
 
 
 139 
 
 Here and There, . 
 
 
 
 140 
 
 Gaffer Gray, 
 
 
 
 141 
 
 Spion Kop, . . . . 
 
 
 
 144 
 
 The Dutch Burghers of Old, 
 
 
 
 146 
 
Vll 
 
 Gold or Fire ? 
 
 
 
 
 149 
 
 Faiky Land, . 
 
 
 
 
 153 
 
 A Shaker Thanksgiving, 
 
 
 
 
 155 
 
 Your Eglantine, . 
 
 
 
 
 157 
 
 Olden Days . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 158 
 
 Maytime, 
 
 
 
 
 159 
 
 That's All, . 
 
 
 
 
 162 
 
 May, 1898, 
 
 
 
 
 163 
 
 The Sunset Bells, 
 
 
 
 
 164 
 
 Granny, 
 
 
 
 
 166 
 
 A Memory, 
 
 
 
 
 169 
 
 WOODPINKS, . 
 
 
 
 
 172 
 
 The Promise, 
 
 
 
 
 174 
 
 Sister Olive, 
 
 
 
 
 176 
 
 Off Charleston, . 
 
 
 
 
 178 
 
 One Word, ... 
 
 
 
 
 182 
 
 What Katy Did, . 
 
 
 
 
 183 
 
 To H. Q. M., . 
 
 
 
 
 185 
 
 On the Threshold, 
 
 
 
 
 186 
 
AFTER ALL. 
 
 When loved ones leave us one by one 
 And the curtain falls between, 
 
 How all our hopes and all our fears 
 Will toward that curtain lean, 
 
 And every act will feel the touch 
 Of hands behind the screen! 
 
 Then trivial seem the mighty things 
 That once our temper tried! 
 
 For any token that may come 
 From that strange Other Side, 
 
 How eagerly we look and long! 
 Where do their feet abide? 
 
 What do they see? What do they hear? 
 
 So dififerent yet the same ! 
 The cloak they flung aside, was naught, 
 
 When heated in the game. 
 They stepped within the shadows cool 
 
 And took a statelier name, 
 
Than that we tossed in playful mood, 
 E'en as we tossed the ball. — 
 
 Who won the game we do not ask, 
 Nor care now to recall — 
 
 We loved them much, we miss them sore, 
 And that alas ! is all. 
 
 The seasons flutter swiftly by 
 
 In garb of gold or grey, 
 In summer glow or winter snow, 
 
 We wish them no delay; 
 For each will bear us further on 
 
 To where our loved ones stay. 
 
 Death grows a word of mystic charm, 
 
 A key to unknown grace, — 
 The vanished hand the silent voice, 
 
 The tender loving face. 
 The many things that leave behind 
 
 A faint and fragrant trace. 
 
 Men's eager strain for praise and place 
 
 Seems such a little thing! 
 We push away from 'neath our feet 
 
 The straws to which they cling, 
 And toward the bright Invisibles 
 
 Mount up on victor's wing. 
 
Ay, victors over shadowy Death, 
 And over changeful Time, — 
 
 One but a pause for gathering breath 
 To take a further cHmb, 
 
 And one a school to fit the soul 
 For life on hights sublime. 
 
NASTURTIUMS. 
 
 Sometimes in the dusk when I sit with closed eyes, 
 Rare visions of color before me arise, — 
 Of sunrise and sunset such glorious hints, 
 Such scarlets and greys, tints blending with tints ! 
 A dear face bends over a bank gay with bloom ; — 
 I start and gaze round in the gathering gloom. 
 'Twas a dream of our hedge of nasturtiums ! 
 
 Sometimes in the sunlight a perfume floats near, 
 
 An odor of spices to memory dear ; 
 
 While the humming of bees and twitter of birds 
 Are heard in the pauses of laughter and words, — 
 
 A swift foot treads softly the floor of my room, 
 
 A frail hand holds toward me a dazzle of bloom 
 From our beautiful hedge of nasturtiums. , 
 
 Sometimes, O, my darling, bewildered I stand. 
 And ask "Can it be that the dear busy hand 
 
 Lies quiet and cold 'neath the dark cofhn-lid? 
 
 My lover of sunshine in grave-shadows hid? 
 That quick eager life, like a fire's last spark 
 Flashed out, — and I, stunned and alone in the dark? 
 
 "Give me comfort, O, faithful nasturtiums I" 
 
Do I hear? — "You have hidden, O, doubter, away 
 
 A pain-tattered mantle of burdensome clay. 
 
 But the one who loved us, the one who loved you 
 Is living and loving still, steadfast and true. 
 
 Somewhere that sweet face, O, rapturous sight! 
 
 Is bending 'mid color and perfume and light, 
 O'er a hedge of celestial nasturtiums." 
 
 Sometime, somewhere,we shall see, we shall know 
 Why the chill fell so soon, the shadow so low. 
 
 The Master of Life in his hand keeps -us all, 
 From his loving grasp not a heart-throb shall fall. 
 All beauty all goodness he holds in his sight, 
 
 As we hold the color and perfume and light 
 From our beautiful hedge of nasturtiums. 
 

 THE GARDEN. 
 
 Do you ever look down, my darling one, 
 
 From among your fadeless roses, 
 And smile at thought of our childish games 
 
 In a garden of quaint sweet posies? 
 Rosemary, spikenard, cumfrey and rue, 
 Elamcompane and sweet marjoram true, 
 Fennel and sage. — Well the butterflies knew 
 
 Of this fairest of perfumed closes 
 
 Shut in by the lilies and roses! 
 
 You were always so busy, my darling one, 
 
 And scant indeed were your praises 
 For my "ragged sailors" making love 
 
 Their lazy way with the daisies, — 
 Thyme all about them and nothing to do 
 But swagger and lounge the whole day thru ! 
 Such idlers, you said, could never be true, — 
 
 Alas ! for the innocent daisies ! — 
 
 How they laughed at your grown-up phrases ! 
 
 You were always so earnest, my darling one. 
 
 Yet ever so blithe and merry. 
 With jests at my fancies wild and strange. 
 
 My faith in angel and fairy, — 
 Tho you could not doubt the angels, my dear, 
 Who held in your soul their sweetness and cheer,- 
 If to me they were far — to you they were near. 
 
 Hand in hand at your gambols merry. 
 
 True comrades, not phantoms airy. 
 
I passed the garden the other day, — 
 The spot where it once had flourished, — 
 Of the quaint sweet herbs and flowefs gay, 
 
 Lo, every trace had perished ! 
 I fek that my heart with sorrow must sink, 
 When I thought of my darhng — When do I not think 
 Of you and the beauty of i pansy and pink 
 In the Hght of your smile that flourished, 
 In the depth of your heart so cherished? 
 
 My dear one, some sign ! Do you stand to-day. 
 
 Looking down from among your roses, 
 And smile at thought of our childish play 
 
 In that garden of dear quaint posies ? 
 Are you getting ready for me, O, Sweet? 
 Are you listening close for my coming feet? — 
 Is it all arranged when next we meet, 
 
 We shall meet among the roses 
 
 That perfume the Heavenly closes? 
 
ALONE. 
 
 My friend, most true and most faithful, 
 
 Who never misunderstood, 
 Whose prayer thru shadow and sunshine, 
 
 Was ever and always my good, 
 Went forth one night with a stranger, 
 
 His black cloak sweeping back 
 In the storm of my whirling anguish. 
 
 Hid from me her shining track. 
 
 And near and far in my sorrow 
 
 I sought in the hopeless dark : 
 ''O stranger, clothed closely with shadows, 
 
 In mercy throw backward one spark 
 From the life whose last breath was my breathing. 
 
 The beat of whose heart was my own ! 
 But he flings me back silence and darkness, — 
 
 Between them I stand alone. 
 
 Alone? Nay, even as Martha 
 
 Knelt low at his feet and cried : 
 "If thou hadst been with us, O, Master, 
 
 Our brother would not have died." 
 
9 
 
 So we in a pause of the tempest, 
 Hear the music of that grave tone ; 
 
 "Lo, am I not with thee always? 
 And how canst thou be alone ?" 
 
10 
 
 THE GROVE. 
 
 Scanty and dwarfed and gnarled were the trees 
 That creaked and groaned in the changeful breeze, 
 
 >So practical people said ; 
 But to us they were giants enrobed in light, 
 And girdled with song that day and night, 
 
 Spoke soft to the Blest, o'erhead. 
 
 Play-houses we built in their grateful shade, 
 Parted by shells, where we played and played, 
 
 Till tired and hungry, we lunched 
 Erom bits of china on sorrel and clover, 
 While bees and butterflies hovered over 
 
 The posies you tastily bunched. 
 
 Then with quaint rag-babies ranged in a row 
 Inky eyes glooming from faces of snow, — 
 
 A snow oft sadly tarnished. — 
 With tiny thimble and needle and thread. 
 You'd make small bonnets for each queer head, 
 
 With flowers and feathers srarnished. 
 
 fc.' 
 
 The busy, wee fingers ! I see them now, 
 And the line of thought in the childish brow, 
 
 As you fitted the bonnets and dresses. 
 I remember the pleasure, so sweet, so shy, 
 That gleamed at my praise in your clear, dark eye. 
 
 And your laugh at my fierce caresses. 
 
11 
 
 That heaven of childhood, my sister dear, 
 Has ghttered behind lis for many a year, 
 
 Thru sunny and stormy weather. 
 We've grieved in shadow and joyed in light, 
 Had our work in the day, our dreams in the night, 
 
 But always, ay, always together. 
 
 When our life-road narrowed to room for but one, 
 'Twas like you, my darling, to try it alone ; 
 
 For you'd bear for me ever all sorrow. 
 You were always and always my help and my stay. 
 Speed onward, speed onward, O, earthly day 
 
 Toward the dawn of Eternitv's morrow ! 
 
12 
 
 LILIES OF DESIRE. 
 A Chinese Legend. 
 
 In the land of perfect peace 
 Where all useless sorrows cease 
 
 'Mong the happy and the true, 
 Is a lake of crystal flowing, 
 Round whose marge are lilies blowing, 
 
 Lilies pink and white and blue. 
 
 And they glow like globes of fire, 
 Each one born from high desire 
 
 Of some mortal here below ; 
 Ever quickening in their glory, 
 Says the oriental story, 
 
 As earth's longings upward go. 
 
 But when pleasures low and small. 
 Seem the only thing and all, 
 
 And the skies sink out of sight. 
 When the good desires slacken. 
 Then the lilies wane and blacken. 
 
 Perish, tho in Heaven's light. 
 
 And the angels' faces pale, 
 
 While the bright wings droop and trail, 
 
 Pausing at the woful sight ; 
 For they know some foolish mortal 
 Has strayed far from Heaven's portal, 
 
 And is wandering in the night. 
 
13 
 
 But no sweeter song is known 
 
 By the seraphs round the Throne, 
 
 Than the one from Buddha's lips, 
 When a withered Hly springs 
 Forth to hfe on glowing wings, 
 
 Flashing out from brief eclipse. 
 
 For the highest all should reach ; — 
 Ivofty thoughts make lofty speech, 
 
 And from these the life must grow. 
 Would we have a garden There, 
 Filled with lilies sweet and fair, 
 
 We must sow the seeds below. 
 
 And another lesson still, — 
 We are His in good or ill. 
 
 None are ever left alone ; 
 And no sight beneath the heaven 
 Is more blest than man forgiven, 
 
 Welcomed to his Father's home. 
 
14 
 
 WAIT. 
 
 "Why Vv^hat can ail my flowers? 
 
 Their blue eyes drowned in tears ! 
 Fair blossoms love the showers, 
 
 Not cyclones, deary dears ; 
 If sunbeams were not tangled 
 
 Fast and bright among your curls, 
 You might be nymphs of Cloudland 
 
 And not my own brave girls." 
 
 "O, Grandma, we are worried, 
 
 Things seem so strange and wrong; 
 The best and brightest die so soon, 
 
 The wretched live so long ; 
 Just now passed good, old Peter, 
 
 Poor man ! with crutch and cane ; 
 His face worn thin, and furrowed 
 
 By nights and days of pain. 
 
 Tho deaf, one strain of music 
 His ears ne'er failed to hear, 
 
 Tho blind, one face of beauty 
 Those dim eyes saw full clear ; 
 
15 
 
 Last night that rippHng music 
 Died in a sigh of pain, 
 
 And Peter grasped the fingers 
 Of his Httle guide, in vain. 
 
 ''Why should that bonny blossom 
 
 Be robbed of scent and bloom, 
 And Peter left to totter 
 
 Blind and helpless to the tomb? 
 'Tis this our dear, wise Grandma 
 
 Makes us feel so sad to-day, 
 And we fear that this small planet 
 
 Has in wand'ring lost its way. 
 
 ''For where countless suns of splendor 
 
 In their grand paths singing go. 
 Might not Earth with borrowed mantle, 
 
 And her voices faint and low, 
 Be by God himself forgotten?" 
 
 "Nay, my dears, that cannot be ; — 
 I will meet you one day, darlings 
 
 By the shining crystal sea. 
 
 "And we'll talk this matter over, 
 When we see as we are seen ; — 
 
16 
 
 Not as now, strange, dim reflections 
 In Life's troubled, turbid stream, 
 
 Not as now the inverted image 
 Feebly wav'ring to and fro, 
 
 But God's truth in strength and beauty, 
 We shall see ; and then shall know." 
 
 
17 
 
 NOT DEAD BUT SLEEPING. 
 
 Waves of fragrance and flashes of color 
 
 Brighten the cool grey room ; — 
 Here is no place for darkness and dolor, 
 
 With summer in wildest bloom ! 
 Her eyes are closed 'gainst the mystic glory 
 
 That throbs behind the veil, 
 Her lips in efforts to tell the story, 
 
 Have grown all mute and pale ; — 
 Her sweet white hand returns no pressure, 
 
 And summer grows sudden cold, — • 
 It is clasping close some new-found treasure, 
 
 And 'tis all that it can hold. 
 We call her dead 'mid the angels' laughter ; — 
 
 For what is death but the life hereafter? 
 
18 
 
 THE THREE MARYS. 
 
 'Mong the sacred hills of Palestine, 
 
 In a light half earthly half divine, 
 
 Three forms are seen thru the shade and shine. 
 
 Fair guiding stars o'er life's rough sea 
 They gleam — ^these gentle Marys three, 
 Wherever want and woe may be. 
 
 Tho some had fled and one denied, 
 They stood together by His side. 
 And living for Him to all else died. 
 
 Their love illumined Calvary's gloom, 
 Their faith drew angels from the tomb 
 'Till death's PTim dust took on life's bloom. 
 
 i=,' 
 
 A bloom that will brighten more and more, — 
 O, blessed thought when sick and sore. 
 That angels wait at the grave's low door ! 
 
 Now looking back o'er the stretches grey. 
 Thru the years and years that have sped away 
 From the dawn of the century dying to-day, 
 
 Again we see three figures stand 
 
 In the misty light hand clasped in hand, 
 
 Gazing in faith on a Promised Land. 
 
19 
 
 Ah, blithe and strong and fair to see 
 Are these they called ''the Marys three !" 
 What are the scenes their clear eyes see? 
 
 What is it lies in gracious sight? 
 Banners of triumph trailing light 
 From plain to plain from hight to hight? 
 
 Not all the olive not all the palm ; — 
 They faced the storm as well as the calm, 
 'Till they sang together the closing psalm. 
 
 And then they walked together no more ; 
 
 For the path grows narrow at Life's great Door, 
 
 And singly each steps that threshold o'er. 
 
 Living for others had made life blest, 
 
 And given each day a fresher zest. 
 
 They'd labored and loved. What matters the rest? 
 
 What matters the rest? — This winter day 
 \¥e lay the last of the Marys away. — 
 The last of the Marys? — Nay, O, nay! 
 
 By the cry that rose from Calvary's gloom, 
 By the angel's smile at the door of the tomb, 
 The three in the garden of God shall bloom. 
 
 In the light of that Gardener's eyes shall stand 
 Who weigheth the nations in His hand, 
 And counteth the stars as grains of sand, 
 
20 
 
 And learn of His love, that fathomless sea, 
 Of His truth that maketh His people free,— 
 The blessed women of Galilee, 
 Or of Lebanon Hights, — "the Marys three !" 
 
 TIRKD. 
 
 As the lily in a cool f]^reen meadow 
 
 Lives its pure white life in the shade, 
 Let me lie in the still grey shadow 
 
 By the splendor of God's love made. 
 Let me fling from my soul forever 
 
 Its mantle of wearing unrest. 
 And sink on the wide loving breast, 
 
 O'er the heart of my dear great Mother ; 
 With no care for myself or another, 
 
 No thought of forever or never — 
 Be only a free careless guest 
 
 In the midst of all sorrow's surcease, 
 In the fair little chamber called "Peace," 
 
 But with windows all facing the west. 
 
21 
 
 TOUSSAINT L' OUVERTURE. 
 
 He stands 'gainst a background of blood and of gold, — 
 
 Let me speak 
 Of him who was brave 'mong the bravest of old 
 
 Be he Roman or Greek, 
 Let me say that his greatness can never be told ; 
 
 For words are too weak. 
 
 Serene rests his soul tho 'mong chains of the slave, 
 
 On a hight 
 Attuned to the music of wind and of wave, 
 
 Face to face with God's light, 
 Lifting up his poor brothers the same light to crave, 
 
 To demand the same right. 
 
 How nobly he strove with their faults and their fears ! 
 
 Looking back. 
 We see through the mist of our pitying tears 
 
 All the lone weary track, 
 Worn smooth for their feet through the red fiery years 
 
 By Toussaint the Black. 
 
 God's cloud with His light'ning astir in its heart. 
 
 Cleaving way 
 Thru the glooms of oppression, the slave's cursed mart 
 
 To the dawn of His day ; — 
 Lo, in battles for freedom. His hand must have part 
 
 To slay or to stay. 
 
22 
 
 Thru narrow-souled Envy and narrow-eyed Spite, 
 
 On, still on ! 
 Ah, Toussaint, my brother, let thine be the hight 
 
 Now victory is won, — 
 Not so thought the Corsican, bringer of night, 
 And his will was done. 
 
