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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
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A YEAR'S SINGING 
 
 OTHER POEAIS. 
 
 ANSTISS CURTISS GARY. 
 
 Author of ''One Question.' 
 
 ^P'f7'^ 
 
 BRFNTANO'S 
 2(M-2C6 Wabash A vent e, Citicago. 
 
 1895. 
 

 Copyright, 1894, 
 By ANSTISS CURTISS GARV. 
 
 A limited edition of one hundred copies of this book 
 is printed for Subscribers. This is No 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To the Spirit of Soug — the breath of 
 
 whose enkindling bloweth where it listeth 
 
 these faint echoes of its passing are rev- 
 erentl}- dedicated. 
 
And if 1 write of love, who will hear me? 
 For the world is full of lovers busied with 
 their own affairs. And aught else than 
 love to write of I know not, for I knew 
 naught else while the folly lasted. 
 
ON THE NATURE OF LOVE. 
 
 A Parable. 
 
 THERE once lived a man the desire of 
 whose heart was to find Love : and he 
 sought long and earnestly and asked help 
 of many, who could not help him, but only 
 hindered him in his pursuit. 
 
 Now this man had spent his youth and had 
 entered upon middle age when a strange 
 thing happened to him. 
 
 He met a woman whom he wooed, as he 
 wooed all sweet and beautiful and unwon 
 forms which he hoped might satisfy his de- 
 sire for a spiritual and individual identifi- 
 cation of his own with another nature . 
 
6 ON THE NATURE OF LOVE. 
 
 And the woman was gracious unto him 
 and he did not tire of her as he had alwaj'S 
 tired of every one who yielded to his 
 demand for love. For, though charming 
 and tender and necessary to him, he could 
 not gain the power over her spirit, which, 
 when gained, rendered each nature which 
 he could control valueless, because no 
 longer stimulating to his search . 
 
 One day, while he was musing upon 
 Love and his failure in winning this woman 
 entirely to himself — for he had never failed 
 in all his life before to receive the affection 
 he demanded but could not return — he 
 looked earnestly upon her, and as he looked 
 he recognized the face of a woman who 
 had loved him in his youth . And he cried 
 to her, " How is it that you are still young, 
 while I have left my youth behind me in 
 my searching?" She answered, ''I am 
 young because I found Love in my youth 
 and am identified with it, and henceforth I 
 can know no change. The mystery of the 
 human heart is clear to me, for the hope 
 that is of youth brings to the heart the 
 
(JN THE NATURE OF LOVE. 7 
 
 knowledge of Love, and Love and God are 
 one and indestructible." 
 
 And he said, <'0 my early sweetheart! 
 who has taught you these truths ? " And 
 she smiled upon him and answered, ' ' You, 
 my lover!" Then he asked her, "How 
 could I teach you what I did not know my- 
 self, what I have been asking others to 
 teach me all my life ? " 
 
 She answered him, ' 'You have sought Love 
 these many years and have not found it be- 
 cause you have thousjht others must brinoj it 
 to you. You have not looked in the one place 
 where Love can be found, — your own heart. 
 There only is the fire kindled that shines back 
 reflected from others' eyes: there only dwells 
 that you have sought in the outer and visible 
 universe and thought to find imprisoned in 
 other forms. As you give of your life do 
 you receive knowledge of the law of love 
 that guides and binds the universe." 
 
 Then the man hid his face and wept and 
 said, « ' While I have kindled the flames of 
 passion and regret and yearning in many 
 hearts, yet have I now no power to create 
 
8 ON THE NATURE OF LOVE. 
 
 the flame of love, that seeking not its own 
 is satisfied to be of God." And he went 
 sorrowfully on his way, while the woman 
 who had loved him in his youth wept also 
 for a little time — though she saw clearlj'^ 
 through her tears that the disappearing of 
 the symbol was within the thought of God 
 — because the wonder and the awe of it 
 seemed more than she could bear. 
 
L° 
 
 She. 
 
 the cry 
 
 Of heart's joy when Love was 
 strong! 
 Heart's despair, Love proven wrong. 
 Let men judge our lives as seen 
 Lines between. 
 
 He. 
 
 Thy command 
 And my answer, sweet, they go 
 Side by side, that all may know 
 What may be known and expressed 
 
 Of Life's best. 
 
 She. 
 
 Is it one, 
 This that we have known, one strength? 
 Do two souls e'er reach at length 
 Equalness, Love's wonder, through 
 
 Being two ? 
 
10 PROLOGUE. 
 
 This, Love's cup, 
 I have drained it till no thirst 
 Now proves equal to the first: 
 Tasting likewise proves its sweet 
 
 Incomplete. 
 
 He. 
 
 Which loved more. 
 You who wandered, I who stood 
 Watching vanish Life's best good? 
 Useless question for us two, 
 
 I, or you? 
 
 When we failed 
 Our own lives to understand, 
 Though we stood once hand in hand, 
 Think you stranger's eyes can reach 
 
 Beyond speech? 
 
 You and I, 
 With our lives' marred texture wrought 
 In the garments of our thought. 
 May not be thus judged, indeed. 
 
 While men read. 
 
""Whom do you love, my darling? 
 Whom do you love best?" " You." 
 ' ' I have loved once and often. 
 I have been false and true. 
 Whom do you love then, dear one? 
 Whom do you love best?" '• You." 
 
 *'Whom should you fear most, sweetheart, 
 
 If any fear should grow 
 
 Where your great love dwells steadfast 
 
 In your heart's stronghold?" ''Lo 
 
 Only myself, Lover! 
 
 If the heart failed me so. " 
 
12 
 
 Morning. 
 
 God help me to forget — was said. 
 
 God help me to forget 
 The day we parted, and, alas! 
 
 The da}^ when first we met; 
 And I can bear life's daily care 
 
 Thus lightened from regret. 
 
