Sphinx of Gold ■*> 
 
 BY FRANKLYN W. LEE. 
 
The Sphinx of Gold: 
 
 AND OTHER SONNETS. 
 
 13 
 
 lz 
 
 By FRANKLYN W. LEE 
 
 The post, 
 
 % S '* J RUSH CITY., 
 
 /I MINN. 
 
 I^** 5V- «- 
 
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©*t* sphinx of (&&1&+ 
 
 IS it so wise to make a sphinx of gold, 
 To be adored by those, who, lacking grace, 
 Flaunt satins in the pauper's care-worn face? 
 For some day, like the mystic sphinx of old, 
 It will propound a riddle, and the bold, 
 
 The weak and tawdry will abate their pace 
 And cease to think of jewels, silk and lace: 
 As from those yellow lips, so stern and cold, 
 These words will come: "I was the first, the end, 
 
 Yet not the end, for mine beginneth here; 
 I bought the greater, yet have less to spend; 
 
 Worthless am I, that once was held so dear; 
 Man's greatest shield, I can no more defend." 
 And such shalliisten, dumb with fear. 
 
&& it x& p*rtttim+ 
 
 THE sins of nations are like sins of man, 
 And bring their punishment. When conscience dies 
 In any people; when fair justice lies 
 Like any gold-bought wanton; when the plan 
 Of liberty is hampered for a span 
 
 Of time while freedom chafes and seeks to rise; 
 When sordid policy directs the wise, 
 And gross and gilded Mammon leads the van, 
 The nation sins. ]t is the law that sin 
 
 Must be atoned for, and the mass must pay 
 Its debt. If not, why should the unit win 
 
 The wrath of God and face the Judgment Day? 
 God is not partial in His discipline, 
 
 And oft has swept a sinful race away. 
 
SOME people in their dooryards proudly stand 
 And cry: "This is the world!" and strive to guide 
 All things into their narrow groove. Thsy pride 
 Themselves upon keen wisdom, and demand 
 That they shall rule supreme on every hand. 
 Yet Babylon went down and Carthage died; 
 Rome sank to sleep and Hellas could not hide: 
 Atlantis was engulfed, and Egypt's land 
 Lost all its glory. We are little more 
 
 Than they, and something less, and even so 
 Shall we be swallowed in the awful roar 
 
 Of ages, and leave little here to show 
 That we existed. Thus it was before 
 
 And shall be as the races come and go. 
 
&he ltoma*J*iitg« 
 
 DEAR God, vouchsafe thy wondrous pity when 
 This fleeting masquerade of ours is o'er, 
 And we can hide our inner selves no more. 
 We sorely need Thy pity now; but then 
 When Truth has forced the bosom's secret den 
 
 And torn the bandage from each unknown sore; 
 When we shall know who lied, who calmly bore 
 A hidden burden; whom of two was wren, 
 The other hawk; the secrets of the dumb — 
 
 Ah, then shall kingly Self in anguish fall 
 To grovel in the dust as torments come 
 
 In Truth's white livery to one and all, 
 And deep humiliation be the sum 
 
 Of all things here, and men on Thee shall call. 
 
BIRTH is no accident — God sends us here 
 To live appointed lives, in which we aim 
 To cure the errors of the past, reclaim 
 Oui souls, prepare to win that higher sphere 
 From which we sank in some forgotten year. 
 Environment and circumstance, the shame 
 Of poverty, misjudgment, passion's flame — 
 All these were ordered and designed to clear 
 Our souls of pride, that we might rise once more 
 
 To that proud state from which we fell, swift hurled, 
 When angel legions down upon us bore 
 
 To snatch the rebel fiag we had unfurled, 
 And, having won the battle, drove us o'er 
 The brink as exiles to a lesser world. 
 
pmi '0 the $$i&p. 
 
 IT gleams before me and I give it chase, 
 The while my eager heart, in hope, contends 
 That what I see is Truth, and so defends 
 The shifty light; but, though at headlong pace 
 I rush in search of its abiding place, 
 
 I seek in vain: the way grows steep, descends, 
 Abruptly turns and into marshes wends, 
 Or where the brambles thickly interlace. 
 But, even like the Jew whom Christ bade stay 
 
 Until He came, so must I wander on 
 In quest of that which seems to say me nay, 
 Yet lures me by the hope I feed upon — 
 Shines brightly now and lights me on my way, 
 So cunningly eludes and fades anon. 
 
(&o&& &lcin0gvam&+ 
 
 SAD stories are the monograms of God. 
 The heart may sink beneath a weight of woe; 
 Disease may make the weary hours so slow 
 That mutiny is roused the while we plod; 
 Dead hopes may lie beneath a barren sod, 
 
 And all our fairest dreams, with their brave show, 
 In empty vapor fade. And yet, we know 
 That God is good, and just: His chastening rod 
 Afflicts us sorely, but with kind intent; 
 
 For in the stripes His monogram appears 
 And stamps the soul with right development, 
 
 So that, when we set forth for higher spheres, 
 Each has a passport, by the Master sent, 
 
 To take him yonder, where there are no tears. 
 