 Black Eagle of Hayti, thy wings trail the ground 
 
 Behind bars ; — 
 In the toils of torture and treachery bound, 
 
 With thy festering scars. 
 Thy soul is the Emperor, his is the hound, 
 
 Mount thou 'bove the stars. 
 
THE WORKMAN'S WHITE ROSE 
 An incident at the funeral of Robert Browning- 
 
 The people were gathered together, 
 
 The learned, the wise, and the good, 
 To honor the greatest among them, 
 
 Too great to be understood. 
 Excepting by those who had feasted 
 
 As he at the table of God, 
 Excepting by those who had trodden 
 
 As he where the angels had trod. 
 
 Ay, surely the greatest among them ; — 
 
 For he was among them still, 
 Thrn the light of his splendid genius. 
 
 The force of his steadfast will. 
 Not even the blissful meeting 
 
 With the blessed Soul of his soul, 
 Not even that rapturous greeting 
 
 Untramelled by earthly control, 
 
 Could make him forget the human 
 
 That templed the light divine, — 
 For the wretchedest man or woman 
 
 Was ever to him a mine 
 Whose gold once cast in the furnace. 
 
 Would grow thru the fires of grace 
 A mirror^ to hold reflected 
 
 The watchful Master's face. 
 
24 
 
 What wonder the lowly loved him, 
 
 For his faith in man and God, 
 A faith that could warm into blossom 
 
 The dullest and coldest clod? 
 Or that 'mong the rarest of flowers 
 
 That had made his grave their bed, 
 They had brought their simple posies 
 
 To pillow the poet's head? 
 
 And 'mong them a starved-faced workman 
 
 Too hardened by sorrow^ to grieve, 
 Drew shyly a white rose forward 
 
 From a soiled and tattered sleeve, 
 And threw it beneath the casket. 
 
 O^ white rose, then and there 
 You became a rose immortal, 
 
 And a poet's tenderest care ! 
 
 The poor little wounded white rose ! 
 
 A thought in that starving mind, 
 A pause in the cruel craunch of fangs 
 
 From the snarling wolf behind ! 
 O, workman, learn'd in trouble, 
 
 You shall see that rose again, 
 A symbol of Christ's white mercy 
 
 To the toiling sons of men . 
 
 From the glory of music and color, 
 The perfume of praise and place. 
 
 The love that threw forward that flower 
 Will lighten the poet's face. 
 
25 
 
 And when the Cool Touch shall awaken, 
 'Tis the sight of that rose shall tell 
 
 To the eyes of the weary workman, 
 "God liveth and all is well." 
 
 WHAT? 
 
 'Twas a low little dim little room 
 
 In the far long ago ; 
 In the dooryard were roses in bloom. 
 
 And lilies like snow. 
 Where the hollyhocks stood in their pride 
 
 By the fence in a row, 
 We huddled together and cried 
 
 Soft and low. 
 
 From that low little dim little room 
 
 At the first dawn of day, 
 From its silence its crimson-fieclied gloom 
 
 What fluttered away? 
 Ah, 'twas something so sweet and so bright ! 
 
 But what? Do you know? 
 So we wept in a dawn that seemed night 
 
 Long ago. 
 
26 
 
 THE LANE. 
 
 ''My dear ! Let me look deep into your eyes. — 
 
 Are you sure quite sure you are sane ?" 
 "Sane? Yes, — for me angels look down from yon skies, 
 
 And fairies trip soft in that lane." 
 
 "That lane ? But where are the wonderful trees 
 Whose tops brushed the blue of the sky?" 
 
 "They've grown deep down in my heart all these years, 
 And how could their branches be high?" 
 
 "And your posies? — buttercups woven of light — 
 
 And violets trembling with bliss ?" 
 "Ah, my practical friend, they're as plain to my sight 
 
 As to touch is my dead mother's kiss ! 
 
 "You see a dim path and scant, stunted trees. 
 All the grasses and flowers burned grey ; 
 
 I hear loving tones in each gentle breeze, 
 And stand among blossoms of May. 
 
 "Ah, spring of the year, Ah, springtime of life ! 
 
 What wonder the old lane seems dim, 
 When its glory of glows and bravery of hues, 
 
 Have been taken my lost Mays to trim?" 
 
27 
 
 ON THE PORCH. 
 :To my friend, Ellen Jarrett. 
 
 You called the moon silver, but I called it gold 
 
 That night, you remember, my friend? 
 The fir with more moonbeams than it well could hold, 
 
 Gave some up to a rose-tree to tend ; 
 And the katydids sang. How the katydids sang ! 
 
 Their songs rising higher and higher. 
 Half in glee half in rage their shrill voices rang. 
 
 And a tree-toad made one of the choir. 
 
 We talked you remember, of books and of books, 
 
 That night on the porch 'neath the fir, 
 Of byways and highways and sweet silent nooks 
 
 In the book-world, 'till soul 'gan to stir 
 And to warm with the thought of that true tender heart, 
 
 Dead Dickens! — O, w^ords false and wrong! 
 Even now in humanity's needs you take part, 
 
 And your folk in our life-ways still throng. 
 
 The fir dropped its moonbeams just then, each and all, 
 
 And clasped in its arms poor Miss Elite, 
 Who counted her birds one by one, you recall? — 
 
 While Esther stood by shocked and white. 
 
28 
 
 Here quaint little Paul with arms round the neck 
 
 Of his Florence looks off to the sea, 
 While shrewd Sairy Gamp settles down at the beck 
 
 Of her friend for a fresh cup of tea. 
 
 The moonbeams came back and the fir gave them all 
 
 To Peggott3^'s brave hands to hold ; 
 Let the love in his heart on these silver rays fall, 
 
 And they change into bands of pure gold. 
 Ah ! Aunt Betsy Trotwood ! You here ? In a wink 
 
 She is gone. Are the donkeys around? 
 In all the wide world O, my friend, do you think 
 
 Of a place where no donkeys abound? 
 
 ''O, My !" Here is Miggs ! and her "Simmuns" is near. 
 
 How he glares at some one just in sight ! 
 'Tis sweet Dolly sure. Bless my soul what a dear ! 
 
 And her eye-sparkles light up the night. 
 The splash of an oar. — In a boat sits a girl 
 
 With a face in its simple worth grand, 
 Brave Lizzie ! Why Bella? — Smooth down each fair curl, 
 
 Mr. Boffin is just now at hand. 
 
 There is a sigh from the fir, perhaps 'tis a prayer. 
 
 Poor Joe has moved on to the Light, 
 He has gone to ''Our Father" freed now from each care, 
 
 In a land never shadowed by night. — 
 
'29 
 
 And the mover of hearts has sHpped out of the throng, 
 
 Laid aside for a moment his pen, 
 To be still we know the brave righter of wrong, 
 
 A lover and helper of men. 
 
 The moon is more golden I think, do not you? 
 
 "Nay, silver?" — You still will persist? 
 The fir-tree is quiet as listening too ; 
 
 And our charm-folk have vanished to mist. 
 We go from the porch and lie dow^n to our dreams 
 
 And feel the whole world must be kin 
 To love and to help, as we sail down life's stream, 
 
 If at last we one Heaven would win. 
 
80 
 
 AN INDIAN LEGEND. 
 To my dear Cherokee Cousin. 
 
 "Hearest thou the call of the Spirit? Hark! 
 His voice sounds clear thru light thru dark ; 
 
 On yonder highest hight he stands, — 
 
 I see thru mist his beckouing hands. 
 The hunters' trail grows faint and old, 
 
 The lodge-fire waneth dim and cold. 
 Beyond the mountain peaks afar, 
 Beyond the moon beyond the star, 
 
 The great trail windeth to the Land 
 
 Of calling voice and beckoning hand. 
 'Tis in this Land I fain would dwell. 
 So friends and comrades, fare ye well." 
 
 The chief's dark glances flashed around, 
 
 But not one touched his faithful hound. 
 His hound low lying. 
 
 Then wife and children press his side, — | 
 
 About him throng his comrades tried : 
 
 "Where'er thou goest O, chief, we go, 
 
 Thru summer's heat or winter's snow; 
 
31 
 
 Tho tempests o'er thy pathway sweep, 
 Tho rocks are rough and thorns cut deep, 
 
 In peace or war thy feet have led, 
 
 And where tliou treadest we will tread. 
 True, some are borne in the dark swift hand 
 Of Pain to the gates of the Spirit Land, 
 
 But is it not better to walk ahead 
 
 Of friends and kinsmen with conquering tread?' 
 The chief's proud glance swept sky and ground, 
 But not the face of his wistful hound, — 
 His hound close watching. 
 
 'Tis no small thing to walk thru strife 
 Of sorrow and sin to the Gate of Life ; 
 For the soul must toil and overcome, 
 'Till many thru love become as one, 
 Before it can touch the gracious hand 
 Of the One whose feet at the portal stand. 
 So when the trail grew hard to seek 
 And tempests swirled from peak to peak, 
 Comrades and kinsmen fell away 
 From night to night, from day to day — 
 'Till the chieftain sighed ''I am left alone !" 
 Then his quick ear caught a feeble moan, — 
 Weary and wounded old and blind, 
 Slow dragging a bloody trail behind. 
 His dog came forward. 
 
32 
 
 "Friend, always giving and asking nought, 
 Not even a touch or word or thought !" 
 The chieftain cried. — A Hght burst forth, 
 Flashing a glory from south to north ; 
 And floods of melody followed its flight, — 
 Did light wing music or music light ? 
 
 'Twas the Golden Gate where near or far, 
 Shone the warden's presence a steady star. 
 "Welcome" he called in music's tone, 
 "Come in O, chief, but thou alone ; — 
 No dog must enter this holy Land 
 Where whitest angels shrink to stand !" 
 The chieftain turned from sight and sound 
 To the upward gaze of his wounded hound. 
 So true so trustful ! 
 
 "Farewell, kind warden, no Heaven can be, 
 And my faithful dog shut out from me." 
 Turning to fondle the droping head 
 Of the loving thing, Lo, in its stead 
 A beautiful angel with face aglow 
 In a light the blessed alone can know ! 
 "Glory to God !" the warden cried, 
 "Love has triumphed! Fling open wide 
 The dazzling doors. 'Tis Heaven indeed 
 Where selfless love receives its meed. 
 No soul of a dog could cross its rim 
 Tho clothed in the form of a seraphim ; 
 
33 
 
 No soul made white in love's pure flame 
 Could stay without, whate'er its name 
 Be it brute or human." 
 
 "Love has triumphed !" the angels sang. 
 
 ''Will ever triumph!" the joy-bells rang. 
 So thru the shining gate-way wide • 
 Two angels walked — "and side by side," 
 Concludes the legend. 
 
34 
 
 APPLE BLOSSOM TIME. 
 
 I smell the scent of orchard blooms 
 
 And see the sunlight shine 
 Thru silken curtains of white and pink, 
 Mid songs of robin and bobolink, 
 And musical murmur of mountain brook, 
 No sweeter lyric in Nature's book 
 With God in every line ! — 
 And all in the golden prime 
 Of apple blossom time. 
 
 Violets purple the springing grass, 
 
 And purple skies look down. 
 Song and perfume are filling the air ; — 
 The footstep of Life is everywhere: 
 To the inmost soul we feel the thrill ; 
 Life all the years on earth to fill, 
 And Life beyond, the -Crown. — 
 Lesson learned in the golden prime 
 Of apple blossom time. 
 
35 
 
 OUR DAY. 
 
 To dear Sister Martha. 
 
 Under a sheet of sunshine 
 Pillowed on downy dreams 
 To the music of falHng streams, • 
 
 Our beautiful Day lies drowsing. 
 
 Birds are singing softly 
 
 Swinging in swaying trees, 
 Dream-songs of the silver seas, 
 
 Our hearts from slumber rousing. 
 
 Splendid the barberry bush 
 
 Jewelled in ruddy flame ! 
 
 Beside which very meek and tame 
 Are moss and lichens lowly. ' 
 
 Life to-day seems one bright hush. 
 
 Foolish my little rhyme ! 
 
 For all time is God's own time, • 
 And all His days are holy. 
 
36 
 
 THE FIVE BERRIES. 
 
 That day ! Do you mind it dear ? 
 
 World just out of white and pink 
 From the blossoms far and near, 
 
 And you, standing on the brink, — 
 Farthest brink of babyhood — 
 
 Saw the world from w^here you stood, 
 
 And pronounced it very good. 
 
 Birds were singing. How they sang 
 
 Flinging songs from tree to tree ! 
 All the air about us rang; 
 
 Whir of insect, hum of bee 
 Tangled in the sunshine's gold, 
 
 Close enwrapped us fold on fold, 
 
 From all memory of cold. 
 
 Then I counselled : "Look around 
 
 For the berries at your feet. 
 Strawberries sprinkling thick the groun( 
 
 With their globes of luscious sweet. 
 When our hands can hold no more. 
 
 Then we will divide the store. 
 
 You have four and I have four." 
 
37 
 
 Very soon you'd filled your hand, — 
 Such a tiny hand forsooth! 
 
 Come so late from Babyland ! 
 You remember little Ruth? — 
 
 It held five. "Now let me see — 
 How shall the division be?" 
 *'You have two? — and I have three?" 
 
 "Nay, do you think that quite right, 
 
 Little Ruth?" I gravely say. 
 Puzzled ! — then with eager light, 
 
 ''Oh, I'll throw this one away. 
 I'll have two and you'll have two — 
 
 Do you not think that will do? 
 
 Surely that is fair and true." 
 
 Sunbeams dancing thru the trees 
 
 To the music of the birds, 
 Perfumes pulsing in the breeze 
 
 As a sweet thought throbs in words, 
 Robin eating with shy zest, 
 
 Berry redder than his breast. 
 
 Cast away to be so blest. 
 
 Cast aside to soar aloft 
 
 In a sweeter flavored song. 
 And to brighten feathers soft 
 
 O'er a heart that knows no wrong. 
 
The fifth berry after all 
 
 Had its use. How sweet doth fall 
 Far and near that robin's call ! 
 
 You are now a tall slim o'irl, 
 And know fractions just a bit, 
 
 Learning" in life's wider whirl 
 To halve things to make them fit; 
 
 Yet — how oft I see you stand 
 Just outside of Babyland, 
 With five berries in vour hand ! 
 
39 
 
 A MORXIXG IX ETIWAXDA, CAL. 
 
 The stately Eucalyptus trees 
 
 Sway slowly in the scented breeze, 
 And the splendors of thousand sunsets glow 
 
 In the roses of crimson gold and snow; — - 
 It is like an enchanted story ! 
 
 The vineyards stretching away, away 
 Their glittering length in the dazzling day, 
 
 To the base of the mountain hoary. 
 Where the blue-frocked Chinamen softly glide 
 
 'Mong the trays of raisins side by side, 
 Seeming to look with glistening eyes 
 
 From out the shadows of centuries 
 With a haughty meekness a humble scorn, 
 
 On the nation crude, the lately born, — 
 And bending o'er all the wondrous blue, 
 With the glory of Heaven shining thru. 
 
40 
 
 THE DIFFERENCE. 
 
 The master had sunk 'neath the waters 
 
 Once, twice, thrice ; 
 They held him in crystal vise. 
 Men said ''A man is drowned," 
 Angels, ''A soul is crowned." 
 
 They bore him away, his kinsfolk, 
 
 One, two, three ; 
 But never could quite agree 
 As they lifted the stalwart frame, 
 If the sea was wholly to blame. 
 
 Then the roses fell on his breast, 
 
 Three, four, five ; 
 Their flush made him seem alive, — 
 Seem ? Nay, he was smiling down 
 All life from feet to crown. 
 
 Years passed with their varied seasons 
 
 Five, six, seven ; 
 And the master high in Heaven 
 Contending in valorous strife, 
 Names the sea the "Sea of Life." 
 
41 
 
 LU-IT-SEE. 
 A Chinese Story. 
 
 Lu-it-see, the Chinese lady, 
 In all noble things had part, — 
 Rose of crimson was her heart, 
 
 Which with ne'er a doubt or maybe, 
 Showered perfume far and near ; 
 From her friend or foe had cheer, — 
 
 Lu-it-see, the Chinese lady. 
 
 'Mong the maidens of the palace. 
 Two were dearest of the dear ; 
 Life or death to all was cheer 
 
 Quaffed from their liege lad}' 's chalice, 
 But these two in selfless love 
 Stood they tell us far above 
 
 All the maidens of the palace. 
 
 Like a lovely snow-white flower 
 Or a star of cloudless ray, 
 Shone this lady's soul they say, 
 
 Blessed and blessing hour by hour. 
 
42 
 
 Soon one maiden saw a hand 
 Beckon to Amite's Land, — 
 
 And she left the snow-white flower. 
 
 But when starry-shppered Midnight 
 Tip-toed thru the lady's room 
 Wrapped in cloak of glow and gloom 
 
 Woven fair of dark and moonlight, 
 With him came the maiden's soul 
 Fled from Heaven's soft control, 
 
 With the starry-slippered Midnight. 
 
 "Gracious mistress," said the maiden 
 "I am with the blest and true ; — 
 And I owe it all to you, 
 
 You whose heart was ever laden 
 
 With sweet prayers whose upward flight 
 Ends at Buddha's feet of light. 
 
 Gracious mistress," said the maiden, 
 
 *'In the land where I am living 
 Waits a wondrous home for you 
 Fair with lilies white and blue, 
 
 Rarest perfume ever giving." 
 "Ah," the lady softly said, 
 " 'Tis for this I oft have prayed, 
 
 For the Land where thou art living." 
 
43 
 
 When Dawn whispered low to Midnight 
 That his time to go had come, 
 Two went with him and not one, — 
 
 From the land of fickle sunlight 
 To the world of no dim maybe. 
 Went the blessed Chinese lady. 
 
 As Dawn whispered low to midnight. 
 
44 
 
 THE BRUISED REED. 
 
 You had said some words that were bitter that day, 
 
 My friend, 
 
 Some words that I fear will rankle and stay 
 
 To the end. 
 