 Evening. 
 
 God help me to recall — was said. 
 
 God help me to recall 
 The days when Love and thou wert one, 
 
 And one was all in all! 
 And I can live although I grieve 
 
 At that which did befall. 
 
^ W^ZKX^B MinQlUQ, 
 
Mlxz, 
 
 "Woman's pleasure, woman's pain- 
 Nature made them blinder motions bounded 
 in a shallower brain." 
 
 FRUITION. 
 
 i^N my forehead is placed the crown 
 ^-^ Worn for ages by all who knew 
 
 Sweet from bitter and false from true. 
 Poet, they call me, folding down 
 The poet's mantle above the brown, 
 
 Dull, woman's robe that would fain show 
 through. 
 
 While I stand wondering what was heard 
 In my verses to make them dear 
 Unto a listening people's ear; 
 
 What the charm that their pulses stirred. 
 
 Mine was no World's song. Every word 
 Told one thing only, that Love is here. 
 
 Love has come, I sang, loud or low; 
 
 Love is here on the earth again; 
 
 Love that vanished away from men • 
 Winters and summers, and years ago. 
 Love is here in the paths we know. 
 
 Love shall comfort us now as then. 
 
 14 
 
FRUITION. 15 
 
 Songs of everything 'neath the sun, 
 Poets haA^e written, glad and free, 
 Tales of the ancient chivalry, 
 Peace and war ; and the World's ' 'Well done !" 
 Followed their fancies one by one. 
 Echoed in praise of their melody. 
 
 But I have written of Love alone. 
 
 From quiet places where we did meet. 
 Through moonlight's glamor and sunset's 
 fleet; 
 Somewhat uttered, of rapture showm. 
 Something told that the heart has known. 
 Of Love's wonderment, incomplete. 
 
 That is all, not enough to claim 
 
 Poet's honors — my lips would shrink, 
 The cup's sacrament some must drink 
 
 Ere entitled to bear such name. 
 
 Love is waiting me then, not Fame, 
 Whatsoever the people think. 
 
16 SHE. 
 
 THE QUERY. 
 
 WHAT would you give me if you came, 
 Lover, for whom I have no name? 
 What could you offer to satisfy 
 This want eternal, whose center I ? 
 Would you give to life or destroy its grace, 
 If we stood acknowledged once, face to 
 face? 
 
 Love, I know, and His might that drives 
 
 Low contentment from out our lives. 
 
 Would I be wiser if I saw 
 
 The spirit's form in the letter's law? 
 
 Would I be happier if I heard 
 
 In mortal accents Love's strange new word? 
 
 Would you prove the reason that never 
 
 came 
 For the lack of gold in the sunset's flame? 
 Would you be enough ? Could you make 
 
 quite clear 
 My life's unreason without you, dear? 
 soul unknown, held awhile by fate! 
 Do I want or dread you? The risk is 
 
 great! 
 
THE QUERY. 17 
 
 I am myself. If j^ou came and proved 
 All that ever in man was loved 
 Could I lose that self hood in finding you? 
 give me, Lover, an answer true! 
 To lose were bitter, to gain were all, 
 The answer waits^ yet I dare not call. 
 
18 SHE. 
 
 SOLUTION. 
 
 I THOUGHT that I should not find you, 
 I thought you were yet to be, 
 Or had been and had not waited 
 
 For your other selfhood, me. 
 I thought all thoughts, save the false one 
 
 That you did hot need me more 
 Than any wonderful living 
 
 You might know or had known before ; 
 Than all that the worlds might offer, 
 
 Such thought was, I felt, untrue, 
 That you did not need me and want me, 
 
 As I missed and wanted 3^ou. 
 
 I thought of all that might happen, 
 
 Or had happened since God sent 
 Us forth as His thought -perfected. 
 
 In one grand spirit blent, 
 Before the descent into matter, 
 
 Before the Fall and the Curse 
 Parted and drove us seeking 
 
 For each through the Universe. 
 mine in the black of the midnight! 
 
 Mine in the glare of the sun, 
 Mine, all mine in the spirit. 
 
 One, aye, very one! 
 
SOLUTION. 19 
 
 Mine, as in the Beginning, 
 
 Mine, when Time's laws shall cease. 
 Mine, through all meeting, parting. 
 
 Sure that the end is peace! 
 Face after face I looked into 
 
 To find the one I knew ; 
 Voice after voice I hearkened, 
 
 Nor caught the echo true. 
 Heart after heart I questioned, 
 
 The answer each failed to give ; 
 Nor ever a moment doubted 
 
 That true heart's love did live. 
 
 For I was certain, Beloved, 
 
 You would not prove untrue. 
 When once through the misty darkness 
 
 M}' arms encircled 3'ou. 
 This could not be, I knew surely. 
 
 Through the sore mistakes I made. 
 As I met and trusted in shadows. 
 
 By each in turn betrayed. 
 Lover, my Lover, Lover mine! 
 
 I knew by the false that the true muyt be, 
 
 I knew, while longing, your need of me 
 Somewhere in God's Divine! 
 
30 SHE. 
 
 And so I sang to 5'ou, sweetheart, 
 
 Through the hours of the day : 
 Sang while the East glowed brightly, 
 
 Sang when the skies were gray. 
 Sang as the lark sings, gaily, 
 
 Rising to meet the sun 
 Before the answering glory 
 
 Stilleth the orison. 
 Sang when the soul mists darkened 
 
 Sang while I nothing heard, 
 Until one day was the silence 
 
 Thrilled by your answering word. 
 
 Then I remembered slowly. 
 
 Hearing your voice again. 
 All the length of the journey, 
 
 All the yearning and pain : 
 All the lives we had wasted. 
 