©ft* igUmmrfatixm* 
 
 WHAT thoughts weighed down upon the Nazarene, 
 In Pilate's court, that day of rue and gloom, 
 When those whom He had sought to save from doom 
 Barabbas chose? Was anguish e'er as keen 
 As that which marked the Christ-refusing scene? 
 For He had toiled, with God's own perfect loom, 
 To weave a web-like curtain for the tomb 
 Through whose fair mesh the after-life serene 
 Might be discerned; and then — oh, bitter thought, 
 
 The Holy One who was of all men shief 
 Was set aside as one who counts for naught, 
 
 The mob demanding freedom for a thief! 
 The Cross to Him was merciful — it brought 
 
 Release from heartless man, and sweet relief. 
 
®mi&&x0n. 
 
 WHEN all is over and we stand aside — 
 Unseen, unheard, unfelt, — while others weep 
 Above a form that lies in seeming sleep, 
 The greatest punishment no Satan's pride 
 Will need w point out. There will come a tide 
 Of recollection, and the waves will leap 
 To crush us with the vows we did not keep, 
 The smiles ungiv'n, the kisses oft denied, 
 Caresses killed, good deeds withheld from men, 
 
 Ingratitude to God — and we shall kneel 
 And pray for hell as drawn by Dante's pen 
 
 As being easier borne, the while we feel 
 The cruel barbs of things undone, and ken 
 
 How much we lost in slighting others' weal. 
 
SIN does not always wear the tawdry gown 
 Of Vice— ah, no, despite the Pharisee, 
 His narrow creed and icy homily. 
 The wanton prudes who turn aside and frown 
 Whene'er a sinner passes by are down 
 
 Much further in the scale of worth than she; 
 For God is merciful and just, and He 
 Oft gives the broken penitent a crown; 
 But lack of charity, self worship, pride 
 
 Are sins much greater in the mystic Eye 
 And therefore win no pardon. Men have died 
 In saintly odor who were scorned on high, 
 While outcast penitents have sat beside 
 
 The whiterobed angels, for they lived no lie. 
 
gtarma* 
 
 {LIKE the word. It often reconciles 
 The baffling inequalities of life. 
 For Karma means that one who sends a knife, 
 By passion sped, and life's fair spark exiles, 
 Though he may mask his inward guilt with smiles 
 And die unscathed, will find the heavens rife 
 With accusations sounding like the strife 
 Of war between the devil's sable filss. 
 He cannot shun the awful punishment; 
 
 And no less, too, shall he escape who aims 
 To rob his fellow man of sweet content. 
 
 Or cozens him, deprives of faith, defames — 
 For such there is a hell of wide extent, 
 
 Made up of earth-lives rather than of flames. 
 
^ffinittr. 
 
 SOMETIMES we know it not, but there exists 
 A clay-clad soul in duplicate of each 
 Of us, whate'er the skeptical may teach; 
 And he who, groping through earth's baffling mists, 
 Encounters it, new-armored seeks the lists 
 Of life. The happiness so few can reach 
 Is his, and none its sweetness may impeach; 
 For perfect love, which otherwise resists 
 
 Man's crafty lures, is born of two made one 
 By joining souls which once were far astray. 
 
 Yet passion does not make the weld. 'T is done 
 By deep affinity, although today 
 
 Men worship passion as men did the sun, 
 While pure affinity is laughed away. 
 
THIS world is not a play-ground; were it so, 
 Life would become so charged with weariness 
 That men woa'd kill thsmselves to gain access 
 To sorrow's realm, and pray to feel the blow 
 Misfortune holds in store, that they might know 
 The value of Life's joy; for pain, distress, 
 Bereavement and the hours all comfortless 
 Are umbers well designed to better show 
 The lights and high-lights of our earthly days. 
 The shadows are essential, and they bring 
 Appreciation of the brighter ways 
 
 We find anon to gladden us; the sting 
 Accentuates the joy that soon allays 
 
 The pain, and sad hours boon take lighter wing. 
 
IT is not best to be so quick of tongue 
 To mark the weaknesses we may perceive 
 In others, nor to calmly disbelieve 
 Another's purpose as you coldly prowl among 
 His daily acts; to scorn the hard-earned rung 
 
 His feet have reached; to stoop to slyly weave 
 A mesh of gossip which must pain and grieve. 
 There is no cleverness in having stung 
 A fellow creature for the stinging's sake. 
 
 God knows our weaknesses, and He will weigh 
 Them all in time and measure each mistake 
 
 Or ill design; and, on the judgment day, 
 Will judge 'twixt those who left a slimy wake 
 And those who, all unthinking, went astray. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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