 For his life has been such a dull heavy fight 
 
 At the best, 
 I would not for worlds quench his few rays of light 
 In the west. 
 
 And leave him to grope to the end of his road 
 
 In the dark ; 
 For how can he see, bending low 'neath his load> 
 
 Heaven's spark? 
 
 Yes, true, he is heavy and dull as a log, — 
 
 But he feels ; — 
 And sickens at growl of the wearisome dog 
 At his heels. 
 
 Dogged by want has he been from the day of his birth. 
 
 And by sin ; 
 Dull? Ah, yes, 'tis true ! — as a clod, of the earth. 
 
 You begin 
 
 My friend, your life among worms of the sod 
 
 As he's done. 
 And you're likely to end more kin to the clod 
 Than the Sun. 
 
45 
 
 TO THE SKIES. 
 
 You dear old blessed Skies ! 
 
 So old yet ever new ! 
 Tell the happiest thought that lies 
 
 Hid deep within your blue ; 
 Buried behind your greys, 
 
 Shining among your glooms ; 
 Thoughts of music-haunted Mays, 
 
 And wealth of orchard bloom^s? 
 
 Tho oft a sober face 
 
 You bend o'er fields of snow, 
 Your memory holds fast the grace 
 
 Of clover meads ablow ; 
 And in the morning hours 
 
 Upon the sweet day's rim, 
 Your thoughts burst forth in flowers. 
 
 On the far horison's brim, — 
 
 The crocuses' faint blooms, 
 
 The daffodils' pale gold. 
 The hyacinth's pathetic glooms, — 
 
 The roses' splendors bold 
 In waves of crimson fire 
 
 That flame from brim to brim, 
 Still climbing high and higher 
 
 As intent on reaching Him. 
 
46 
 
 Beneath your glowing eyes 
 
 The frail Day sinks to rest, 
 And all calm and quiet lies 
 
 Clasped close to Evening's breast ;- 
 Ah, then you, blessed Skies 
 
 Your thoughts again we trace, 
 Where spring with summer vies 
 
 In the glory of your face ! 
 
 THE BEATEN PATH. . 
 
 Among the sculptured tombs of marble rare, ^ 
 
 The granite shafts that tower in the blue, 
 A worn and beaten path lies plain in view ; — 
 
 Worn by the reverent feet of pilgrims there. 
 To lay upon a grave their tributes true 
 
 To him who lived and died that all might share 
 The common gifts from one kind Father's hand — 
 
 The common right to live, the common land. 
 What nobler monument could e'er be placed 
 
 Above the form of him who died to save. 
 Than is this beaten path, by pilgrims traced 
 
 To Henry George's dear and honored grave — 
 Whose steps led ever upward to the Right, 
 
 And still lead upv/ard in God's quenchless light? 
 
47 
 
 CRUX VITAE. 
 
 When ancient Egypt yielded up 
 To eager Vandals north and south 
 
 The bodies of her cherished dead, 
 Securely wrapped from feet to head 
 
 'Gainst Time's devouring mouth, 
 The bitterness within the cup 
 
 Pressed to her haughty lips 
 
 Seemed more than life's eclipse. ' 
 
 The bodies of 'her warriors brave. 
 Her learn'd priests of honored name, 
 
 Were scattered east and scattered west, 
 To grow a by-word and a jest ; 
 
 And sacred kings of golden fame, 
 A golden fame that could not save — 
 
 Were rudely torn from out the grave 
 
 And buried 'neath oblivion's wave. 
 
 One day grave sages stood around 
 
 And closely watched the forms unrolled; 
 
 When Lo, to their astonished eyes 
 The figures of a cross arise 
 
 Traced plainly on the inmost fold ! 
 What ancient mystery is found? 
 
 The cross such countless years. before 
 
 It blazed the way to Heaven's door ! 
 
48 
 
 Years passed. At last they find the clew 
 The ancient mystery to unfold, 
 
 And learn the symbol of the cross 
 
 Meant life's ^reat gain thru seeming loss, 
 
 A glowing flight from shadows cold. 
 Morn bright'ning thru the star-lit blue, 
 
 Renewal sweet of endless breath, 
 
 A long defiance hurled at Death. 
 
 Thru all the many thousand years 
 
 How strange that from old Egypt's tomb 
 
 A voice should come to calm our fears, 
 A hand reach forth to wipe our tears ! 
 
 From its gray dust such light should bloom 
 Forever 'tis the cross that cheers ; 
 
 Its outstretched arms that grow to wings 
 
 Surmounting" all pale earthly things. 
 
 The cross that ever must be borne 
 If we the victor's crown would win. 
 
 So oft we stand misunderstood 
 In yielding self to other's good. 
 
 In bearing weight of other's sin, 
 
 The target of men's hate and scorn ! 
 
 Yet standing strong in fadeless faith 
 
 We hurl defiance still at Death. •* 
 
 So Egypt with her mem'ries old 
 
 From out the shadows gray and dim, 
 Holds forth to man's bewildered gaze , 
 • The symbol of his prayer and praise, 
 
49 
 
 The burden of his triiinipli hymn. 
 
 Ancient of Days ! Who needs be told 
 That He in every age doth stand 
 To reach to all a Father's hand? 
 
 Or that oi.ir wings must ever beat 
 
 'Gainst bitter pain and breaking loss, 
 
 To gain the strength for highest flight? 
 And that 'tis only on the cross 
 
 Surrounded by unseeing night, 
 
 We feel the wounds in hands and feet, 
 
 And know to reach the noblest things, 
 
 'Tis only left to use our wings ? 
 
50 
 
 OUR LAND. 
 
 Dear Land ! we cannot see in wildest dream, 
 Thy hand upraised to menace not to bless ; 
 Thy heart should beat to succor, not oppress, 
 
 Thy bannered stars with peace not war should gleam. 
 Tho clouds and darkness swirl about thy feet, 
 
 Thy head is aureoled in heaven's light, 
 
 Thy feet are planted on the rock of Right, 
 And from that rock shall nevermore retreat. 
 
 Tho alien Greed v/ith blatant mouth bow down 
 To calf of gold confessed its only God, 
 Thou hast with bleeding feet His highway trod, 
 
 And felt the pressure of a thorn}^ crown. 
 
 A heart of light in Time's rough breast thou art, 
 Which light shall never from the world depart. 
 
51 
 
 AMERICA. 
 
 America, our soul within us burns 
 
 With love and faith and hope and all for thee ; 
 We will not sigh and lean 'gainst dusty urns 
 
 Of the dead past. To live is to be free ! 
 The fragrant ointment of our fathers' creeds 
 
 We pour with rapture on thy lofty head, 
 Preparing thee for doing nobler deeds, 
 
 And not for slumber 'mong the weary dead. 
 A mighty burden have thy shoulders borne 
 
 Dear Land, of others' crimes and sins and scorns, 
 And yet erect, the splendor of thine eyes 
 
 Illumines many lands 'neath many skies. 
 'Mid shameless greed thy children are not dumb, 
 Their fearless love at last shall overcome. 
 
52 
 
 "IT IS THE TOUCH OF GOD." 
 
 ''It is the touch of God," some one moans forth 
 As in the dark we stand with head bowed low, 
 
 While wails of sorrow sweep from South to North, 
 And sympathy makes one the friend and foe ; 
 
 Our President extended kindly hand 
 To greet his murderer of alien name, 
 
 As we throw wide the portals of our Land, 
 
 Give bread and home and take the ball and brand. 
 
 The veriest wretch is he who does not shield 
 
 From things that harm his sacred hearth and home 
 
 God's touch indeed, if it may only yield 
 
 The needed lessons 'gainst the days to come ! 
 
 Too precious is our heritage to be 
 
 Sold by the sordid soul of Perfidy, 
 Or careless dropped like jewel in 'the sea! 
 
53 
 
 SO FEW! 
 
 So few of our poets sing 
 
 In these stirring whirling times, 
 Songs with an heroic ring ! 
 
 'Tis not from a dearth of rhymes, 
 Nor lack ofia soul that climbs 
 
 To the pure eternal Spring, 
 
 So few of our poets sing 
 In these stirring whirling times. 
 
 Lo, the world's grasp weights the wing, 
 And the feet its low aim limes ! 
 
 Since Mammon not Truth is king, 
 
 'Tis his greed the bright steel grimes. 
 
 So few of our poets sing 
 
 In these stirring whirling times ! 
 
54 
 
 ^MAKE ME BEAUTIFUL WITHIN." 
 
 Now which was the sage who pra 
 
 The often quoted prayer, 
 *'Make me beautiful within " ? 
 
 Plato, the gracious Greek, 
 With illumined brow and cheek, 
 
 And perfect lips and chin, 
 Whom the gods had kindly made 
 
 The favorite of their care ? 
 
 Ah ! but what of Socrates 
 
 With his low and rugged brow. 
 His misshapen mouth and chin 
 
 'Mong the stately and the fair? 
 Sore his need tO' pray the prayer 
 
 "Make me beautiful within"; 
 For who willed the gods to please, 
 
 Were the god-mien then as now. 
 
 Like a marred and twisted bowl 
 Flung from careless potter's 
 
 Stood the teacher Socrates ; — 
 But his beautiful "Within" 
 
55 
 
 Hearts both grave aiicl gay did win, — 
 
 Plato — Alkibiades ; — 
 And the hght of his high soul 
 
 Shines to-day o'er many lands. 
 
 'Mong the mists of silver seas 
 
 Bringing near the long ago, 
 The loved form of Plato seems 
 
 To be gliding to and fro ; 
 And we feel the sacred flow 
 
 Of his thought that haunting streams 
 Round the Christian on his knees, 
 
 Praying "Make me white as snow." 
 
 For these sages of the past 
 
 Are the teachers now as then, 
 Guided by a voice divine, 
 
 Walking with their robes unstained, 
 'Till the highest hights are gained, 
 
 To unveil the gods in men ; 
 \\^ith no thought of mine or thine ; — 
 
 '•Reach the truth and hold her fast, 
 Care not how, nor where, nor when." 
 
 So we teachers of to-day 
 
 Who the teachers' meed would win, 
 Need to list the voice divine. 
 
 Need to keep our garments white, 
 
56 
 
 Always Truth within our sight 
 As we dimb and ever dimb, — 
 
 Need each hour to watch and pray 
 "Make me beautiful within." 
 
 ANNIE. 
 
 With wings of gold and mantle gray, 
 
 How swiftly time has flown! 
 Ten years ago this very day ! 
 
 How much of life has gone 
 Since we looked in each other's eyes 
 With eager words and swift replies ! 
 M)^ thoughts took form upon her lips, 
 Her words threw mine in dim eclipse. — 
 
 O, heart, keep down thy moan! 
 Beyond the veil those great grey eyes 
 Are widening with a glad surprise. — 
 
 As in the days agone, 
 She's treasuring up bright things for Then, 
 The time when we shall meet again. 
 
57 
 
 
 MORNING ON THE NISSAOUOGUE. 
 
 White clouds like wild doves airily winging 
 
 Over the spaces of airy blue, 
 Poets in feathers merrily flinging 
 
 Songs at the sunshine flashing in view, — 
 Sunshine all goldenly greenly sifting 
 In thru a lattice of laughing leaves, 
 We on the Nissaquogue languidly drifting, — 
 
 Here is a spot where no one grieves ; 
 Here where the lilies are swinging and swaying 
 
 Slowly from censers of pearl and gold 
 Rarest of incense as holy as praying, 
 
 Wafted 'mong arches that never grow old. 
 Fairy nooks, 
 Elfin crooks. 
 Soft brown lily-pads sinking and lifting, — 
 Furred and feathered wrangles 
 Vined and berried tangles, — 
 And we on the Nissaquogue dreamily drifting. 
 
58 
 
 AT THE RAPIDS. 
 To Eldress Anna White. 
 
 We stood and listened and wondered; 
 
 In the ceaseless unrest none stirred, 
 In the clamor of myriad voices 
 
 We littered never a word. 
 Like a troop of wild white horses 
 
 The waters galloped and whirled ; 
 Racing forward and round and backward, 
 
 'Gainst the rocks themselves they hurled. 
 'Neath a great uplifting bowlder 
 
 We saw mid the torrents flinging 
 A bit of moss with slender hands 
 
 To its shelter closely clinging. 
 
 Mid the hurrying rush about us 
 
 It caught for a mom.ent our eyes, 
 As in beat of the raging* rapids, 
 It bent but again to rise ; 
 
 When this tireless world of waters 
 
 Sank to murmurs soft and kind, 
 And gay rainbows filled with glory 
 
 The white mist that hung behind, 
 It felt not the stirring entreaty 
 
 Nor the rainbow's glittering lure, 
 Calm it -clung amid the tumult 
 
 To its shelter strong and sure. 
 
59 
 
 Soon all were watching the struggle, — ■ 
 
 The fragile fearless thing ! 
 In this tearing wearing tempest, 
 
 How long could it hold and cling? 
 The waves are bounding and dashing 
 
 Receding with shock upon shock. — 
 Is it gone? — Nay, still it is biding 
 
 In the strength of the steadfast rock ! 
 Then some thought of the martyrs behind them- 
 
 The souls, giving all for the true, 
 Shrinking not from the flood nor the fire, — 
 
 But I — ^I thought only of a^ou. 
 
 Of you O, friend, ever ready 
 
 Among your eternal hills, 
 To reach forth a hand to the needy 
 
 And soften with love life's ills ; 
 Of you looking out from your covert 
 
 On Right neath the feet of Wrong, 
 But hearing through faith ever ringing, 
 
 That Right's triumphant song ; 
 No glitter of wealth behind you, 
 
 Nor fury of battle shock 
 Could shake your faith for an instant 
 
 In the might of the shelt'ring rock. 
 
 For you ever feast at a banquet 
 
 Where the Master blesses the food, 
 
 And your creed is not need to be happy 
 But always need to be good. 
 
60 
 
 When loved ones slip over the border, 
 
 You stand so near to the track, 
 Your breathe in that new life's glory 
 
 Before the curtain swings back ; 
 And you carry this glory about you, 
 
 Till we see in its cloudless light, 
 That your duties of humblest service 
 
 Are just steps from hight to hight, 
 And you live and love in His sight. 
 
61 
 
 TO A, M. M. 
 
 When I sit near and see you turn, dear friend. 
 Your dauntless eyes upon the shadowed west, 
 And smile on Sorrow as an honored guest, 
 
 Your hands with favors ready to extend 
 To all who need your sympathetic aid, 
 '*Lo, here is one," I say, "who is not afraid 
 
 To stand before the searching light of Truth, 
 One with a heart that never can be made 
 To lose the warm sweet tenderness of youth 
 
 However fierce the chilling storms may beat ; 
 
 For when she hears the far receding feet 
 Of loving friends and kindred, one by one, 
 
 She swiftly turns some lonely soul to greet, — 
 And hence her soul can never be alone." 
 
THE QUESTION, 
 
 You love your Land? 'Tis as easy to say 
 
 As to breathe ; 
 But what are the hight and depth of it pray, 
 
 Above — beneath ? 
 Does the heat of its fervor this love expand 
 
 So far — so wide, 
 It reaches to comrades of every land 
 
 Who have tried 
 To crawl, e'en thru blood, to Freedom's fair hand 
 
 Kissed it and died? 
 
 Are the eyes of your love so clear, so strong, 
 
 You can see 
 Each lift of your country's hand that's wrong, . 
 
 Feeling 'twill be 
 To your fame to have her garments white. 
 
 Unstained by mire. 
 Your shame to have them gather scorch, not light 
 
 ' From the fire, — 
 
 The fire which burns all souls to bless or blight 
 
 As they aspire? 
 
63 
 
 Is every child in the land your very own 
 
 From main lo main, 
 To lift to higher hights than earth has known 
 
 Yonr country's name ? 
 Do yon feel the greatest need of every need 
 
 Is jnst to make 
 Each thought, each word, and more than all each deed 
 
 Grand for her sake ? 
 Then w'e shall have a Land to love indeed, 
 
 From Gulf to Lake ! 
 
64 
 
 "WORDS, WORDS, WORDS." 
 
 I'm very tired. Indeed Fm sick 
 
 Of words that over and over 
 Are buzzing- round me, swarming thick, — 
 
 Mere words — just used to cover 
 A lack of thought. In dire dismay 
 
 My soul to its center trembles, 
 When they stop and stand in my busy way, 
 
 To clash their tinkling cymbals. 
 
 Tho earth is ashine with God's own light, 
 
 And God's own sons and daughters 
 Are bearing His banner from hight to hight 
 
 O'er mounds of grand self-slaughters, — 
 The rays that pierce their murky pane 
 
 Are all that greet their vision, 
 They see but the straws their muck-rakes gain, 
 
 Tho near lie fields Elysian. 
 
 These straws they weave into garlands frail, 
 
 And name them crowns of glory, 
 They give their brethren "leaden hail" 
 
 And call it the "sweet old story." 
 They drink to the health of "the little ones," 
 
 And tho tears drop in the chalice, 
 They'll crush the sunshine from their lives. 
 
 To gild some stately palace. 
 
65 
 
 Now was it strange the princely Dane 
 
 Felt darkest trouble pending? 
 Or strang-e he bore a 'vvildered brain 
 
 And had a tragic ending? 
 'Tis ''words, words, words" from morn till night ;- 
 
 And oh, the work that's ready 
 For soul and brain with God alight, 
 
 His hand on ours to steady ! 
 
 Look up not down O, friends, and see 
 
 The crown that waits above you; 
 Show not by words but show by deeds 
 
 Your faith in Him who loves you. 
 Prate not forever of the hights 
 
 While grovelling on the levels, 
 Talk not of love for God and man, 
 
 And do the work of devils. 
 
66 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 The cry of the poor ascendeth, — 
 
 A low inarticulate moan 
 - That beats 'gainst the foot of the Throne, 
 For Hunger, the wolf, still rendeth ; — 
 
 The hunger for light and for truth 
 That glimmer so pale in the distance, 
 
 The hunger for health and for youth, 
 Not merely a palsied existence. 
 