 Searching creation through, 
 Since the fiat was sounded, 
 
 Parting me, love, from you. 
 Lover, loved of the spirit, 
 
 And never in earth-form found, 
 Lo now is broken the circle 
 
 Of our lives' unceasing round ! 
 
SOLUTION. 
 
 Now God be praised for all effort ! 
 
 I praise God for His grace! 
 That here while yet in the body 
 
 I look upon your face. 
 Aye, here and now in life's turmoil 
 
 Doth all my soul rejoice, 
 To hear Love's " new name " uttered 
 
 Beloved, by thy voice! 
 Never again to journe}"! 
 
 The soul's release is shown, 
 When through the darkness of matter 
 
 Love comes unto his own. 
 
SHE. 
 
 AT MEETING. 
 
 OLO VE, my love ! the tender words that 
 rise 
 From heart to faltering lips at this surprise, 
 This sudden joy at standing where thou 
 art, 
 Do tremble into stillness most complete, 
 And are not missed, nor needed, in the sweet 
 Strong silence that enfolds us heart to 
 heart. 
 
 Love, my strength ! because of coming da3^s, 
 
 1 fain would turn to one great song of praise 
 
 Each voiceless sorrow of the vanished 
 years. 
 What now avails life's former pain or bliss 
 Since, swift or slow, the moments led to this? 
 And, near thy heart, mine hath no room 
 for fears. 
 
REVELATION. 23 
 
 REVELATION. 
 
 UNTIL I loved thee, dear, I did but know 
 In part God's love for us; but now 
 there is 
 No wonder in me at the sacrifice 
 Through which He sought such tenderness 
 
 to show. 
 All past bewilderments, all questions low 
 On life, or death, or immortality. 
 Are solved now forever more for me, 
 Throusfh this new Revelation's awful ojlow. 
 
 Mj own! my love! there has been nothing 
 done 
 By God or man I would not do to make 
 Complete thy being : naught I would not 
 take 
 Upon my heart, if so through thine might 
 run 
 The life-blood lightened from griefs that 
 
 would prove — 
 Borne in thy stead — no longer griefs to 
 love. 
 
24 SHE 
 
 w 
 
 THE LOVE LETTER. 
 
 HEN first upon my eager sight did glow 
 Thy love-words, Beloved! the day 
 was fair, 
 And summer's gracious beauty filled the 
 air, 
 As joy my heart. I hastened to and fro 
 Among my daily tasks till T could go, 
 Unclaimed by lesser voices, and could dare 
 Listen to thine where there was none to 
 share 
 My rapture save the silence. This did grow 
 For my strange joy too loud! Beloved, I 
 Have borne great sorrows more courage- 
 ously 
 Than this great good. In them I could 
 descry 
 Life's needed discipline, but when to me 
 Thy spirit calls, my answer is a cry 
 Revealing all my insufficiency! 
 
AWAKENED. 2^ 
 
 AWAKENED ! 
 
 /~\ my love, my own, that I had some 
 
 ^— ^ word to describe it ! 
 
 Word to prison it in, that so it might not 
 
 die with me ! 
 There is no word save love. Love means 
 
 both passion and object. 
 
 Is it joy or pain that I feel, in this strong 
 
 new sense of rebellion? 
 Is it hope or fear, this unrest that will not 
 
 let me be happy? 
 I shall never be happy again. I have paid 
 
 that price for your kisses. 
 Never again shall I know the half-content 
 
 of the happy. 
 
 O my love, m}^ own ! Do they know, who 
 
 call themselves loving. 
 This that we know, when we stand with eyes 
 
 too blind through their rapture 
 To gaze on each other's face, with hearts too 
 
 faint through their beating 
 To hold the wonderful strength, that through 
 
 their weakness is wasted? 
 
SHE. 
 
 Love, that means sacrament, this, does it 
 come to all of the creatures 
 
 That use the word lightly between times, 
 between their laughing and sighing? 
 
 That laugh and kiss and forget, and say 
 they have loved one another? 
 
 Love, that surging through, cleaves the 
 heart so undone by its proving, 
 
 Rend'ringit all unfit thenceforward for hold- 
 ing contentment; 
 
 Weakest and strongest of all, is it one to 
 weakest and strongest? 
 
 Love ! the triune, that means pain and hope 
 
 beyond power of describing; 
 Love! ne'er so swift in his flight but the 
 
 shadow abides of his passing ; 
 Love ! the betrayer perchance ; the comforter 
 
 maybe, but always 
 The Wonder one could not but choose, 
 
 though one knew the choice ended in 
 sadness. 
 
AWAKENED. 
 
 my love, my own, lo, this you have 
 
 taught me o'ermasters 
 Even the teacher's power : never again can 
 
 you claim it! 
 Love and yourself are not one; though you 
 
 brought to me through your choosing, 
 Force and direction and strength, my life had 
 
 not held, sweet, without you. 
 Now though you come or go, yet all 
 
 through the coming and going 
 Love, the reality stays: I may live no 
 
 lonoer without it. 
 
28 SHE. 
 
 HEART'S GIVING. 
 
 \1 7HAT is there that I would not give 
 
 ' ' thee, Love, 
 For blessing, aid or comfort? These my 
 
 days? 
 Why Life itself seems such a little thing, 
 I put it first of all I'd give to prove 
 The passion's deathless might whose fer- 
 vent ways 
 I vainly strive in hindering words to sing. 
 
 I must have given thee Peace, for I no more 
 Can find it in my heart, and long ago 
 The strength that filled its pulses was be- 
 trayed 
 To follow when thy shadow leaves my door; 
 Within which I sit listlessly, nor know 
 Life's sweetness while thy presence is de- 
 layed. 
 
 What do I give thee Love? now that Life's 
 
 best 
 Is lavished on thy head and all is spent. 
 
HEARTS GIVING. 29 
 
 What is there left to give that thou wilt 
 
 take? 
 Why all is left that was; still unconfessed, 
 This w^onder with our being is so blent 
 We are made rich, not poorer^ for its sake! 
 
30 SHE 
 
 JONQUIL. 
 
 \1 70ULD it have been any sweeter 
 ^^ If you had known its name? 
 Could the keen delight that its presence 
 
 w^rought 
 Have been more in knowing the World's 
 
 wise thought 
 Called Jonquil its prisoned flame? 
 
 Would the gold of its cup have been deeper, 
 If some one had told you why 
 It rose from its six-starred petals up, 
 Or formed for your breathing an incense- 
 cup, 
 In the hour's delight gone by? 
 
 We did not know in the moment 
 
 I fastened it over my heart 
 
 Its name; but we said that in scent and 
 
 glow 
 It seemed akin to the flowers that grow 
 When the Nile's dusk waters start. 
 
JONQUIL. 31 
 
 scent, and color, and sweetness 
 Enshrined in the Jonquil flower! 
 tard}' knowledge that proves at best 
 More incomplete in the secret guessed 
 Than the charm of the asking hour! 
 
33 SHE. 
 
 THE PALE VIOLET. 
 
 O VIOLET, whom the Sun hath kissed 
 Until the color thou didst show 
 His glances first from amethyst 
 To palest blue hath changed so, 
 Were these same kisses worth the cost 
 Of this thy bloom thus early lost? 
 
 Were it not better hadst thou bloomed 
 In some still, shaded spot, nor known 
 The ardor of the strength that doomed 
 Thy sweet thus unreserved shown? 
 Thou wert not strong enough for this 
 The rapture of His cloudless kiss! 
 
 I will not stay to hear what thou 
 Might' st answer me; in truth thou hast 
 An air content, and, even now, 
 When this, thy beauty's wholly past, 
 Were the choice offered thee once more 
 No doubt thou'dst lose it as before. 
 
NATURE AND LOVE. 33 
 
 NATURE AND LOVE. 
 
 WHAT would 3^011 do, what would you 
 say, 
 Dear heart, dear love, if here to-day? 
 Here, where the wondrous breath of 
 
 June 
 Fills all the golden afternoon 
 With odors, stayed a little space. 
 From wandering to their destined place, 
 By earth's content stayed as they rise 
 From Paradise to Paradise! 
 
 What ^jduld you do, or say, to make 
 The Perfect in itself partake 
 
 In our degrees of sweet content. 
 
 In our despairs at banishment 
 Each other's dearer self therefrom? 
 love, howev^er near we come 
 
 To Nature's peace her secrets wait 
 
 From human reach still separate! 
 
 My own dear love, the birds will sing 
 As now in each successive spring : 
 And coming seasons still will grace 
 With beauties all their own this place : 
 
34 SHE. 
 
 And tree and flower will deck this spot 
 
 As now they do when we are not : 
 And lovers yet unborn will see 
 And leave unsolved this mystery. 
 
 Alas that language holds no word 
 Wherewith to speak, wherein is heard 
 The love that by its magic makes 
 The heart unfit for sweet, that aches 
 Where it should bless, when it is shown 
 Earth's fairest scenes, and sees, alone! 
 Whate'er we reach has not amid 
 The charms thus reached contentment 
 hid. 
 
 And this the reason, sweetheart, why 
 The glories of the earth and sky 
 
 Smite as with pain the hearts that beat 
 With such a double sense; that greet 
 Each gracious scene the earth can show 
 With half the strength to see and know 
 That courses through the self-possessed 
 Strong hearts, unstirred by Love's unrest. 
 
COMPARISON. 35 
 
 COMPARISON. 
 
 WOU sing of strong things, having known 
 -■■ them, ay! 
 
 Of strong things, lining where such things 
 
 are found. 
 Daily your feet gain new strength from the 
 
 ground, 
 And your face draws it from the arching sky. 
 And so, through all your singing rings a cry 
 Of healing for the evils that abound 
 In these men's lives, thus gathered close 
 
 around. 
 Your nobler living to be helped thereby. 
 
 But I — my life the strength has only 
 
 known 
 That comes from Sorrow's touch, and I can 
 
 ring 
 This knowledge only through the songs I 
 
 sing. 
 Men do not gather grapes from thorns, 
 
 though grown 
 Where once a vineyard bloomed, and so, 
 
 my friend. 
 Your songs shall live, while mine with me 
 
 shall end! 
 
36 SHE, 
 
 AFTERMATH. 
 
 A LL the earth is clothed with glory 
 ^^ This glad-morn! From bush and tree 
 Do the birds repeat the story 
 Of Love's tender mystery. 
 Is it, 'all the earth'? Beloved — that? or 
 but my thought of thee? 
 
 Surely no wild bird's breast thrilling 
 
 To its mate's song overhead, 
 Feels the rapture that is filling 
 
 My glad pulses, half-afraid 
 
 Even yet to lose the olden measure by 
 past sorrow made. 
 
 And no wild flower, 'mid the sparkling 
 Of the dew upon its leaves, 
 
 Doth 80 soon forget the darkling 
 Vapors that the night-time breathes. 
 As my soul forgets, and, freely this glad 
 morn, its past forgives . 
 
 I have wandered near Death's shadows, 
 Lived with Sorrow, known Despair, 
 
 Ere I found the pleasant meadows. 
 Which, beneath Love's sunshine, wear 
 Evermore through changing fortune, this 
 serene, unchanging air. 
 
FOREBODING. 37 
 
 FOREBODING. 
 