 The chariots of gold flash by. 
 Where lolling in pompous ease, 
 
 Our gods from Olympian sky 
 Smile clown on the want and disease 
 
 That cripple the life of a nation. 
 
 Thou God, in whose hand is salvation, 
 O, hearken our anguished desire ! 
 Come down in a whirlwind of fire ! 
 
 Melt to waters of Life our gold, , 
 
 Burn to ashes the fold upon fold 
 Of fashions that strangle the soul 1 
 O, Thou, to whom part is as whole, 
 
 O' Thou, to whom whole is as part, 
 
 Give thy children more brain and more heart ! 
 
67 
 
 THE KING AT THE GATES. 
 
 What ail our maple trees, 
 Haunted the summer long, 
 By festal dance and song 
 
 From wandering bird and breeze? 
 From their turrets tall and fair, 
 Flung out on the dazzling air, 
 
 Glittering fold on fold, 
 
 Are banners of scarlet and gold ; — 
 For what do my lords prepare? 
 
 For a king to come this way? 
 Yea, for the King wdio waits 
 At the old Year's outer gates, 
 
 With a smile in his kind shrewd eyes, 
 At the glory of color and light ; — 
 
 Merry, for all his gray, 
 
 Warm-hearted, for all his white. 
 
 Merry and kind and wise ; — 
 One of the brotherhood, 
 Tho often misunderstood. 
 
68 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 The yellow leav.es fall one by one, 
 Earth can no more of glory hold; 
 The ground is glowing like the sun. 
 
 The days rush by like raiding Hun, 
 Each bearing ofif a hoard of gold, 
 
 The vellow leaves fall one bv one. 
 
 A reign of splendor has begun, 
 Color and light 'the hills enfold, 
 The groiuid is glowing like the sun. 
 
 What race begun is never run? 
 The Year will soon be growing old, 
 The yellow leaves fall one by one. 
 
 Dear Nature's work is never done, 
 Her wondrous story never told, 
 The ground is glowing like the sun. 
 
 The truth we may not always shun, 
 But face it with a courage bold, 
 The yellow leaves fall one by one. 
 
 The Year may don its colors dun, 
 Spring in its heart will ne'er grow cold,- 
 The yellow leaves fall one by one, 
 The ground is glowing like the sun. 
 
69 
 
 LOVE'S SACRIFICE. 
 A Legend of Japan. 
 
 "A message O, master, a message ! 
 
 A royal Message I bring 
 To thee, thou worker in metals, 
 
 Froni our mighty Lord and King. 
 Deft brain be swift and wakeful, — 
 
 And ye skilled hands, prompt obey ; 
 For the king's commands are urgent 
 
 And they will not brook delay. 
 
 "And this is the message he sends thee 
 
 Thou craftsman of cunning brain ; 
 'Let a bell be cast most wondrous. 
 
 And wondrous shall be thy gain. 
 Let it be of bells the greatest, 
 
 One glitter of brass and gold ; 
 And its voice shall dull the music 
 
 Of the singing stars of old. 
 
 'From my lofty palace tower 
 Shall its blessed tones go forth, 
 
 Giving joy to all my people 
 
 East and west and south and north.' " 
 
70 
 
 Then the master took the message 
 With glad soul and bounding heart, — 
 
 But the metals would not mingle, 
 Sullenly they stood apart. 
 
 But the metals would not mingle, — 
 
 Tho he tried and tried again ; 
 Then the Emperor sent this message : 
 
 "O, thou wofulest of men, 
 Try once more ; if thou succeedest 
 
 All thy friends may well rejoice ; 
 If thou failest, not more silent 
 
 Will the bell be than thy voice." 
 
 'Mong the craftsman's rarest treasures, 
 
 Was a daughter, so complete 
 In all lovely dainty graces 
 
 From her dark hair to her feet, 
 That he held her in the temple 
 
 Of his soul a holy thing ; 
 And kept from her safe and secret 
 
 This last message of the king. 
 
 But love's eyes are of the keenest, 
 And love's heart makes no mistake ; 
 
 Quick the daughter knew his peril, 
 And would die for his dear sake; 
 
71 
 
 For at midnig-ht in the temple 
 By the gray gods she was told 
 
 Only blood of stainless virgin, 
 Could unite the brass and gold. 
 
 On the morrow when the craftsman, 
 
 With white face and quickened heart, 
 Tried again, the sullen metals 
 
 Stood no longer far apart ; 
 Quick one rushed to meet the other 
 
 In a union free from strife, 
 At the maiden's holy offering 
 
 Of her beauty, youth and life. 
 
 And the bell? Such floods of music 
 
 It flung far o'er land and sea. 
 Men would say, "It is love's message. 
 
 Love that died the loved to free." 
 Yea all woes and every conflict 
 
 At love's touch shall surely cease ; 
 All the clashing notes of discord 
 
 Melt in one grand strain of peace. 
 
 And these gracious eastern people 
 With their gracious eastern speech. 
 
 Standing by their Master Buddha 
 Stand within our Master's reach. 
 
72 
 
 Dwellers in the Land of Sunrise, 
 Ancient land that ne'er grows old, 
 
 How this story' draws us to them 
 As love drew the brass to gold ! 
 
 
 
JULY. 
 
 The air pants like a hurried heart, 
 
 The trees stand drooping in the heat ; 
 And nought a comfort can impart. 
 
 At solemn pace the empty cart 
 
 Makes madd'ning tumult thru the street ; 
 The air pants like a hurried heart. 
 
 One loathes the thought of bustling mart, 
 
 H'en dreads a friendly face to greet, 
 And nought a comfort can impart. 
 
 From restless dreams the sleepers start 
 The gnats' low wailing hum to meet; — 
 The air pants like a hurried heart. 
 
 With dizzy head one bends o'er chart 
 In search for some marine retreat ; 
 And nought a comfort can impart. 
 
 One sighs for nature now, not art. 
 
 The cooling breeze the wave's slow beat ; 
 The air pants like a hurried heart, 
 And nought a comfort can impart. 
 
74 
 
 BOBOLINK. 
 
 O, the glitter of green and glory of blue, 
 
 This morning! 
 And the sunshine brooding with broad bright wing, 
 'Till the dullest clod seems a living thing 
 
 'Bove the scorning! 
 
 Ah, here is a path leading straight thru the light 
 
 From the meadow ! 
 We are treading on rainbows ! Hush ! be still ! — 
 Dear angels, lean over your window sill 
 
 Thru the shadow, — 
 
 And whisper if Heaven is fairer than this, — 
 
 Can be fairer? 
 We have heard all the morning the bobolinks sing, 
 And we doubt if a song from creature on wing 
 
 Could be rarer. 
 
 "Bobolink ! bobolink !" Is it the grass 
 
 That is singing? 
 "Bobolink ! bobolink ! chee chee, chee chee !" 
 'Tis a bridge of music from tree to tree 
 
 He is flinging. 
 
 Such a wonderful bridge that swings and sways 
 
 In the sweetness ! 
 Buttressed by perfumes on either side, 
 And fitting the feet of his dainty bride 
 
 To completeness. 
 
75 
 
 ''Bobolink ! bobolink ! bobolink" Is it true 
 
 My beauty, — 
 That you will pause one day with Care to sup, 
 And melt your pearl of song within the cup 
 
 Of loving duty ? 
 
 Melted or not the song is there the same 
 
 For the singing: — 
 A blissful thoug-ht in toil's weary whirl, 
 And thru memory's labyrinth of pearl 
 
 Forever ringing. 
 
76 
 
 THE SEAT BESIDE THE DOOR. 
 
 On a seat beside the door 
 In the Shaker meeting room, 
 
 Sit the aged sisters four ; 
 
 Faded is their springtime bloom, 
 
 But the shadows fall no more 
 With a hint of dread or gloom. 
 
 To the time of holy hymn 
 
 Many feet are marching near, 
 
 And tho eyes are growing dim. 
 Faces wear a youthful cheer. 
 
 As the pale hands worn and thin, 
 Wave to tunes the soul holds dear. 
 
 On the seat beside the door 
 But a few short years ago, 
 
 There were six and even more ; — 
 Back and forth and to and fro 
 
 Pace the marchers o'er the floor 
 To the song's sweet ebb and flow. 
 
 Ever ready to be gone 
 
 Richer purer life to meet. 
 These dear sisters^ one by one, 
 . Slip away from off the seat, 
 Step a little farther on. 
 
 Loved and loving ones to greet, 
 
77 
 
 And come back at meeting time, — 
 Not to stay upon the seat, 
 
 But to march in youthful prime, 
 With the other marching feet, 
 
 Turning toward us all ashine, 
 Faces ever calm and sweet. 
 
 Aged sisters left behind 
 
 Recognize them one and all, 
 
 Smile upon the faces kind 
 
 On which heavenly beauties fall, 
 
 Earth's small troubles never mind,- 
 Listening for their welcome call. 
 
 Sisters coming thru the door. 
 Quickly turn their greeting eyes 
 
 To the seat where sit the four, 
 Feeling more of Heaven lies 
 
 Round the spot than e'er before ; 
 And they see with no surprise — 
 
 Six are seated as of yore. 
 
78 
 
 SHAKER LILACS. 
 
 O, the lilacs, lilacs, lilacs ! 
 
 Why it is a forest surely 
 Growing wide and growing tall ! 
 
 Can they be but lilacs purely. 
 High o'ertopping fence and wall? 
 
 How their graceful purple plumes 
 
 Fill the air with rich perfumes ! 
 
 Ah, the clumps and clumps of lilacs ! 
 
 With the purple closely blending 
 Is the red of sunset skies. 
 
 Where for sweets we see contending 
 Humming birds and butterflies. • 
 
 Surely in this wealth of flower 
 
 Lurks the poet's "vanished bower.'' 
 
 "But, my sister, why so many? 
 
 Are they of all flowers dearest?" 
 Slow she answered "They've descended 
 
 From a bush that seems the nearest 
 Of all plants, — as closely blended 
 
 With the love of every Shaker 
 
 As the elm tree with the Quaker 
 
79 
 
 Under which the good Penn bargained 
 With the red man as a brother. 
 
 To this hlac bush was tethered 
 
 Once the horse that bore our Mother 
 
 When the songsters gayly feathered 
 Trilled their hearts out to each other, — 
 Brave Ann Lee, the Shaker Mother." 
 
 "Is Ann Lee the God you worship?" 
 
 ''Nay, we worship not the human ; 
 She was far beyond her day, 
 
 Just a true and fearless woman 
 Striving to make God's her way, 
 
 As she calmly, firmly stood 
 
 To lift higher w^omianhood. 
 
 And we love her for her courage, 
 For who does not love the fearless, 
 
 Fearless for the sake of truth ? 
 
 In our hearts she stands the peerless 
 
 In the staunchness of her youth." 
 And the blooms and bees and birds 
 All bore witness to the words. 
 
80 
 
 SNOW LILIES. 
 
 They stand in a pure white silence, 
 
 As they stood in the long a^o, 
 The sunshine-hearted lilies, 
 
 The beautiful lilies of snow. 
 The butterflies hover over, 
 
 The sweet air sways with the song 
 Of Love calling soft to lover 
 
 Thru the June days fair and long, 
 Near the sunshine-hearted lilies, 
 
 The beautiful lilies of snow. 
 
 Last evening the moon looked downward 
 
 And filled to their pearly brim 
 The wondrous cups of the lilies 
 
 With a sunlight, magic-dim. 
 The white-clad vestal virgins 
 
 Stood waving their censers of prayer, 
 And the words of the loving Teacher 
 
 Fell clear thru the perfumed air ; 
 Who would not "consider the lilies ?" 
 
 The beautiful lilies of snow ! 
 
 Then the pansies' faces listened, 
 The roses on tiptoe stirred, 
 
 The acacia gloomed and glistened,- 
 My heart knelt low and heard 
 
81 
 
 Soft footsteps among the lilies, 
 Slow pacing to and fro, 
 
 Sweet words from out the silence 
 Of that blissful long ago, 
 
 With the scent and light of lilies, 
 The beautiful lilies of snow. 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 The reds and the bronzes, the purples and the gold, 
 And the skies serene and sober, 
 
 And sunshine drifting, drifting a dazzling fold on fold ! 
 
 All this glory and this sparkle we need not to be told 
 Means October, just October. 
 
 Let's drink our fill of colors, let's breathe our fill of 
 lights. 
 
 For alas ! we must remember 
 We cannot keep forever such oriental sights, 
 Th're browns and grays before us, there are rigid blacks 
 and whites, 
 
 November and December. 
 
82 
 
 FROST FANCIES. 
 
 A moisture strikes my window, — - 
 And what has come to me ? 
 
 A dingle of ferns and grasses 
 So airy light and free ! 
 
 Fair angels of field and forest, 
 Dear guardians of mount and lea, 
 
 Are these your thoughts I see ? 
 
 Or are they souls of the flowers,. 
 
 Of mosses and grasses and ferns ?- 
 As the souls of ancient Egypt 
 
 Hovered o'er funeral urns. 
 Wait they till spring's rich sunshine 
 
 With the ardor of loving burns, 
 And the dead to the living, turns ?•■ 
 
 And while they are waiting to mantle 
 With glory the valley and hill. 
 
 Do they lovingly linger about us 
 Our hearts v/ith peace to fill ? 
 
 Are they giving us joy for ashes? 
 Are they giving us good for ill? 
 
 Is this their gracious will ? 
 
83 
 
 O, Life ! in our wancVrings and wond'rings 
 
 How little we see or know 
 Of thy laws of eternal rightness ! 
 
 What dullards are we, how slow 
 To learn the tasks thou hast given ! 
 
 How our souls should greaten and glow 
 In this wonderful world below ! 
 
 A MISTAKE. 
 
 She was lying one day in careless grace, 
 When an angel in passing kissed her face, 
 
 That grew one beautiful flush of delight ; 
 
 " 'Tis a fever" we said, and sent in fright 
 For the doctor, who promptly, gravel}^ came. 
 And gave to the flush such a terrible name, 
 
 That we fussed and fumed and moaned and wept, 
 
 'Till tired, she turned from us all and slept 
 To a life that is endless, wdiile near, we cried 
 With hearts slow breaking, ''The child has died !" 
 
84 
 
 OLIVET. 
 
 Sometimes I sit in the gloaming 
 
 My soul bowed low with care, 
 And think of all life's sorrows 
 Mine is the worst to bear ; 
 Then as the shadows deepen, 
 I feel my eyelids wet 
 At thought of that lone figure 
 On the Heights of Olivet. 
 The faithful friend, the comrade true. 
 
 The man of heavy sorrows, 
 Lifting his heart for strength to bear 
 The many weary morrows ! 
 
 Not for us all the agony 
 
 Beneath the olive trees, 
 Not for us all the blood-drops 
 
 Of pain upon our knees ; 
 But would we make our present 
 
 A past without regret, 
 We must follow in his footsteps 
 Up the steeps of Olivet. 
 
 The steadfast friend, the comrade tried, 
 
 The man of many sorrows, 
 And like him pray for strength to do 
 His work the coming morrows. 
 
85 
 
 Now in this gracious Yule-tide 
 When hearts are turned to thee, 
 With love and praise and blessing 
 
 Where'er thy people be, 
 O, grant, dear Christ and Teacher, 
 
 That we may ne'er forget 
 To kneel with thee in spirit 
 On the Heights of Olivet! — 
 The tender friend, the brother true, 
 
 The man of many sorrows, 
 For strength to brave, for love to bear 
 The trials of the morrows ! 
 
86 
 
 OUR FATHER KNOWS. 
 
 Down thru the ancient towering trees 
 
 The Hght was ghnting greenly, 
 Where low beneath the shadowy leaves 
 
 The sleepers slept serenely ; 
 And we talked in voices hushed and low 
 
 Of the resurrection story. — 
 O, God, could we know — could we only know 
 
 The future's woe or glory ! 
 
 Near by was the grave of an old, old man, 
 
 Ay, ninety years and over, 
 "A soldier brave," so the legend ran, 
 
 "His country's fearless lover." 
 He was just as quiet and quite as shy 
 
 As the maiden sleeping yonder, — 
 To all our questions came no reply, 
 
 We were left to doubt and wonder. 
 
 A dead rose hung from a withered stalk. 
 
 And a lone bee droned beside it ; — 
 Arid we round death will sigh and talk, 
 To find truth? — Nay, to hide it. 
 
 1 
 
87 
 
 We are sad, sad cheats ! We prate and prate 
 
 Of the hfe that lasts forever, 
 Of the wondrous gleam of the pearly gate 
 
 And the flash of the tideless river, 
 
 And gaze the while at a high blank wall — 
 
 Dear God ! what lies behind it ? 
 Some say it is nothing — just nothing at all; 
 
 And at times we scarcely mind it. 
 How the earnest preacher's soul must faint 
 
 When he looks in the hungry faces 
 Of struggling sinner and tempted saint 
 
 Marked deep by sorrow's traces ! 
 
 Like a little child astray from home. 
 
 And fallen 'mong folks unkindly, 
 For the helping hand and features known 
 
 We look thru tear-drops blindly; 
 But when evening shadows threaten harms 
 
 And our soul is shook by terrors, 
 How quickly we find our Father's arms 
 
 And there sob forth our errors ! 
 
 He smiles at the fears, the foolish doubts, 
 
 And tellb a wondrous story, — 
 Can we ever know the ins and outs 
 
 Of Him who sits in glory? 
 
88 
 
 "Be good my child, and do not slay 
 Your peace by causeless sorrow, 
 
 Tho you may not know the whole to-day, 
 You'll know it all to-morrow." 
 
89 
 
 WHY ? 
 
 Dear winsome Dorothy Darling is dead. 
 
 How strange a thing it is to say ! 
 The sunshine that brightened her fair young head 
 
 But yesterday, — but yesterday ! 
 Seemed hght upflung from her own pure heart, 
 
 Whose every pulse was joy and song ; 
 For in all things joyous she had a part. 
 
 But nought to do with sin or wrong. 
 When her beautiful head was bent to list 
 
 To the laugh of Life, pale Death drew nigh, 
 And her merry sweet lips by him were kissed, — 
 
 While we weep and wonder: ''Why?" 
 