 OLOVE, my love, still the winter lingers! 
 I dread the summer, I dread the 
 spring. 
 What strange new joy in her strong young 
 fingers 
 To us can the fairest of seasons bring? 
 What time like this when our blessed 
 passion 
 Finds through snow and cold its fair blos- 
 soming? 
 
 love, my love ! can the summer bring to us 
 More of beauty and warmth and glow 
 
 Than now we find, or its breezes sing to us 
 Sweeter songs than we hear and know 
 
 While, sheltered safe in the fire-light's circle. 
 Beyond in the darkness the night winds 
 blow? 
 
 The winter wanes. In each swift bright 
 morning. 
 
 Hints of the earth-change soon to be, 
 Subtle, elusive, yet sure, give warning 
 
 That now is ending for you and me 
 Snow-softened close of the dearest season 
 
 That years can render or eyes can see . 
 
oS SHE. 
 
 love! in the waiting years now hidden, 
 That may o'erwhelm us with joy or pain, 
 
 There is no rapture or grief forbidden 
 To our heart questioning, eager, vain, 
 
 1 have not tasted through love's foreknow- 
 
 ledge : 
 There is naught henceforth worth the 
 life's attain. 
 
 There is naught to reach of a greater wonder ; 
 
 There is naught to seek of a fiercer bliss ; 
 And Past and Present are rent asunder. 
 
 And Future's lustre made dim by this. 
 From farthest point of the soul's srand orbit, 
 
 The way turns back through the dark 
 abyss. 
 
 love, my love! 'gainst the law supernal, 
 The changeless law that life's changes 
 show, 
 The law of action and rest eternal. 
 
 The law resistless that all things know, 
 What strength have we to withstand the 
 summons, 
 All nature hearing, that soundeth "Gro?'' 
 
FOREBODING. 39 
 
 And is it helpful, the higher knowing? 
 
 Or may we turn from its light aside, 
 Nor feel nor reason about the showing 
 
 Of intuitions, unproved, untried? 
 O love, my love ! with the clearer vision 
 
 Such power is ended, such choice denied. 
 
40 SHE. 
 
 UNACKNOWLEDGEMENT. 
 
 T T is not night. The sunset still is filling 
 ^ With ruddy glow 
 
 The western sky, that yet seems all unwill- 
 ing 
 
 To thus let go 
 The source of its completement, whose strong 
 light 
 
 Retards the night. 
 
 It is not night. Above the sunset's splen- 
 dor 
 
 The blue sky holds 
 Through half its arch, a fairer light, more 
 tender 
 
 Than that which folds 
 The horizon with gleaming bars, whose hue 
 The sun looks through 
 
 1 scarce can feel this white and blue and 
 golden 
 
 Soft canopy, 
 That spread before my gaze conceals the 
 olden 
 
 Dark mysterj' 
 Of space, star-lined, that puzzles by its 
 might 
 
 The human sight. 
 
UNA CKNO WLEDGEMENT. 4 1 
 
 It is not night, 'though now is growing 
 sharper 
 
 The still, clear air. 
 The sky's pale azure tint is surely darker. 
 
 And, here and there 
 The gleaming of the stars as they appear 
 
 Proves night is near. 
 
 It is not night ; and so I haste to curtain 
 
 From out my sight, 
 The last faint remnant of the rare, uncer- 
 tain, 
 
 Fast fading light, 
 Before the dreaded darkness gath'ring fast 
 
 Brinsfs night at last. 
 
42 SUE. 
 
 GOOD BYE. 
 
 f^ OOD bye ! Dear love before me stir 
 ^-^ The shadows of the things that were. 
 The memory of each past delight 
 Keturns to make more dark my night : 
 The echo of our parting sigh 
 The only sound, our last Grood bye. 
 
 Since our first mother coined the word 
 
 From her first heartache, has been heard 
 
 It's wail through Time's immensity. 
 
 God grant that His Eternity 
 
 May not be deep enough, nor high 
 
 To hold earth's saddest word — Good bye! 
 
 Good bye ! Some say the words do mean 
 " May God be with thee." When between 
 Thy face and mine the moments run 
 Their 'lotted course beneath the sun, 
 And each one swift, or slow, doth part 
 Us farther still. Good bye, sweetheart! 
 
 God be with thee. Beloved, aye 
 
 The very God we crucify 
 
 Afresh in loves that leave no space 
 
 In burning hearts for His dear grace 
 
 Until to us He sends this cry 
 
 To drown all lighter sounds — Good bye 1 
 
GOOD BYE. 43 
 
 Good bye! Around me rings the roar 
 That men call silence! Nevermore 
 Can solitude itself be free 
 From this strong call, that holds for me 
 All future pain, all joys that I 
 Renounce to it. Dear love, Good bye! 
 
SHE. 
 
 SATIS VERBORUM. 
 
 AIT" HAT man cometh after the King? 
 ' ' Prince or Noble, perchance, the grace 
 Of gentle breeding upon his face. 
 What charm in the gifts that his hand may 
 
 bring 
 To make glad the heart that has known 
 the King? 
 
 What man cometh after the King? 
 
 What future trouble can stir the breast 
 That thus lives on having known life's 
 best? 
 What future shadow worth noticing 
 By the sunlit eyes that have seen the King? 
 
 What man cometh after the King? 
 Many a one in his own degree, 
 Treading the paths of his destiny. 
 
 Life does not cease, though we cease to 
 sing 
 
 All lesser praise than is due the King ! 
 
ENTREATY. 45 
 
 ENTREATY. 
 
 KISS me love! and it shall be 
 With our lives as when at first 
 Love's empurpled blossom burst 
 Into flower for you and me. 
 
 Kiss me love, and we'll remember 
 But Love's sweetness, not the stings 
 That from June-time to December 
 Made the days such bitter things! 
 
 Kiss me, love ! and we'll forget 
 
 All the long cold hours we've seen; 
 
 All the heart-ache that has been 
 Since thy lips and mine have met. 
 
 Kiss me! give me strength to go 
 All unkissed through hours and days 
 
 That await us ere we know 
 An hour like this, through Time's delays. 
 
46 SHE. 
 
 SANS COURAGE. 
 
 T AM so tired of it all! 
 
 * Never a moment without! 
 
 Spread over life as a pall 
 
 Falls o'er the dead, so the doubt 
 Clings to the hope blotted out. 
 
 O for the power to forget 
 
 Though but for a day! One could bear 
 More bravely life's bitter regret 
 
 With a day thrown between, in which 
 
 care 
 And remembrance's sharp pain had no 
 share. 
 
 Somewhere the days grandly pass 
 Free from this shadow, I know: 
 
 Is it too much if one has 
 
 One such day to one's self, if that so 
 
 Comes strength through all others to go? 
 
 Ah, but the country lies far. 
 
 Over which spreads the wonderful haze 
 That conceals with invisible bar 
 
 The realm of the passionless days, 
 Whose peace the heart's grieving allays! 
 
SANS COURAGE. 47 
 
 And the gate is so narrow, that one 
 Must pass through its portal alone : 
 
 And when the long journey's begun 
 
 One returns not again, though we moan 
 
 By the entrance- way sealed with a stone. 
 
48 SHE. 
 
 MY CHAIN. 
 
 I MADE my chain a goodly show 
 With garlands fair to see ; 
 I held it up that all might know 
 
 How light it seemed to me ; 
 I ran beneath it to and fro 
 As one whose steps were free. 
 
 From every tortured link I rang 
 
 G-ay music, light and vain; 
 And all around me laughed and sang 
 
 In praise of this, my chain ; 
 Nor' heard amid the music's clang 
 
 The echo of my pain. 
 But sometimes, as I ran, I met 
 
 Some man's face, grave and white, 
 Held heavenward, with no regret 
 
 Between it and God's light; 
 But, glancing on the Ideal, it yet 
 
 Beheld no lowlier sight. 
 And then a discord sharp and strong 
 
 Fell on my music's ring; 
 And that which seemed so light, erelong 
 
 Became a grievous thing; 
 And as I passed, I hushed my song, 
 
 Through my soul's wearying. 
 
MY CHAIN. 
 
 And then again some man I'd see 
 Whose chain, so bare of grace 
 
 Yet nobly borne, made Destiny 
 Assume such minor place 
 
 To his grand will, small mirth for me 
 Lived while I passed his face. 
 
 Yet, through it all, the vanity, 
 The shame, keen, passionate 
 
 That sweeps my soul the while I see 
 These nobler lives, I wait 
 
 With dread the hour that takes from me 
 The chain I cannot hate! 
 
 Ah what strange J03", what new delight 
 
 Can take the place of this. 
 My burden borne through day and night, 
 
 Through mirth and weariness, 
 Till it has grown within my sight 
 
 The dearest thing that is? 
 
 It may be that, when shines for me 
 
 ' 'The light that never shone 
 O'er any earthly land or sea, " 
 
 I still may clasp my own, 
 And know that Pain's reality 
 
 Was but God's benison. 
 
50 SHE. 
 
 THROUGH MISSING YOU. 
 
 THROUGH missing you the fairest flowers 
 Hold subtle poison in the scent 
 Which brought me once such sweet con- 
 tent, 
 You being by to share the hours ; 
 All colorless their brightest hue, 
 Through missing you. 
 
 Through missing you gay music's beat 
 Hath lost its power to soothe or cheer ; 
 It falls upon the listless ear 
 
 With harmonies made incomplete. 
 In spite of all that skill may do, 
 Through missing you. 
 
 Through missing you my life has grown 
 
 To such a weariness, that I, 
 I sometimes fear it may be shown 
 
 To you some day a thing put by, 
 As all unworth the living through. 
 Through missing you. 
 
STORMING HEAVEN. 51 
 
 STORMINa HEAVEN. 
 
 /^PEN the door and let me in! 
 ^-^ The wind is blowing and cold the 
 night. 
 The darkness sinks on my aching sight. 
 From thronging shadows of care and sin, 
 Open the door and let me in! 
 
 Open the door and let me in! 
 
 The earth is reeling beneath my feet. 
 The dregs of the wine o'er taste the sweet. 
 From the passionate pain of my life's has 
 been, 
 
 Open the door and let me in ! 
 
 Open the door and let me in! 
 
 To reach the echo which filled at best 
 Each earthly joy with its vague unrest. 
 
 Lo, where earth's dreams and its hopes begin 
 Their true fulfillment, 0, let me in! 
 
53 SHE. 
 
 Open the door and let me in! 
 
 The darkness stirs and the East grows red, 
 When the bounding pulse of one's life has 
 fled, 
 
 What matter how fair the days begin? 
 From the yesterdays, open and let me in! 
 
 Open the door and let me in 
 
 To Thy sense of Peace and the purer air 
 Of life immortal abiding there ! 
 Thou who suffered and died to win 
 The gate's unbarring — now let me in! 
 
REINCARNATION. 53 
 
 REINCARNATION. 
 
 T Have known you before, 
 -^ Long before the sad day we met 
 Calling it " first time." We regret 
 Vainly all of that meeting's power. 
 We were not strangers, love, that hour: 
 We may be strangers, love, no more. 
 
 I have lived this before — 
 All this wearying, complex pain, 
 All this fever in heart and brain. 
 Many times must the struggle break 
 Life and thought for the human sake; 
 Many times as we found of yore. 
 
 All has been felt before — 
 Bitter sting in the unprized life, 
 Ceaseless consciousness of the strife. 
 Lived before, known before, e'en as now. 
 Trust and failure — one knows not how. 
 Though one remembers it o'er and o'er. 
 