 Just over the way sits Marjory Down, 
 
 Her young face old with want and pains, 
 Life met her at first with a darkling frown, 
 
 And dark the frown that still remains. 
 There must be sunshine somewhere she knows, 
 
 Because of the shadows that round her fall. 
 And she tries to think in her gathering woes 
 
 Of One above who knoweth all. 
 
90 
 
 She has seen life only thru Pain's grim mask, 
 And her prayer is. this: "To die! — to die!" 
 
 But 'tis Dorothy dies, and we weep and ask 
 In our helpless wonder, — "Why?" 
 
 INVISIBLE SCRIBES. 
 
 Tho we roam the stately forests, 
 Tho we pace the ocean strand, 
 
 Tho we gather pain or pleasure 
 On the sea or on the land, 
 
 Noted is each word and action ; 
 For about on every hand, 
 The recording angels stand. 
 
 Ay, the wildest weirdest desert 
 Which Sohtude enthrones, 
 
 Is filled with deathless records, — 
 The camel's thirsty moans. 
 
 The screech of soaring eagle, — 
 
 • Written on the sands, the stones. 
 Or on bleaching human bones. 
 
91 
 
 And when Innocence and Weakness 
 Lie low at Crime's bold . feet, 
 
 In the midnight hour of darkness 
 For wicked deeds most meet, 
 
 The listening walls, the curtains, 
 Shall the awful tale repeat 
 Before Life's judgment seat. 
 
 Few spots beneath the heavens 
 But with War's rude tasks are rife, 
 
 His black-winged harpies hovering 
 O'er the gracious feasts of life. 
 
 Leaving on God-given bounties 
 Slimy trails of greed and strife. 
 Records of the ball and knife. 
 
 So the stones of stately buildings 
 
 That in stately ruins lay, 
 Tell wondrous thrilling stories, 
 
 As the gifted seers. say, 
 Of the march of mighty armies, 
 
 Of the clamors of the fray. 
 
 And the harvests of that Day ! 
 
 Each brain-flush and each heart-beat 
 
 Is clear and plain to view, — 
 Thru this labyrinth of wonders 
 
 Now who shall find the clew? 
 Have all things lives eternal ? 
 
 Are wildest fancies true? 
 
 Is there no old, no new? 
 
92 
 
 And these scribes forever near us, 
 
 Writing with tireless pen 
 Thoughts uttered or unuttered, 
 
 Motives hid from human ken, 
 With their books forever open 
 
 'Neath the gaze of gods and men ! 
 
 Is there no now, no then? 
 
 ho, the world is one vast temple 
 Thronging with echoing tread 
 
 Of the millions passing thru it, 
 Both the leaders and the led, 
 
 Casting shadows pale or heavy 
 As the lights burn overhead, 
 Living records to be read. 
 
 Then O, hands, o'erflow with blessings ! 
 
 And ye hearts, o'er flow with light! 
 Let your records be illumined 
 
 By a gleam from God's own hight. 
 Be the legends of your chapters: 
 
 "Always working for the right. 
 
 Always standing in His sight !" 
 
93 
 
 TO SISTER RUTH. 
 Oil Her Seventy-Eighth Birthday. 
 
 Another year, dear Ruth, has shpped away 
 
 To lengthen out the rosary of the past, 
 Years with their share of gold as well as gray ; 
 
 But every one with light of love o'ercast. 
 A blessed rosary of prayer indeed 
 
 Thy life has been ! its every precious bead 
 In memory of the thought for other's need. 
 
 Three score and ten and eight the circlets fair 
 Have dropped thru Time's long fingers one by one, 
 
 And thou art breathing now the perfumed air 
 Of grateful hearts for selfless duties done. 
 Three score and ten and eight ! Ah, Sister Ruth, 
 Thou shak'st in Time's grave face the zest of youth, 
 'Till he stands puzzled, — ''Have I told the truth?" 
 
94 
 
 THE CATTLE TRAIN. 
 
 To Sister Catherine. 
 
 O, the hot and dusty plain, 
 
 Stretching north and stretching south! 
 Sands and brush and sands again 
 
 Seemed to cry with thirsty mouth 
 'Gainst the blasting burning drouth. 
 
 Like the savor of a feast 
 
 In some starving wretch's dream, 
 Came at last the cooling rush 
 
 Of a tiny mountain stream — 
 Fluttering veil of gloom and gleam ! 
 
 Long we watched with faces worn 
 From the journey of the day, 
 
 Rainbow after rainbow born 
 In the soft descending spray, — 
 
 Born to fiash and fade away. 
 
95 
 
 Soon we felt within the soul 
 A keen pang of bitter pain, 
 
 Quite beyond the soul's control ;- 
 Near us stopped a cattle train 
 
 From its journey o'er the plain. 
 
 Choked with dust and faint with heat, 
 Stood our kindred of the hoof ; 
 
 Moaning low and plaintive bleat 
 Brought to us the dreadful proof 
 
 That they stood from hope aloof. 
 
 Soon two little bare-foot girls, 
 
 Brown hands pink from berry stain, 
 
 Shook aside their ruffled curls, 
 Gazing at the cattle train, — 
 
 Childish eyes brimfull of pain. 
 
 O, the anguish and the trust 
 Struggling in the weary eyes 
 
 Of the herd, half blind from dust. 
 As the pity and surprise 
 
 In these childish hearts arise ! 
 
96 
 
 Quick they stretch the aching head, 
 Quick they draw the fevered breath. 
 
 Poor dumb brothers being led 
 In this fearful way to death ! 
 
 Lo, the loving Master saith 
 
 That a sparrow shall not fall 
 
 Which the Father doth not know, 
 
 And His ears hear every call 
 From His creatures here below, 
 
 Whether cries of joy or woe. 
 
 Then these blessed children heard 
 With a tender pitying heart. 
 
 And with speed of swift-winged bird. 
 Flew to heal the woful smart. 
 
 Doing in God's work their part. 
 
 To and fro their little feet 
 
 Carried 'twixt the stream and train 
 Draughts of water, cool and sweet, — 
 
 Tiny draughts, but not in vain, 
 If they ease a single pain. 
 
97 
 
 How the cattle crowded near 
 'fhese sweet angels of the pool ! 
 
 Fiery eyes grew calm and clear 
 As they touched the liquid cool. 
 
 "Children, of the Master's school, 
 
 God be with you," cried each one 
 Looking on the gracious deed, 
 
 "With you in the morning's sun, 
 With you in the evening's need ! 
 
 He His lambs will surely feed." 
 
 Glancing back along the years, 
 Swift returns that pang of pain 
 
 As we see thru dimmdng tears. 
 Once again the cattle train. 
 
 And the children of the plain. 
 
 Backward thru the centuries old 
 'Tis another sight we see. 
 
 Where His loving arms enfold — 
 Seated on His sacred knee, 
 
 Children by His grace made free; — 
 
98 
 
 Free to know the kinship strong 
 Of the meanest Hving thing, 
 
 Free to feel each creature's wrong 
 On the earth or on the wing, 
 
 They that hiss or they that sing. 
 
 And we make this earnest plea, 
 Such was never made in vain, — 
 
 That from farthest land and sea 
 Christ within may live and reign, 
 
 'Till there nevermore shall be 
 Near nor far a cattle train 
 
 With its tragic freight of pain. 
 
99 
 
 THE MESSAGE OF LIBERTY. 
 
 A message came from the Northland, 
 
 To the region of pahn and pine ; — 
 Did it drop from the stately heron, 
 
 His wings with its light ashine? 
 Did it fall in golden quivers 
 
 And silvery hushes of glee 
 From the riotous bill of the mock-bird 
 
 In the heart of an orange tree, 
 
 This message of liberty? 
 
 Did an angel whisper it softly, 
 
 Its beautiful face alight 
 With the far on-reaching glory 
 
 Of the souls in upward flight? 
 God knows and perhaps he only, 
 
 How it sped on its wondrous way ; 
 How it put into murkiest corners 
 
 The light of a dawning day, 
 
 And souls into darkest clay. 
 
 L.oFC. 
 
100 
 
 In one of these murkiest corners 
 Not quite on war's red track, 
 
 But where all' the smoke of the conflict 
 Seemed settled and grim and black, 
 
 There were toiling from dawn to twilight 
 Dusk creatures of human form, — 
 
 Far duller of brain than their cattle, 
 Scarce lifted above their corn, 
 Fit objects of pitying scorn. 
 
 But even to them came the message : 
 "Marse Linkum has set yo free !" 
 
 And they talked in midst of toiling, 
 Of that strange word, /'Liberty." 
 
 ''I must die" once moaned the Hebrew, 
 "I have seen God and the sight 
 
 Will kill" ; so these poor creatures 
 Shrank back from freedom's light. 
 They had learned to love the night. 
 
 Then up spoke an ancient negro. 
 Gnarled of hand and white of hair,- 
 
 ''My brederen, sho Marse Linkum 
 His chilluns all will spare. 
 
 Let us thank him for his goodness/' 
 
101 
 
 Then they kneh with trembhng care, 
 And begged the great "Marse Linkum 
 Whose eyes see eberywere." 
 To hear and heed their prayer. 
 
 When this tale was told to Lincoln, 
 It was heard in pained surprise ; 
 
 Then he turned while shades prophetic 
 Darkened his far-seeing eyes, 
 
 And spoke low with awe and joy 
 Struggling in his patient face : 
 
 "It is grand indeed, but awful 
 For one thus to free a race. 
 May the dear God give us grace V 
 
102 
 
 BILLY'S SAD FALL. 
 
 It was strange indeed that Billy should do 
 
 What Billy did that summer day ! 
 He had had some corn that morning too, 
 
 Or husks of corn and plenty of hay. 
 I must not write on the snowy page 
 
 That this was due to his giddy youth, 
 For the venerable creature had reached an age 
 
 When women and horses speak the truth. 
 
 Now Billy was good as horses go, 
 
 A trusted servant and faithful friend. 
 Had eaten his wild oats long ago, 
 
 And never worried about the end. 
 His coat was gray but his eyes were good, 
 
 His legs were stiff — but he got along. 
 And saw from the place where he gravely stood 
 
 Some strings of apples ; fresh and strong, 
 
 An odor filtered thru many a year. 
 
 Carried old Bill to a summer day, 
 When — a jolly cider-mill standing near — 
 
 He reveled and rolled in new mown hay. 
 Now this very day had the mother pared 
 
 The fruit and quartered and deftly strung, 
 And thus for a winter-time prepared 
 
 When days are short and nights are long. 
 
103 
 
 When days are short and hungry and cold, 
 
 And pies and pancakes are in demand ; — 
 Now Billy was gray and Billy was old, 
 
 Sure aged enough to understand 
 Those strings of apples were not for him. 
 
 But he stood in his place and looked and longed 
 As Adam did e'er he fell into sin, 
 
 The sin that his children so foully wronged. 
 
 He rolled his eyes in a careless way 
 
 As if he were gazing the landscape o'er, 
 And smiled at the children in joyous play, 
 
 As he never had smiled in his life before. 
 And seemed to ask of their games ''What next?" 
 
 Now master and parson were standing near, 
 Discussing with fervor some Bible text, 
 
 And Billy knew well he had nought to fear ; 
 
 So he ate the apples, strings and all. 
 
 One eye on parson and master near, 
 For Joseph might scream and Mary might call, 
 
 Old Billy felt tranquil and free from fear. 
 Now parson let fall his string of discourse, — 
 
 Wliile Billy held close to his apple-string — 
 And laughed and laughed 'till he grew quite hoarse 
 
 At the tranquil fervor that marked the thing. 
 
 With hands uplifted, but not in prayer, 
 
 The master ran and Billy knew 
 He soon must go, so with zealous care, 
 
 He hurried to get his luncheon thru. 
 
104 
 
 Ah, the quarts of apples and yards of string 
 Evolved to horse that summer day ! 
 
 And an odor not sanctity's seems to cling 
 To Billy still as he munches hay. 
 
 How sad that Billy to good old age 
 
 Should safely have trotted the narrow course, 
 Only to fall and to stain my page 
 
 With the wicked deed of a wicked horse ! 
 
105 
 
 THE RED FAN. 
 To N. A. B. W. 
 
 It was carnival night. Ah, the glitter and glow 
 
 In the heavens above as on earth below ! 
 
 For the stars lost their twinkle in jealous surprise, 
 And glowed like great suns in the rich purple skies 
 
 On the gay sons below who with mirth-lighted glance 
 
 Joined fast in the revel of song and of dance ; 
 
 On the fair daughters too, trailing robes of soft light, 
 Such robes ! flashing gems and with rainbows bedight. 
 
 On the seats ranging upward in tier above tier 
 
 Were hundreds of people, all eye and all ear. 
 As I was a student at rest by the sea, 
 Of course, crammed with knowledge as full as could 
 be, — 
 
 Their faces I studied, their feet I would scan, 
 
 When lo, a small lady who held a red fan ! 
 
 Just as a strange ''death dance" had reached its weird 
 hight, 
 
 The skulls grimly grinning, the bones gleaming white, 
 A pompous man entered, much larger than life, — 
 While after him followed his meek, patient wife — 
 
106 
 
 And seated himself, the large, pompous man. 
 In front of the lady who held the red fan. 
 
 He threw quick behind him a withering stare 
 That said "Country bumpkins," and 'gan to prepare 
 To take his own ease in the way he liked best, 
 As the "H" people do in the east and the west ; 
 
 To the comfort of others quite deaf, dumb and blind, 
 He puffed his vile smoke in the faces behind ; 
 But it went quickly back to crown the great man, 
 Sent there by the lady who held the red fan. 
 
 I can still see her dark eyes indignant and bright, 
 And his victims — their faces aglow with delight ! — 
 The music is throwing off billows of sound, 
 As a smoke-puff goes curling now up now around; 
 But before it can reach to the tip of the nose 
 Of the bright little lady, straight backward it goes, 
 Keeping plain before all that proverb in sight. 
 That ''Curses like chickens go home to alight." 
 The ladies are moving like folk in a dream 
 To the grave stately measure of Louis Fifteen ; — 
 So soft seems the music so far so complete. 
 The stars might be singing their way to our feet. 
 In the hush the low sob of the sea may be heard, 
 Like the beat of the wing of some soft plumaged bird, — 
 Then a. volume of smoke is sent back by the man 
 In front of the lady who wields the red fan ! 
 
107 
 
 She unfurls that great fan Hke a red flag of war, 
 
 And wavering and trembHng the smoke flies before ; 
 It wreaths in his hair and encircles his head, — 
 His shocked wife leans near him and something is 
 said ! 
 
 At last he has learned, — that wonderful man ! 
 
 The tricks of the lady who bears the red fan. 
 
 He glares at her wildly, — ''Can such things be true! 
 Is this a free country ? — what can a man do ! 
 
 Is not the air free to pollute if one can? 
 
 What means the small lady who holds the red fan?" 
 'Tis ended, — the glitter, the music, and light, — 
 The crowd gayly talking surge forth on the night. 
 
 Just here stands the bride in her soft trailing white, 
 
 And the princess whose garments seem woven of light, 
 And all the gay maskers with laughter and song 
 Making bright spots of light in the hurrying throng : — 
 
 All smokeless stands brooding the large pompous man, 
 
 And a lady in triumph waves softly her fan. 
 
108 
 
 THE ELECT LADY. 
 
 "A land-mark fell" one said, "last night, 
 To which fond hearts were clinging ;" 
 
 Those words set all the low, sweet bells 
 In Memory's chapel ringing. 
 
 Those words throw wide the crystal door 
 Where hung in pictured glory, 
 
 On Memory's wall, we see blest scenes 
 From childhood's fairy story. 
 
 How near how real the low, gray house, 
 Its mistress bright and cheery ; 
 
 Her sweet, old face in frame of lace ; 
 Her quaint "God bless your deary!" 
 
 How in our foolish, childish eyes 
 That room grows fair and mystic, 
 
 The stately candle-sticks are gold, 
 The vases, g^ems artistic! 
 
 '? ia 
 
 And if the Captain's painted face 
 His black eyes ever turning 
 
 To watch us trip from place to place, 
 A grim light inly burning. 
 
109 
 
 Brings to onr minds a thought of harm, 
 
 We turn in childish terror 
 To the cahii grace of her dear face, 
 
 And know our fears an error. 
 
 Her kind, soft hand ! we feel it now ; 
 
 So lavish in caresses, 
 Tho 'twere for shattered childish hopes, 
 
 Or dollies' tattered dresses ! 
 
 Her willing feet ! first at the call 
 On happy birth-day mornings, 
 
 And first no less, when sure stern death 
 Spoke low his certain warnings. 
 
 When all the world grew chill and grey, 
 And filled with stranger faces, — 
 
 For mother's arms had grown too cold. 
 For mother's warm ern,braces. — 
 
 'Twas her kind arms that held us close. 
 Her talk in quaint, sweet phrases 
 
 That made the gate of heaven seem 
 That ofrave beneath the daisies. 
 
 is' 
 
 In those blest days when elves and fays 
 Thronged round our hearts to gladden, 
 
 And sure and fast our wee hands grasped 
 Hope's lantern of Aladdin, 
 
110 
 
 'Twas this old friend we placed up high 
 
 Within a stately palace, 
 And gave within her hand's sure grasp 
 
 The fay's gem-circled chalice. 
 
 Ah, she should change her low, grey house 
 For one made bright with glory ! 
 
 Should lay aside her age for youth ; 
 So ends the fairy story. 
 
 Hers has no end, our dear old friend ! 
 
 'Tis only just beginning 
 Beyond our sight, where right is right, 
 
 And living is not sinning. 
 
 Beyond all dust, all sad mistrust, 
 All dreary, weary maybe's. 
 
 She dwells within a mansion fair, 
 One of Christ's chosen ladies. 
 
Ill 
 
 BEAUTY FROM ASHES. 
 
 The ashes of a strawberry plant and a rosebush were 
 placed in a vessel of water, a crust of ice formed upon its 
 surface during the night, showed the form of plant and 
 bush with blossoms and fruit perfectly traced. 
 
 A strawberry plant and a rosebush 
 Lay side by side in the fire ; 
 
 A swift flame seized and bore them 
 Higher and ever higher ; 
 
 An incense floated round them, — 
 Twas a gracious funeral pyre, — 
 What more could they desire ? 
 
 Soon the strawberry plant and rosebush 
 
 Were ashes still and gray ; 
 In a vessel filled with water^ 
 
 The luscious and lovely lay ; 
 Then a cool breath touched the liquid 
 
 From one who passed that way, — 
 
 And 'twas resurrection day. 
 
'•ii 
 
 112 
 
 For the strawberry plant and rosebush 
 Had sprung again to sight, 
 
 Enmeshed in ghttering crystal, 
 And drawn in lines of light ; 
 
 Nor flood nor fire had power 
 The spirit of life to blight, 
 Or quench its deathless might. 
 
 So through fires of many conflicts, 
 
 We come to ashes gray ; 
 'Neath floods of great afflictions 
 
 Silent and stunned we lay ; 
 When a cool breath falls upon us, 
 
 From One who comes our way, 
 
 And we spring to the higher day. 
 
113 
 
 SILENT SLANDER. 
 
 And she? O no, she was not there, 
 Proud Margaret, the frank and fair, 
 With fire-sparks sleeping in her hair, 
 
 But not asleep in her great brown eyes, 
 That grew to flame in grave surprise, 
 And burned to death our petty lies. 
 
 She was not there and they knew it well, — 
 Gay shallow Sue and Isabelle, 
 And little Midge ''Who'd never tell." 
 
 Sue spoke of Margaret's haughty pride, 
 Then smiled : ''She has a humbler side 
 For him to whom she would fain be bride." 
 
 Silent and smiling sat Isabelle, 
 
 No yea no nay from the bright lips fell. 
 
 The language of smiles what tongue can tell? 
 
 "She makes us shrink to the very dust, 
 If we dare to swerve from Duty's must ; 
 Yet e'en her armor has spots of rust, 
 
114 
 
 "For I know full well on a certain day. 
 When Loo was ill and besought her stay, 
 She could hear but the call of Donald Gray. 
 
 "His call alone tho the other was loud, 
 
 And when she returned from the merry crowd, 
 
 Poor Loo lay white in a whiter shroud." 
 
 And Isabelle listened, well she knew 
 That the story told was all untrue, 
 Yet silent she smiled on prattling Sue. 
 
 But what ails Midget ? Her eyes flash light. 
 "Dear Margaret !" she said, "with soul as white 
 As the angels' own, and with feet on a hight 
 
 "You never will reach, 'till the heavens roll 
 From God's loosed hand a flaming scroll, 
 And we all stand naked soul to soul. 
 
 "And when those awful eyes look thru 
 Our hearts to sift the false from true, 
 'Twill not, sweet Isabelle, be Sue 
 
 "Alone, of shallow brain and heart, 
 Who'll hear the dreadful words' Depart ! 
 But why, dear friend, that angry start? 
 
 "Your beautiful lips of rosy light 
 
 Is the mouth of a tomb in the Master's sight, 
 
 There's death below and the records blight. 
 
115 
 
 *'A mud-pool will throw up dirt and mire, 
 
 But who would expect it to aspire 
 
 To aught that's purer, aught that's higher? 
 
 "But a fountain set in a gracious place, 
 By the Master's hand, — His light in its face, 
 Shall not its presence mean beauty and grace ? 
 
 "A word outspoken, we may deny, 
 A threatened blow we may defy ; — 
 But the lips that smile and smiling, lie !" 
 
116 
 
 FATHER JAMES. 
 
 The long years of trial and conflict 
 
 Had faded away, 
 And night crowned with stars at its darkest, 
 
 Burst forth into day ; 
 The riches of August lay scattered 
 
 O'er hillside and plain, 
 And hands warm from sword and from rifle, 
 
 Were gath'ring the grain. 
 To sound of the drum and the trumpet 
 
 Had come a great hush ; 
 On each hight seemed a transfiguration, 
 
 A God in each bush. 
 
 So thought. Father James, breathing deeply 
 
 The clear mountain air, 
 His dark eyes aglow with love's sunshine, 
 
 His heart with love's prayer; 
 For his was a nature so gentle. 
 
 The wound of sharp knives 
 
117 
 
 But brought forth more richly the perfume 
 
 To sweeten the Hves 
 Of those who had wielded the weapon, 
 
 To fill his with pain. 
 He recked not of sorrow's grave burden 
 
 Could others have gain. 
 
 In his English home, once had a vision 
 
 Dawned fair on his sight, 
 Of a tree in the wide Land of Freedom, 
 
 Each leaf made of light ! 
 And tho bigotry's hand had been heavy 
 
 Through many a year, 
 And his heart had been torn by its arrows, 
 
 This vision burned clear ; 
 So when on the bright August morning 
 
 'Mid twitter of birds, 
 The shout of gay innocent children, 
 
 And lowing of herds, 
 
 There came to his ear the harsh discords 
 
 Of hatred and spite. 
 And wrong seemed uplifted, triumphant 
 
 O'er mercy and right. 
 
118 
 
 He was calm ; — e'en when strong hands had seized him 
 
 With laughter and mock, — 
 Ah, here is the place ! — Over yonder 
 
 Lies still the gray rock 
 Where his body was flung in wild tumult 
 
 By men in red rage, — 
 A shadow, a stain grim and lurid 
 
 On nature's sweet page ! 
 
 For nature is here at her fairest 
 
 Soft hight beyond hight, 
 While skies breathe their sweet benedictions 
 
 Of color and light. 
 Years have gone ; — the Elder is teaching 
 
 His grand truths to-day 
 In a land where the true light is quenchless. 
 
 And none say him nay. 
 Years have passed and brought for the people 
 
 This faith-glowing thought : 
 "To live Christ, and be Christ, is better 
 
 Than all creeds have taught." 
 
 As years come and go, the brave Elder 
 Looks down from the hight, 
 
 And lo ! the great tree of his vision 
 Bursts clear on his sight ! — 
 
i 
 
 119 
 
 Its leaves for the healing of nations, 
 
 Its fruit, lofty deeds, 
 It flashes a light o'er the ocean 
 
 To souls in their needs. 
 Still the rock, grim and gray in the twilight 
 
 Looks up to the hills. 
 And the hills whisper down, ''Keep good courage, 
 
 God rio-hteth all ills." 
 
120 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS BABY. 
 
 Who does not love the baby? 
 
 With its cooings and caresses 
 
 Each home it Hghts and blesses, 
 Be it lofty be it lowly. 
 'Twas a baby sweet and holy 
 
 Long ago, 
 'Neath the tender eyes of Mary, 
 
 And the searching gaze of sages, 
 'Mid the smiles and songs of angels. 
 
 Brought a blessing to the ages. 
 
 Ah, my children, do you know 
 The adoring eyes of cattle 
 Watched that manger, 
 Where the Christ-Child smiled and slumbered 
 
 Free from danger? — 
 And the love this baby brought us, 
 
 Children all, 
 Links the heavens with the manger 
 
 And the stall, 
 Makes us kindred to God's creatures 
 
 Great and small, 
 They that soar beyond our vision, 
 They that crawl. 
 
121 
 
 Take this love, a Christmas present, 
 
 Children dear, 
 And so grow more like the Christ-Child 
 
 Year by year, 
 'Till the hopes of men and angels 
 
 From your birth, 
 Make a golden ladder joining 
 
 Heaven to earth, 
 Merging all in one great love-light 
 
 Far and near, 
 With a blissful holy Christmas 
 
 Thru the year. 
 
122 
 
 CHRISTMAS AND CHRISTMAS. 
 1—1900. 
 
 The shepherds the sheep and the shadows,- 
 
 Hark ! 
 The song of the angels is thrilHng 
 
 The dark ; 
 The rush of their pinions is Hghting 
 
 Afar. 
 The music and Hght flash together 
 
 A star. 
 
 The star that awakened from slumber 
 
 The East, 
 To go forth with treasures to brighten 
 
 The feast: 
 A banquet the world was invited 
 
 To share, 
 For Love was the hostess and freedom 
 
 The fare. 
 
123 
 
 That star grown a sun, illumines 
 
 The sky, 
 And with treasures of wisdom the sages 
 
 Stand nigh 
 At the feast where the Master sits silent 
 
 Alas! 
 For spilled is the wine, and broken 
 
 The glass ! 
 
 Tho it blazes a sun, our vision 
 
 Is dim ; 
 For in gazing at self we are blinded 
 
 To Him. — 
 The silence is stirred that His sorrow 
 
 Has made 
 When one asks '"Of thy brethren which one 
 
 Has betrayed?" 
 
 " Which one has betrayed? " Lo, Master, 
 We kneel 
 
 At thy feet ! Reach thy hand to pardon, 
 
 To heal; 
 Touch our eyes that the gold-blinded vision 
 
 Be cleared, 
 And quicken the consience by avarice 
 
 Seared." 
 
124 
 
 In the East of the Manger the Master 
 
 Ivies slain. 
 His blood stains the lilies and crimsons 
 
 The main! 
 His blood O, ye Christians ! What says 
 
 The Decree? 
 "As ye do to my brethren, ye do 
 
 Unto Me !" 
 
125 
 
 DEBORAH. 
 
 That rich quick Hfe ! All fire and dew, 
 
 It seems to me in looking back ; 
 Those great sweet eyes ! now black now blue 
 
 But oft'ner gray than blue or black. 
 That mind so keen to know, to know 
 The Heaven above the earth below, 
 The hight of joy the depth of woe, 
 "Whence angels come where mortals go, 
 
 And swift to follow their track. 
 
 She always stands in sunny view, 
 
 Embraced by crimson-hearted flowers, 
 Beneath a sky that smiles in blue, 
 
 Or laughs in glittering showers ; 
 The snowy gleam of a graceful throat. 
 Whose purple veins her short life vn'ote, — 
 Her walk, a bird in dream afloat, — 
 Her slender finger raised to note 
 The flash of perfumed hours. 
 
126 
 
 She stood so near the Border Land — 
 This maid of fire and dew and Hght, 
 
 It were no task to understand 
 
 How easy 'twas to slip from sight ; 
 
 Nor strange she ne'er came back again 
 
 To humdrum haunts and homes of men. 
 
 Always alert for the wondrous Then ! 
 
 Ah, now it would need a seraph's pen 
 A hint of her bliss to write ! 
 
 SO WEE. 
 
 *'That you are a jewel, my darling, 
 
 Sure every one must see. 
 But then you know, my dovelet. 
 
 You are so wee, so wee ! 
 
 "Your hands the size of a rose-leaf 
 
 Just fit to kiss and caress, 
 How will they work in life's harvest 
 
 Where the toiling reapers press? 
 
 *'Your feet, beneath whose light pressure 
 The daisy flings saucily back. 
 
 How will they tread down the briers 
 That trail in the workers' track? 
 
127 
 
 "I know I am little, dear brother, 
 But shall I sit still and moan ? 
 
 Tho I may not go forth with the reapers, 
 I can cheer their coming home. 
 
 "Tho I may not tread down the briers 
 By which worn feet are torn, 
 
 By my tears of tender pity 
 I can soften the cruel thorn. 
 
 "And when you workers, dear brother, 
 
 At last shall waiting stand, 
 For your well-earned meed of valor, 
 
 Tho I may not reach His hand, 
 
 "I can touch the hem of the garment 
 That's woven without a searn, 
 
 And He will not scorn me, my brother, 
 Nor my work tho small and mean !" 
 
128 
 
 "ONLY HAVE FAITH." 
 
 I wonder of all the words that light 
 Life's sunless day or its starless night, 
 Bringing blest Hope within our sight, 
 
 And gilding the gloom of death. 
 If any are ever less understood, 
 If any are filled with grander good, 
 
 Than the ''Only have faith ?" 
 
 He knew the shallows of priestly creeds, 
 And the hight and depth of human needs. 
 And He saw large fruit in small dark seeds. 
 
 This man divine and human ; 
 So He taught not faith in God alone, 
 In His endless sway, His moveless throne. 
 
 But faith in man and woman. 
 
 The faith that a man may not be a fool, 
 Tho his tasks are learned in another school. 
 And his plans are shaped by another tool 
 
129 
 
 Than any we have known ; 
 The faith that a woman who lacks the grace 
 Of a snowy hand or a luring face 
 
 Mav vet stand near the Throne. 
 
 But faith in ourselves was taught as well ; 
 And of all the precious words that fell 
 From sacred lips, can any tell 
 
 Of these the priceless worth? 
 For lifting us up above the clod, 
 They set us down in the presence of God, 
 
 His children of royal birth. 
 
 A robe of glory becomes the pall, — 
 For who can fail or who can fall 
 When they are God's and God is all? 
 
 And what is doom or death? 
 Nought, nought but a foolish gruesome tale, 
 Told when the fires of faith grew pale 
 
 And heard with sobbing breath. 
 
 This faith in one's self is a staf? and stay 
 In the frets and worries that bar the way 
 'Mong the common tasks of the common day, 
 
130 
 
 And lifts us above all strife ; 
 For faith in one's self is but faith in One 
 Thru whom we shall reap when seedtime is done 
 
 The harvest of endless life. 
 
131 
 
 NATAL NIGHT. 
 
 The stars kept watch o'er quiet wold, 
 The shepherds watched their sheep. 
 
 O'er simple men and woolly fold, 
 Lay silence strange and deep. 
 
 The stars grew pale — a wondrous light 
 Burst forth o'er land and sea, — 
 
 A day was born within that night, 
 And night no more shall be. 
 
 Amid a shining angel throng 
 Sweet angel voices spoke, — 
 
 And in the rapture of that song 
 The heart of Silence broke. 
 
 So nevermore shall silence reign 
 On earth when wrong is done, 
 
 And nevermore shall evil chain 
 The soul that God has won. 
 
 Thru all the world the angels sang 
 "Let strife and envy cease !" 
 
 From Heaven's walls the chorus rang 
 ''To men good will and peace." 
 
13'2 I 
 
 And now this day — this Christmas Day, 
 We turn, dear Christ, to thee, — 
 
 Grant that our way may be Thy way, 
 Whate'er Thy way may be. 
 
 Yea, tho it lead to Calvary's hight ! 
 
 We only ask to know 
 It is Thy way; for dark is light 
 
 When in Thy steps we go. 
 
AN INCIDENT IN THE SIEGE OF HAMBURG. 
 
 The cherries hung ripe, the cherries hung low 
 In Hamburg old long years ago, 
 
 The vears so fleet, — 
 For sunshine had fluttered its golden wings 
 Over the beautiful, dancing things, 
 Flinging its favors with never a stint. 
 Here a luster and there a tint, 
 
 'Till they glowed complete. 
 
 Outside of the city the pitiless foe 
 
 Were battering the walls with blow on blow, 
 
 The end was nigh. 
 And Famine looked down with gaunt grey face, 
 On the burgher who reeled in the market place, 
 On the mother, her moaning baby pressed 
 To a breaking heart — to an empty breast. 
 
 To shiver and die. 
 
 And haggard Plague in the foeman's camp 
 Kept watch and ward 'mid the dews and damp ; — 
 At her low word 
 
134 
 
 The stoutest soldier would bend to hear 
 With quivering face and crouching fear,- 
 The proudest peer take from her hand 
 The fiery cup, and at her command 
 Sheath meek his sword. 
 
 Wolf, the merchant, with pitiful face, 
 Paced slowly and sadly the market place, 
 
 His blue eyes dim 
 That the Prince of Peace should've lived in vain 
 His beautiful life of sorrow and pain ; 
 "For the foeman without are our brothers, too; 
 Dear Christ ! what can thy servant do 
 
 To stop this sin?" 
 
 Then a sweet child-note fell on his ear, 
 As Gretchen, his little one, fluttered near, 
 
 So pale, so fair ! 
 "The cherries are ripe as ripe can be !" 
 And she pulled his hand with an old-time glee, — 
 "The cherries are ripe ? Now the children all 
 Shall take them beyond the city's wall 
 
 To the sufferers there." 
 
135 
 
 So the pale little children all in white, 
 'Mono^ cherry branches hid from sight, 
 
 Thru the city gate 
 Marched slowly and shyly, laying before 
 The suffering foemen their shining store. 
 How wan eyes brightened and parched lips strove 
 To utter their thanks for this gift of love, 
 
 Let the tale relate. 
 
 The lips that had cursed are parted to bless. 
 And hands that were lifted to strike, caress, 
 
 The strife is o'er : 
 And plenty soon enters the city's wall, 
 While health and healing come swift to all. 
 Then Wolf, the merchant, prays : "Christ, increase 
 In the hearts of thy children thy perfect peace, 
 
 'Till war is no more." 
 
 For many a summer old Hamburg's street 
 Has echoed the marching of children's feet 
 
 In robes of snow, 
 As they bore above each flaxen head 
 Great branches of cherries, black and red. — 
 
136 
 
 Tho War's grim trumpet still shakes the world, 
 A shining banner we see unfurled ; 
 It is held by hands that will ne'er give o'er, — 
 And the music of Peace from shore to shore, 
 Pipes clear and low. 
 
137 
 
 THE TEACHER. 
 
 I am thinking, my dear, of a story, 
 From a book you seldom read, 
 
 Tho it has been thru weary ages, 
 A friend in word and deed, 
 
 With a bahii for every sorrow, 
 And a boon for every need ; 
 
 And love onlv love for its creed. 
 
 And this story is told of a teacher, 
 Whose gentle conquering name 
 
 Illumines the grim grey centuries 
 
 With Right's broad quenchless flame ; 
 
 One who stood in his weary teaching 
 Untouched by the world's dark stain. 
 
 And unharmed by its jealous blame. 
 
 Was there ever a loftier schoolroom ? 
 
 It reached to the heavens they say, — 
 And gracious and grand were the lessons 
 
 He taught in it day by day ; 
 Such beautiful object lessons 
 
 From sparrows and lilies and hay ! 
 And all in so loving a way. 
 
i?8 
 
 But so stupid so dull were his pupils ! 
 