54 SHE. 
 
 I shall come back once more — 
 Once? Nay, many times till there be 
 No more charm in the pain for me. 
 You will turn from the perfect rest 
 In highest Heaven at Love's behest 
 Since this has been for us, love, before. 
 
 Though we return once more, 
 Sometime, love, from the bonds of Fate 
 Freedom awaits us. Soon or late 
 Comes release, and the love that mars 
 Bears its healing within its scars 
 While we perfect it, o'er and o'er. 
 
UNCERTAINTY. 55 
 
 UNCERTAINTY. 
 
 O Heart's Beloved, all the air 
 Is whitened with the snow! 
 Where are you, Beloved, where? 
 
 To you I may not go. 
 
 And if your sky be dark or fair, 
 
 Alas, I may not know ! 
 
 I know not if the sunlight falls 
 Upon thee cold or warm ; 
 
 Or if God's thought of thee befalls 
 Though present good or harm ; 
 
 Or if to me thy spirit calls ; 
 I only feel the storm! 
 
 0, Heart's Desire, if I might know 
 Some grave-clod held thee fast! 
 
 Then safe beneath this cloak of snow 
 My fears for thee were cast: 
 
 My hopes of thee were ended so, 
 
 And heart's peace found at last. 
 
56 SHE 
 
 I know not and I may not know. 
 
 There is no greater grief : 
 In this uncertainty of woe 
 
 The heart finds no relief. 
 I could bear to see you dead, 
 
 Were I. but sure to-day 
 You still were all uncomforted 
 
 As when you went away ! 
 
USELESS GRIEF. 57 
 
 USELESS GRIEF. 
 
 OGOD! was ever sorrow like this one 
 That prej^s upon my life? So dark it 
 is 
 I may not ask for it the sympathies 
 Of loving friends, and so I sit undone 
 With its dark shadow 'tween me and the 
 sun. 
 Was ever sorrow like this one? remiss 
 In all of use one wrings from Grief's sad 
 kiss 
 The strength for nobler things through 
 trial won. 
 
 When one may turn heart-sorrow unto good 
 'Tis rather to be chosen than great bliss: 
 But this my Grief's unnamed nor under- 
 stood. 
 If it took shape at all the shape were this, 
 That one loved more than Thou has fallen 
 
 where 
 One nevermore may help his soul's despair! 
 
58 SHE. 
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 T^HE life that was my own, 
 ^ Give it to me again. 
 
 You are so strong, j^ou men; 
 Now let your strength be shown. 
 
 It is beyond you still. 
 
 It rests not in your will ! 
 
 We could not know, of course. 
 
 Just what the love would prove; 
 
 Nor how far we might move, 
 Together held by its force. 
 
 There is fault somewhere — whose? 
 
 The one who most doth lose? 
 
 I had heard long before 
 I ventured all — and lost — 
 What Love's frail tenure cost. 
 
 What passion proved at core. 
 I knew what lives had missed 
 Before we met and kissed! 
 
MY LIFE. 59 
 
 And yet there was no power 
 
 In knowledge thus possessed 
 
 To hinder Love's unrest 
 From being mine this hour. 
 
 There was no choice — you stood 
 
 For utmost ill or good. 
 
 Where is your strength my heart? 
 
 What, made so weak by this! 
 
 One pays, you know, for bliss: 
 Ere life and Love may part, 
 
 One pays, though, at first thought 
 
 Love seemed a gift, unsought! 
 
 If one should find and know — 
 
 If one should gain at length 
 
 Through great forgiveness — strength ; 
 What shall atone? although 
 
 Turned back to God, life yet 
 
 Remains His unpaid debt. 
 
 His debt! could God know such — 
 
 Debt, stronger than His grace 
 
 May ere again efface. 
 Should one forgive o'er much 
 
 Is thus life's wrong made right, 
 
 Or cancelled in His sight? 
 
60 SHE. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 TVTOT in the darkness, where 
 
 *■ ^ The light may break on the asking eyes 
 
 Some joyful morn with a glad surprise, 
 But in the steady glare 
 
 Of desert sands and unclouded skies . 
 
 Not as they wait who know 
 
 That the night will end, or as they who 
 reach 
 
 An added grace and a purer speech 
 Because of tears that flow 
 
 Over life's bitterness sent to each. 
 
 Not as they wait whom God 
 
 Delights to pardon, because they see 
 With eyes of faith, that the days to be. 
 
 And the paths untrod. 
 
 Are one with the past in life's unity. 
 
 Waiting because one must, 
 
 With the sting of remembered life to 
 make 
 
 The dreariness of the present ache ; 
 Feeling it all unjust. 
 
 The death's deferring, the life's mistake. 
 
WAITING. 61 
 
 Eyes that have seen the light 
 
 Of the Gods descend ! lips that drank 
 
 their wine! 
 Heart-beats as strong as the Past knew 
 mine! 
 One may endure this blight, 
 
 But no strength is to feel such is right! 
 
 Waiting, f utureless, strong ; 
 
 Choosing not the desireless life, 
 All the force in the soul at strife 
 
 With its enduring wrong, 
 
 Its returned purpose endlessly rife. 
 
 When it is rendered plain, 
 
 Shown to me fairly, good from ill. 
 Then shall the voice in the heart be still. 
 
 All its rebellion slain, 
 
 Its murmur hushed with the conquered 
 will. 
 
62 SHE. 
 
 REMEMBER ME. 
 
 r\ THOU Completeness! shadowed 
 
 ^-^ By my great agony and dread ^ 
 
 Remember me. I cannot pray. 
 
 I have no strength to seek the way. 
 Lest madness claim my soul from Thee 
 Whose thought I am, remember me ! 
 
 Remember where Thy glory shines, 
 The outer darkness where I dwell . 
 
 Remember that my soul opines 
 
 Thy highest Heaven from deepest Hell. 
 
 Remember all I yet may be. 
 