 We only can wonder and weep ; — 
 Tho wings were his gifts, they refused them, 
 
 Preferring to blunder and creep ; 
 And 'tis said, in his grandest of lessons 
 
 At a time when his sorrow was deep. 
 Some wearied and some fell asleep. 
 
 *'Did he punish them sore, this great Teacher?" 
 
 You ask me, my darling; O, no ; 
 But again and again he repeated 
 
 His lessons so gently so slow; 
 Ay, he even walked thru the death-shadow, 
 
 To show them the way they must go ; 
 But the gloom he made bright with love's glow. 
 
139 
 
 THE BRIDGE OF GOLD. 
 
 And what do they say, the white crowned waves 
 
 As they wash the white shore one by one? 
 Are they telHng tales of the restless graves 
 
 Hidden from light of star and sun? 
 Ah, the fret and flurry the heat and cold ! 
 
 When will they end and give us rest? 
 Then the sunshine builds a bridge of gold 
 
 From the hopeful east to the quiet west. 
 Smiling we say, "It matters not, — 
 
 The fret of the day is a little thing; 
 In the evening time 'twill be quite forgot, 
 
 When the rays of the setting sun shall fling 
 A golden bridge across the tide 
 From this to the blessed other side." 
 
140 
 
 HERE AND THERE. 
 
 Oj the dear old earth ! and how fair it is ! 
 
 Our hearts leap up to its light and song; 
 
 How hard to believe in a world like this 
 
 That so many things go bad and wrong ! 
 
 We start in the morning as sweet and bright 
 
 As the dawn itself, all light and dew, 
 
 But draggled and stained we'll stand at night 
 
 'Mong the stainless ones, alas! so few! 
 
 The hands that upheld us are crumbling to dust, — 
 
 And weakly we yield to the thing that harms, 
 
 Tho' within sounds ever the soul's grand "must," 
 
 And beneath are the everlasting arms. 
 
 O, the grey old earth ! and how sad it is 
 
 With lives of waste and with deaths of gloom ! 
 
 How hard to believe in a world like this 
 
 Are peace and joy, are song and bloom! 
 
 But when at the gloaming and looking back 
 
 At the weary path our feet have trod, — 
 
 Lo, lights of glory illumine the track 
 
 That windeth upward and ends in God ! 
 
 The hands that upheld us are stretched to greet, 
 
 And at last we know as we are known ; 
 
 While the cross we have borne thru stress and heat, 
 
 Forms a step of gold to mount the throne. 
 
 
141 
 
 GAFFER GRAY. 
 
 'Now tell inc. Gaffer, whither away 
 
 Whither away so slow? 
 *I am going to mill the same old way 
 
 My fathers used to go." 
 
 'But why do you take that wretched road, 
 When near lies a smoother way? 
 
 'On this my fathers carried their load, 
 And I am no better than they." 
 
 But why do you ride that pack of bones 
 
 And carry so little grain? 
 Then one of your sacks is freighted with stones, 
 
 Tho' not your skull with brain." 
 
 " 'Tis the horse my father use to ride 
 
 You call a pack of bones. 
 And how could the grain stay on one side 
 
 Without a balance of stones ? 
 
 "For thirty years I have taken my corn 
 
 To the mill the self same way, 
 As did my fathers before I was born ; 
 
 Now who shall say me nay?" 
 
142 
 
 You have laughed at Gaffer till eyes ran tears, 
 
 And against the scripture rule, 
 Have declared that- all the months and years 
 
 Ne'er showed a greater fool. 
 
 But soft, my friend, your laughter still 
 And hear what I would say, 
 
 Do not you take your grain to the mill 
 Our Gaffer's stupid way? 
 
 Your blessed golden life-giving grain | 
 
 Reaped in the fields of to-day 
 By the skillful fingers of soul and brain, 
 
 And not in Gaffer's way? 
 
 You carry this grain to God's great mill 
 That grindeth night and day 
 
 So fine, so sure, so slow, so still, — 
 And you carry it Gaffer's way. 
 
 You bestride the steed your fathers bestrode 
 
 That hobby worn and gray, — 
 With the stones of custom you halve your load- 
 
 And your miller gets half pay. 
 
 While the hungry souls that cry for bread 
 
 Get half the time a stone 
 From, the sack of cruel custom fed ; 
 
 And what will the lack atone ? 
 
143 
 
 This only ; carry your harvest's yield 
 
 To the mills that grind so fine 
 In measures large, till your ample field 
 
 And Heaven in one light shine. 
 
 This only ; bury away from your sight 
 
 Forever your mouldering dead, 
 'Tis the spirit that giveth life and light, 
 
 And that from the word hath fled, — 
 
 The word that insisteth on dragging the stone? 
 
 Instead of the living grain, 
 In worshiping blood and flesh and bones 
 
 Instead of the soul and brain. 
 
 Talk not of those who only know 
 
 To walk in their fathers' way, 
 Nor laugh at Gafifer until you are true 
 
 To the light that floods to-day. 
 
144 
 
 SPION KOP. 
 
 Lo, there is the hill, and here is the foe ! 
 High flies the soul, when the body falls low 
 For freedom. 
 
 Up, comrades, up, that hill must be ours ! 
 Never mind numbers, the Heavenly Powers 
 Are with us. 
 
 Follow the giant with eyes of blue fire, 
 Bearing the flag ever higher and higher, 
 Thru tumult. 
 
 A crash ! — The bold heart is severed In twain ! 
 Low sinks the flag in the death-dealmg rain 
 A moment, — 
 
 'Tis rising again from its sudden eclipse ! 
 A burgher white-haired and with firm silent lips, 
 Has caught it. 
 
 'Mid furious tempests of iron and lead. 
 Ever onward and upward the sturdy white head 
 Is gleaming. 
 
145 
 
 Ah, limp grows his hand at the swift touch of death ! 
 The flag wavers low with the wavering breath. 
 But falls not ; — 
 
 A small hand has seized it — a golden-haired lad — 
 From the grandsires grasp ; half sad and half glad, 
 He leapeth 
 
 From bowlder to bowlder, while cheer upon cheer 
 From the burgher's grim lips is greeting the ear 
 Of the foemen. 
 
 Winged with cheers, flies the lad up, up the rough slope 
 Thru a pathway of blood, — and again Spion Kop 
 Is ours ! 
 
 And England exulteth ! while dealing in blood, 
 Drowning old age and childhood alike in its flood ! 
 Exulteth ! 
 
146 
 
 THE DUTCH BURGHERS OF OLD. 
 
 Among the field preachers of those heroic times was 
 the eloquent La Grange, who galloped, to the place of 
 meeting, fired a pistol as a signal for beginning service, 
 and leaning against a pulpit formed of two spears, 
 preached to the eager multitude, every one of whom 
 listened at peril of his life. 
 
 The tramp of a steed, the clank of a spur — 
 
 La Grange is here ! 
 The burghers — ^their wives and little ones, 
 
 Are thronging near. 
 
 A shot from his pistol — they answer the call 
 
 With bated breath; 
 To the soul a message of endless life, 
 
 To the body, death. 
 
 The faces turned upward, the faces La Grange ' 
 
 Looked down upon ! 
 A sight to make the demons howl, 
 
 The angels dumb ! 
 
147 
 
 The brave strong- faces flash with Hght, — 
 
 They know full well, 
 They are standing clear in God's own sight, 
 
 On brink of hell. 
 
 The the hate of nations hedge them in, 
 
 They will not yield ; 
 For God is eternal, and He will win 
 
 At last the field. 
 
 So thru the years the woful years 
 That dripped with blood, 
 
 When fiendish spite poured on their land 
 Its scorching flood, 
 
 They smiled and sang 'mid rack and flame, 
 
 These burghers bold, 
 At wolves that drove them swaftly up 
 
 To God's safe fold. 
 
 Some fled, and took to lands afar 
 
 The patient skill, 
 The kindly heart, the reverent soul, 
 
 The steadfast will 
 
 That lift a people to the hights. 
 
 Elizabeth 
 Gave life to such — to whom her sons 
 
 Are dealing death. 
 
148 
 
 Alas ! this England doth forget ! 
 
 She should recall 
 That God's great mills tho grinding slow 
 
 Grind sure and small; 
 With sleepless eye and tireless hand 
 
 He grindeth all. 
 
149 
 
 GOLD OR FIRE? 
 
 Many are the legends old 
 In the sacred Talmud told, 
 Legends with a heart of gold. 
 
 Said I old? not old forsooth,- 
 As they hold eternal truth, 
 They must have eternal youth. 
 
 And this one I fain would tell, 
 In my heart a warning fell — 
 Haunts me like a magic spell. 
 
 This the tale in eastern phrase 
 Looming thru the shine and haze 
 Of the strange Egyptian days : 
 
 Little Moses filled with glee. 
 Sat on mighty Pharaoh's knee,- 
 Courtiers' eves are swift to see ! 
 
 Baby hands by fancy led, 
 
 Reached the crown from royal head, 
 
 Placed it on his own instead. 
 
150 
 
 Then within that stately hall : 
 *'Lo, the born of Hebrew thrall ! 
 Thankless creatures one and all. 
 
 "Wily child of wily race ! 
 Sharer of the royal grace, 
 Yearns he too for kingly place?" 
 
 Shy the little child looked down, 
 Underneath the shining crown ; — 
 Guileless smile met guileful frown. 
 
 "Alien babe of alien faith !" 
 Slow a priestly noble saith, 
 "Let him die a traitor's death !' 
 
 But one mused a silent space, — 
 His a strong and kindly face 
 Lighted by a father's grace. 
 
 Rang his voice with courtly ring; 
 "Prove the child O gracious King; 
 'Tis a helpless little thing 
 
 "Formed for loving not for ire, — 
 Test the little one's desire. 
 Place before him gold and fire. 
 
151 
 
 "Like the gods thy nod, thy breath 
 
 Lift or lower ; if, "he saith, 
 
 **He choose gold, he chooseth death. 
 
 "But if he should grasp the flame, 
 
 Life is his, and on thy name 
 
 The great Judge shall find no blame. 
 
 Then the child with eager eyes 
 Quickly made the fire his prize,- 
 Won a life that lights the skies. 
 
 Centuries but increase our faith 
 
 In the words this legend saith, 
 
 "Who chooseth gold he chooses death.' 
 
 He who runs may surely read ; 
 What is now^ the nation's creed? 
 Gold, gold, gold ! to feed their greed. 
 
 Honor, freedom, bought and sold, — 
 Brains grow hot and hearts grow cold 
 In the raging rush for gold. 
 
 Fraud sits high on judgment seat, 
 Innocence lies beneath the feet, 
 Famine reels about the street. 
 
152 
 
 Choose the gold and take thy place 
 'Mong a slowly dying race, 
 Lost to honor, lost to grace, 
 
 Or grasp eagerly the fire ; — 
 Let it burn out useless ire. 
 Purify each mean desire. 
 
 Burn away the darkened screen 
 Thee and human kind between, 
 'Till a brother's soul is seen, — 
 
 Brother's soul and Christ within, 
 Selfless as all Christs have been. 
 Dying other lives to win. 
 
 So we read the legend old, 
 By the learned rabbis told, 
 Legend with a heart of gold. 
 
153 
 
 FAIRY LAND. 
 
 I have no doubt at all of Fairy Land, 
 
 Right well I know its willful, winsome ways, 
 
 How oft I've stood, how oft e'en now I stand 
 Within its borders on the sweet May days. 
 
 The light that fell upon its hundred hills, 
 Unlike the light that shines upon us now. 
 
 Showed all of good, nought of life's woes or ills, 
 The crown and not the thorns upon the brow. 
 
 The trees that tapped the windows of the sky, 
 Told us, in whispers low, the angel's words, 
 
 'Till we would wonder, with a smile, a sigh, 
 Which was the song of angels, which of birds ? 
 
 And not alone fair angels with kind eyes. 
 Came oft among us with their airy tread, 
 
 But lays with wings of gold and purple dyes 
 Gave life and glory to our pansy bed. 
 
 The pansy blest ! When Sorrow came one day, 
 And led us forth with pale and chilly hand, 
 
 Within our heart slept close one little fay; — 
 And that is all we've left of Fairy Land. 
 
154 
 
 I little fay with gold and purple wings, 
 And face of one beloved now passed from sight ; 
 
 A dear, sweet face ! and O, the song it sings 
 Of days which nevermore will end in night. 
 
 Of hearts which nevermore will beat with dread, 
 And nevermore will sink with weight of pains ! 
 
 Tho Fairy Land is left, not far ahead 
 
 We see the glow of Heaven's eternal plains. 
 
 Where one begins or where the other ends 
 'Tis hard to say. Shall we not take our stand 
 
 With child-like faith, with Christ-like love, O, friend, 
 Half-way in Heaven half-way in Fairy Land? 
 
 Shall we not find when flushed with panting bliss 
 We fling aside the robes that clog and maim, 
 
 It is not that, it is not even this. 
 
 But Fairy Land and Heaven are just the same? 
 
155 
 
 A SHAKER THANKSGIVING, 
 
 Now what is a Shaker Thanksgiving? 
 
 Perhaps yon have heard, — 
 Onr hearts just flow over with blessing 
 
 In deed as in word, 
 Our tables groan under their burden 
 
 Of cake, cream and curd, 
 Of candies and nuts and such apples ! 
 
 But no murdered bird. 
 
 For no turkey in fear of our banquet 
 
 His gobble need smother ; 
 Then what do we do at Thanksgiving ? 
 
 Just love one another, — 
 And call the whole world our kindred, 
 
 Our sister, our brother. 
 The children of one great All-Father 
 
 One blessed All-Mother. 
 
 For what do we thank at Thanksgiving? 
 
 A question indeed ! 
 For the snow upon snow in the winter 
 
 That comforts the seed, 
 
156 
 
 For the shine upon shine in the summer 
 
 That filleth our need, 
 For the love and the faith in each other 
 
 That maketh our creed. 
 
157 
 
 YOUR EGLANTINE. 
 To C. D. V. 
 
 Beside your bonny Eglantine, 
 
 Into a goblet crystal clear, 
 
 Dear June is pouring perfumed wine. 
 
 Cecelia, quaint sweet saint of mine, 
 I always look for light and cheer. 
 Beside your bonny Eglantine. 
 
 Its gay pink gems in beauty shine. 
 It whispers soft that far and near 
 ''Dear June is pouring perfumed wine." 
 
 Its very presence is a sign 
 
 Of hope ; and life seems sweet and dear 
 
 Beside your bonny Eglantine. 
 
 Now let me say it line by line, — 
 To weary you I have no fear ; — 
 Dear June is pouring perfumed wine. 
 
 My saint, with soul so pure and fine, 
 I see you stand where year by year, 
 Beside your bonny Eglantine 
 Dear June is pouring perfumed wine. 
 
158 
 
 OLDEN DAYS. 
 
 Heigho ! heigho ! these stupid days 
 
 Of flurry, hurry and worry ! 
 Alas ! alas ! for the dear old times 
 
 Of elf and angel and fairy! 
 
 When men with brows all brown with toil 
 
 Sat in their tent's low portal, 
 And talked in the rosy glow of eve, 
 
 To guests with eyes immortal. 
 
 When mothers with children's golden hair 
 
 Twined round caressing fingers, 
 Paust;d and whispered, "List, my dears, 
 
 To the holy angel singers." 
 
 When the rose wore yet in her cheek the blush 
 
 She'd caught in the garden glowing. 
 Where the nightingale uttered his passionate plaint 
 
 ^ 
 
 Near the musical river's flowing" 
 
 fc>" 
 
 When blossoms of crimson gold and blue 
 
 Held each a wee immortal 
 Who sang in the silvery gray of eve, 
 
 In his gay tent's perfumed portal. 
 
159 
 
 When the infant world — her onward flight, 
 In shade and sunshine winging, 
 
 Still glowed with meni'ries rare and bright 
 Of the ''Morning Star's" sweet singing. 
 
 Ah well ! will not our own grand deeds 
 Make e'en these gray days golden? 
 
 Shall we not talk with angel guests, 
 As did our father's olden? 
 
 MAYTIME. 
 
 O the sunny singing Maytime 
 Of the sweet sad long ago ! 
 
 How it blossoms from the grayness 
 In a blue and golden glow ! 
 
 How its tall trees touched the heavens 
 Smiling down in rose and snow! 
 
 For the sky — a great blue flower — 
 
 So very near us lay, 
 That the dear God sent His angels 
 
 To join us in our play. 
 Ah, those loving sinless angels ! 
 
 We need them sore to-day. 
 
160 
 
 And the violets of that Maytime ! 
 
 They were bits of bhie we said 
 Shaken from the laughing heavens 
 
 When the angels danced o'erhead ; 
 For of sweeter fairer flowers 
 
 Who has ever heard or read? 
 
 Dear the thought of Eve's lost garden, 
 Bright with joy, dim with pain; 
 
 But what was it to our Eden 
 Shining in the quaint old lane, 
 
 Where the trees told fairy stories, 
 And the birds sang sweet refrain? 
 
 Where the great blue tender heavens. 
 Warm with love, so near us lay, 
 
 That the dear God sent His angels 
 Just to join us in our play? — 
 
 Well ; — those loving luring playmates 
 Made a grave mistake one day. 
 
 For a little baby brother 
 
 With eyes too large and bright 
 
 For earth's needs, shared with the angels 
 That day their upward fhght, 
 
 Taking sunbeams from our morning, 
 ■ And star-gleams from our night. 
 
161 
 
 'Tis a tooHsh homesick fancy ; — 
 For no light or love has flown ; 
 
 All the sights and sounds of Maytime 
 Move in glory on and on, 
 
 To the long and perfect summer 
 
 Where our best and blest are gone. 
 
 Yet — that little baby brother ! — 
 As the IMaytimes glide away, 
 
 Oft I wonder : "Will he know me 
 When we meet on that blest Day? 
 
 Will he love me as he loved me 
 When the angels joined our play?" 
 
162 
 
 THAT'S ALL. 
 
 This wonderful life and that other life — 
 
 With a little beck between, 
 In a swirl of foam and eddy of strife ! 
 
 The great trees forward lean 
 From the slumbrous light of the Other Side 
 
 Throwing their shadows afar, 
 'Till we fall asleep in the eventide, 
 
 To wake 'neath the shine of a star 
 That heralds the dawn of a strange new day ;- 
 
 And we spring to our eager feet. 
 And gather the threads of yesterday 
 
 That our web may be complete, 
 Among stirs of a morning new, 
 Beneath skies of a fresher blue 
 

 163 
 
 MAY, 1898. 
 
 'Tis the morn of the day and the morn of the year — 
 
 'Tis May ! 
 The hills glimmer far, the hills glitter near, 
 Their huge sides are shaking with laughters of cheer 
 
 To-day — , 
 'Tis the laugh of the brook on its way to the sea, 
 Keeping time in its race with the boom of the bee, 
 The trill of the bird and the sway of the tree, 
 
 'Tis May 
 
 To-day. 
 
 Our flag with its glory of stripe and of star 
 
 To-day, 
 Is flinging its menace to tyrants afar. 
 May never a thought its integrity mar ! 
 
 We pray : 
 "May its staff in the fight be upheld by His hand 
 Reaching down from above. In His light may we stand ! 
 That this be His cause, and that this be His Land, 
 
 To-day 
 
 We pray!" 
 
164 
 
 THE SUNSET BELLS. 
 
 The slanting rays of sunset fell 
 O'er many a dome and tower, 
 
 'Till lowly roof and citadel 
 Burst into golden flower ; 
 
 As in the glad heroic days 
 
 Quaint Moscow lay once more ablaze ; 
 
 And we looked on with glad amaze 
 Her splendid sunset hour. 
 
 Then suddenly the bells leapt forth 
 
 With music rich and mellow, 
 That swept the south and swept the north 
 
 Like billow heaped on billow, — 
 Now near, now far, now earth, now star, — 
 One perfect strain, no note to mar, 
 We know what bells of Heaven are 
 Since Moscow's sunset hour. 
 
 When slant the light across life's day 
 
 And feet stand low in shadow, 
 May heart and soul glow in the ray 
 From Love's high-lying meadow, 
 Vv^here Shepherd blest will kindly keep 
 And guard the weary wandering sheep, 
 And give the worn beloved sleep, 
 In life's fair sunset hour. 
 
165 
 
 Then may we hear from far and near 
 
 The bell's sweet silver ringing, 
 Their notes of praise, their notes of prayer 
 
 Blent with the angels' singing. 
 We smile. "The morn was rosy fair. 
 The noon was ripe and rich and rare, 
 But what with evening can compare 
 The blessed sunset hour?" 
 
166 
 
 GRANNY. 
 
 Susie and I sat chatting 
 
 In granny's cosy room, 
 Draped was the low, dark ceiling 
 
 With waves of golden bloom, 
 And every nook and corner 
 
 Was lifted ont of gloom. 
 
 Upon the glowing hearthstone, 
 
 Within an easy chair. 
 Slept softly, dear, old granny : 
 
 The crown of silver hair — 
 The saint-like face — a picture 
 
 As quaint as it was fair. 
 
 The firelight danced and wavered — 
 Now touched the sleeper's face — 
 
 Then gave to pretty Susie 
 Another elfish grace, 
 
 While lights and sh«ades fantastic 
 Made awesome all the place. 
 
167 
 
 Dear Susie whispered lower, 
 
 A sad and lonesome tale 
 Of a little phantom baby 
 
 With a most imbabelike wail, 
 And we drew more close together 
 
 With cheeks grown strangely pale. 
 
 The fire burned low and lower, 
 Till the waves of golden bloom 
 
 Faded ofY from walls and ceiling, 
 Leaving draperies of gloom ; 
 
 And great, grim, stalking shadows 
 Filled stealthily the room. 
 
 "What all in darkness, dearies?" 
 
 Our kind, dear granny said. 
 Quickly springing — hands caressing 
 
 Fell upon the dear white head ; 
 Then the fire flashed up brightly 
 
 And all evil shadows fled. 
 
 Years ago this truest lady 
 
 Having laid earth's burdens down, 
 Walked with trust from out the shadows, 
 
 Into God's love-lighted town, 
 To receive in meekest wonder 
 
 From Eternal Hands — a crown. 
 
168 
 
 But she left behind a memory — 
 
 Very softly be. it said — ■ 
 Like her own life sweet and gentle 
 
 From which all dark shadows fled. 
 Thus we see her high in brightness, 
 
 Never 'mong the dusty dead. 
 
169 
 
 A MEMORY. 
 
 *Tvvas the Keats of the summer, blooming June, 
 With the birds and the brooklets all in tune 
 
 And the air with music ringing ; 
 In the fair sweet morn of that long ago 
 In its misty light, it was hard to know 
 
 If hearts or birds were singing. 
 
 The lilies were filling the world with light, 
 And the roses red with the roses white 
 
 Were whisp'ring perfumed praises, 
 While the souls of sweet May violets fled 
 Were blooming as thick in the skies o'erhead 
 
 As the earth was starred with daisies. 
 
 I can see our home, a picture fair, 
 As it stood in the clear rose-scented air 
 'Neath banners of sunrise golden, 
 
170 
 
 And anear a pear tree broad and high, 
 With feet on earth -and head in sky 
 Like dream of prophet olden. 
 
 And oft in that pear tree broad and tall 
 We could see the angels harps and all, — 
 
 Ah me the childish fancies ! 
 But better than angels e'er sung or said 
 Was the sight to us of a dear white head 
 
 Bent low o'er a bed of pansies. 
 
 For we had been making a childish moan 
 For a garden entirely and all our own 
 
 Wherein to plant and gather ; 
 And lo, an Eden of purple and gold, 
 Of sweet thought-blossoms to keep and hold ! 
 
 Our kind indulgent father ! 
 
 He is to us now he was to us then, 
 The best and purest and first of men. 
 Dear priest of birds and flowers ! 
 
171 
 
 You may talk of your lilies fair and tall, 
 And your roses strayed o'er Eden's wall 
 But the pansy shall be ours. 
 
 We cannot say for we do not know, 
 If the angels stay or the angels go, 
 
 Or if all be childish fancies, 
 But we know forever and ever fled. 
 From our sight is a dear old silvered head, 
 
 And the gold has left our pansies. 
 
172 
 
 WOOD PINKS. 
 
 Early in youth's sweet, sunny morn, 
 Just as a beautiful day was born, 
 I and my crony, Molly Thorn, — 
 
 Dear Moll ! her great brown eyes aglow ; 
 Sweet eyes ! that closed long years ago, 
 To ope on glories angels know, — 
 
 Stood on the edge of Marley's Hill, 
 With hand uplifted, mute and still. 
 Drinking of Nature's sweets our fill. 
 
 On either arm rude baskets swung, 
 Of leaves and mosses quaintly strung; 
 Each bush a golden song outflung 
 
 Upon the violet-scented air. 
 
 And trembling blossoms everywhere, 
 
 Seemed uttering words of thankful prayer. 
 
 Thru the forest dim where wood-pinks grow, 
 We walked with footsteps staid and slow. 
 Why ? — Only the elves and fairies know. 
 
 Laughter and song died quite away ; 
 
 For being so happy, how could we be gay ? 
 
 So birds and blossoms had all to say. 
 
173 
 
 And when the beautiful day was seen, 
 Wrapped in her mantle of royal sheen, 
 Dying in splendor like Egypt's Queen, 
 
 With baskets filled with the wood-pinks sweet, 
 Molly and I, with our eager feet, 
 Hastened a mother's smile to meet. 
 
 The mother's smile and the great brown eyes 
 Are mem'ries now ; and as warm tears rise, 
 We watch the glory of springtime skies 
 
 Tenderly bending o'er Marley's Hill 
 Wliere the odor of wood-pinks linger still, — 
 And the tokens sweet of a loving Will. 
 
174 
 
 THE PROMISE. 
 
 I think of the promise, my darhng, 
 
 You made me with faihng breath, 
 When I held you close to my breaking heart,-—- 
 
 But not so close as Death. 
 We had been all and all to each other, 
 
 Shut in from dearth and cold, 
 And none before had come between — ' 
 
 But Death is stern and bold. 
 
 ^If I can I will come to you, sister" — 
 
 This your promise — my sweetest and best, 
 And eager, I watched when the evening 
 
 Made rich with its glories the West, 
 And hearkened your voice at midnight, 
 
 When the house was hushed and still — 
 And waited when early morning 
 
 Illumined with splendor the hill. 
 
175 
 
 No matter liow low was your whisper, 
 
 No matter how dull was my ear, 
 My soul \vould have heard you, darling, 
 
 My heart would have answered, ''Here !' 
 But when never a footstep — a whisper — 
 
 The awful silence stirred, 
 What could I think of you, darling? 
 
 You had always kept your word. 
 
 Were you tired and weak with earth's burdens 
 And in need of a long, long rest? 
 
 Did these months seem to you but a moment 
 In the "Land of the leal" and the blest? 
 
 Ah, I know you, I know you, my sister, 
 
 No matter how soundly you slept 
 
 My voice would reach and awake you — 
 But how could you sleep while I wept? 
 
 And the song of that seraph most gifted 
 In the full, white light of the Throne, 
 
 Would not make you forget your sister 
 Your sister, bereft and alone. 
 
176 
 
 I am weary and sick of conjecture — 
 
 Dear Christ ! — Thou hast trod the same track, 
 
 Thou knowest, O Friend, and Thou only, 
 Why my sister has never come back. 
 
 SISTER OLIVE. 
 Died aged eighty-seven. 
 
 Now God be thanked, it is over ! 
 
 At last she has heard the call 
 Of humanity's great Lover, 
 
 And burst her prison wall. 
 Ay, from that narrow prison 
 
 With its dusky light and dim. 
 Her unfettered soul has risen 
 
 Like a victor's triumph hymn. 
 Long, long and very faintly 
 
 Her sun shone in the west. 
 But her patience meek and saintly, 
 
 Made all about her blest. 
 As the clouds low-hung and gloomy 
 
 Lend a splendor to the sky 
 When with folded work beside her 
 
 The Day lies down to die, 
 
1 
 
 < i 
 
 So the mists of age, the weakness, 
 
 The weariness, the chill, 
 Gather rays of warmth and glory 
 
 From the sun behind the hill ; 
 The sun that slowly setting 
 
 To our narrow-visioned eyes, 
 Will begin another dawning 
 
 In the soul's serener skies. 
 Those pale and stiffened fingers 
 
 That Icnit and stitched and spun ! 
 Just here their work is finished, 
 
 Their w^ork just there begun. 
 The heart is cold and pulseless 
 
 That warmed with love to all, 
 But the love lives on forever 
 
 It knows no prison wall. 
 A hope is thy fair memory 
 
 That leaves nor doubt nor warning, 
 Then a warm good-night, kind Sister, 
 
 'Till w^e greet thy glad good morning. 
 
178 
 
 OFF CHARLESTON. 
 
 Shut in 'mid amethyst and gold, 
 
 She lay, our good ship stout and bold. 
 
 Waiting the tidal rise ; 
 Like bee in flower, with sweets in view, 
 She poised and swayed 'twixt blue and blue,- 
 
 Bright seas and dazzling skies. 
 
 With tinkling laugh and trifling talk, 
 The youths and maidens stand or walk 
 
 The deck with languid feet ; 
 For we were off fair Charleston's shore 
 An August day — need we say more ? 
 
 That breathless blazing heat ! 
 
 In groups the older people chat. 
 And smile at this and sigh at that, 
 
 With faces worn and pale : 
 Anear they see a Southron stand 
 Before a lady — hat in hand — 
 
 Close listening to her tale. 
 
179 
 
 Her clear gray eyes are filled with light, 
 Her slender hands, as pale as slight, 
 
 Lie clasped in quiet grace. 
 "That woful April day," she said, 
 ''Will haunt me till among the dead, 
 
 With grave dust on my face. 
 
 "We girls rushed forth from school that day, 
 With hearts all light and blithe and gay — 
 
 For peace was now so near : — 
 The streets were filled with wailing cries, 
 With pallid cheeks and anguished eyes. 
 
 As o'er our country's bier. 
 
 "Our President is killed !" one said, 
 
 He might have cried "Our Land is dead !" 
 
 To us it meant the same. 
 I hear e'en now the smothered cries 
 Of strong rough men — whose streaming eyes 
 
 Showed gleams of souls aflame. 
 
 We heard the words — our light, gay tone 
 In one quick flash became a moan ; 
 Our dearest friend was gone ! 
 
180 
 
 We looked up to the heavens blue, 
 And thought ''Sure God is dying too, 
 And earth is left alone." 
 
 The Southron mused — his large black eyes 
 Grown larger with a grave surprise — 
 
 And spoke with hurried breath : 
 *'It is so strange ! — I did not know — 
 But if you all mourned Lincoln so. 
 
 His was a blessed death." 
 
 His soft melodious southern drawl 
 Brought up strange mem'ries to us all, 
 
 Once foes, now foes no more ; 
 Across the years we hear let fall 
 These words — ''With charity to all" — 
 
 As never heard before. 
 
 Again we see the sad, worn face — 
 Lit with the humorous patient grace 
 
 That so won common folk. 
 No braver man lies 'neath the sod — 
 No nobler soul e'er fled to God — 
 
 No kinder heart e'er broke 1 
 
181 
 
 Where lifted high his statue stands 
 In bronze and stone — in many lands, 
 
 The grave, pathetic eyes 
 Say still, "The God we half forget 
 These busy days, is living yet — 
 
 And He knows no surprise." 
 
182 
 
 ONE WORD. 
 
 One word, O dear, dear friend, one little word 
 Here in the heart of twilight panting low 
 From memories of morning's golden glow! 
 
 The whispering twitter of a sleepy bird 
 
 Comes in and stirs the violet-scented air; — 
 I hear thy dainty footfalls on the stair, 
 
 The trail of thy soft garments in the hall, 
 I catch the tawny splendor of thy hair, 
 
 And thou art by me, sweet and slim and tall. 
 Bend nearer, closer darling! Is it true 
 
 That memory and love immortal are? 
 
 That you watch for me from some wondrous star? 
 That in that rapturous meeting none shall rue 
 That our last parting was so swift, so far? 
 
183 
 
 WHAT KATY DID. 
 To K. W. 
 
 Katy didn't? Yea she did. 
 
 And she did it well. 
 Katy's deeds are often hid, 
 
 'Cause she'll never tell. 
 
 Truth lies in a well ! 
 
 Such a cake as Katy made ! 
 
 Plums and nuts and spice. 
 We three on it made a raid, — 
 
 Each one took a slice, 
 Saying softly ''Katy did, 
 Merit is not always hid.'' 
 
 Nay, my Katy, truth shines clear, 
 
 Even in a well ; 
 And tho you, a deft-brained dear, 
 
 May not choose to tell, 
 Fact is fact and truth is true, — 
 Pray what cannot Katy do ? 
 
 She can make the cutest ^own, 
 
 She can roast and bake, 
 And — O, now you need not frown,- 
 
184 
 
 She can make such luscious cake ! 
 Ah, the nuts and plums and spice ! 
 How you all would like a slice. 
 
 Katy can with Nature walk 
 
 Free from every art, 
 Ferns and flowers in her talk, 
 
 And sunshine in her heart. 
 Now you see I tell you true, 
 For what cannot Katy do? 
 
 When I tell what Katy did 
 
 In this Christmas time, 
 My love, dear, must not be hid, — 
 
 Read it in my rhyme. 
 May your skies be bright and clear, 
 Christmas last you all the year. 
 
185 
 
 TO H. Q. M. 
 
 In the Louvre among its wealth of paintings 
 
 Is one from the pencil of ^Murillo : 
 
 Just the preparation for a banquet, — 
 
 But the caterers are the shining angels, 
 
 And their helpers, groups of sinless cherubs. 
 
 What think you should furnish forth that banquet? 
 
 Not the fruits of torn and tarnished plumage, 
 
 Silenced song and terror-stricken anguish ! 
 
 Who could place among such woful aspects 
 
 Aureoled heads and pure hands white with blessings? 
 
 Nay, but golden glow of lustrous apples. 
 
 The soft flush of sunset-tinted peaches. 
 
 The rich purple bloom of terraced vineyards; — 
 
 And among them crimson-hearted roses. 
 
 White-cupped lilies overflowed with perfume. 
 
 Such alone would grace an angel's banquet. 
 
 Such be worthv of the smiles of cherubs. 
 
186 
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD OF 1902. 
 To A W . 
 
 Eo, the years slip one by one, 
 
 Down the dizzy steeps of time ! 
 Golden in the morning's sun, 
 Leaden when the day is done, — 
 Let us make a higher climb, 
 
 Where the peaks stand clear and bold, 
 
 And we fear no setting sun; 
 Where the very shadows hold 
 In their arms the morning's gold. 
 And the day is never done. 
 
 Like the rare old dreamer's dream, 
 
 Where the shepherds from the hight 
 Caught a glimpse of God's white gleam. 
 Saw the light of Heaven stream 
 From the pearl gate just in sight. 
 
18' 
 
 Heard the joy-bells ringing sweet 
 
 The glad news of pilgrims come, 
 And the tread of shining feet 
 Hast'ning down the golden street, 
 Welcoming the weary home. 
 
 We like them would take our stand, 
 For the hights are always there ; — 
 But we lose the guiding hand. 
 And a mist sweeps o'er the Land, 
 "Till we mar\-el if "tis fair. 
 
 Then when we see thee, dear friend. 
 
 Standing firm upon the peak, 
 Well we know tho briars rend, 
 Foes oppose, — the blessed end 
 Shall be ours if we but seek. 
 
 Well we know the thorns that sting, 
 Rightly gjasped shall help us up 
 
 To the palace of the King ; 
 
 Trifling seems earth's richest thing. 
 \\'hen we with the Lord would sup ! 
 
188 
 
 From the threshold we see thee, 
 Shining on us Hke a star ; — 
 
 Think of what we fain would be ! 
 
 Of the things we fain would flee ! 
 Judge us not from what we are. 
 
 Jan. 1, 1902. 
 
j 
 

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