 Christ of God, remember me! 
 
RETROSPECTION. 63 
 
 KETROSPECTION. 
 
 A S naked, new-born souls who vainly 
 -**■ yearn 
 
 For the lost raiment that was theirs erst- 
 while, 
 The raiment of the body, to beguile 
 Truth's searching flame, they may no longer 
 
 spurn 
 Or seek at their own pleasure, — so I turn 
 My glances backward from my long exile, 
 From out his court Love's shielding to dis- 
 cern. 
 
 But no trace of Love's vesture doth remain : 
 The shifting days have stolen, needlessly, 
 All proof of his sojourning once with me. 
 
 Beloved, Beloved! this refrain 
 
 Makes what I know of silence ; while I see 
 
 No more Love's comfort cast around his pain. 
 
64 SHE 
 
 SOUL GREETING. 
 
 f^ THOU, who once did stand 
 
 ^-^ For Life's supremest good, 
 
 Over the sea and land 
 
 The midnight hour doth brood. 
 
 Where'er on land or sea 
 
 Thy consciousness doth wake, 
 
 Answer the Soul of Me, 
 
 For our great dead love's sake! 
 
 I have no claim upon 
 Thy days and weeks and years : 
 I lost, and Time has won 
 What of thy life appears. 
 Thy rapture or thy pain 
 Not mine by God's decree ; 
 Yet doth one hour remain 
 Unto the Soul of Me. 
 
 Whate'er thy thought has been, 
 This hour it meets with mine, 
 The inner world within. 
 By Love's remorseless shrine. 
 Till thou didst share God's power 
 Conscious I might not be. 
 Lo, this is thine, this hour! 
 This voice, the Soul of Me. 
 
SOUL GREETING. 65 
 
 charm me with thy voice, 
 
 1 may no longer hear 
 
 By my own will or choice, 
 Nor with the outward ear! 
 Lo! I have earned the right 
 Through days of misery. 
 To this one hour's delight, 
 G-ranted the Soul of Me . 
 
 clasp me close as when 
 With naught between we stood 
 With Grod apart from men 
 In Love's beatitude! 
 Out of the dark I call 
 To what we yet shall be 
 When Love is lord of all, 
 Answer the Soul of Me. 
 
 Then back into the dark! 
 When morning breaks no trace 
 Of this hour's passion- mark 
 Shall rest upon my face. 
 The years resume their sway. 
 Whelmed in Life's surging sea 
 Silent, through night and day 
 Pauses the Soul of Me! 
 
66 SHE. 
 
 MISAPPREHENDED. 
 
 YOU promised on one of the summer days 
 Of this old, old year, that now nears 
 its end ; 
 To sing from the many the people praise, 
 Your song most cherished, to me, j^our 
 friend. 
 I should hear, poet ! "the best'" you said, 
 Ere the sunset's light in the sky grew red. 
 
 We left the city and strayed along 
 
 Through the gold of the summer afternoon, 
 
 And listened, pleased, to a bird's sweet song 
 That followed our going, and it was June 
 
 When, each in the other so wholly blest, 
 
 We followed the sunlight toward the West. 
 
 There is time enough for the song, we said 
 When the heart beats slower, and when 
 the breath 
 Less fluttering comes through the lips, afraid 
 
 To touch their Heaven this side of Death. 
 There is time enough for a song to bless 
 When rapture sinks into happiness. 
 
MISAPPREHENDED. 67 
 
 So we wandered on, till we reached again, 
 Through the pathway's turning, the place 
 where long 
 The strife for power in the lives of men 
 
 Has dulled and saddened the spirit's song: 
 And you joined the throng, that, with rest- 
 less feet 
 Moves ever on through the city's street. 
 
 And so, my poet, it came about, 
 
 You being busy, and I too full 
 Of joy in your presence to think or doubt. 
 
 That the moment passed and the skies 
 grew dull 
 And the night descended, and still no word 
 Of the promised singing mine ear had heard. 
 
 Yet often now, as the night- wind sighs, 
 
 I dimly feel as I sit alone, 
 While the firelight brightens and sinks and 
 
 dies, 
 That perhaps, unheeded, my life has known 
 The wondrous singing I thought to reach 
 Alone through the words of our human 
 speech. 
 
68 SHE. 
 
 Ah, ' 'the best, " the fleeting, misunderstood ! 
 
 Seen only fairly when set apart. 
 Heard only truly when winters rude 
 
 Make keen each sense of the listening 
 heart. 
 Has the soul e'er yet in its wondering quest 
 Known the passing moment we call "the 
 best"? 
 
THE MYSTERY, 69 
 
 THE MYSTERY. 
 
 SOMEBODY said unto me, 
 "If you will turn your head 
 I promise that you may see 
 
 One who was long since dead. " 
 I turned not to left or right. 
 
 But answered, ' 'This vision dear 
 Has been within my sight 
 This many and many a year. 
 
 Somebody said unto me, 
 
 ' 'If you will listen, Lo, 
 You may hear the voice of one 
 
 Who loved you years ago!" 
 I smiled but I did not seek 
 
 To make plain my dear delight. 
 "The voice of which you speak 
 Is not silenced day or night." 
 
70 SHE. 
 
 Somebody said unto me, 
 
 "The years both give and take 
 How can you thankful be 
 
 Through life for a dead Past's sake?" 
 I said, '^In Love's sight there is 
 
 No Future or Past to fear ; 
 All beautiful things are his. 
 
 All knowledge is now and here." 
 
 I said, "The symbols fail. 
 
 And ever the idols fall ; 
 One thing we may not assail 
 
 The love that is over all. 
 This you would promise me 
 
 Already is made my own. 
 I know in Love's mystery, 
 
 Lo! even as I am known." 
 
Sc. 
 
 " Rather yet that I could raise 
 
 One hope that warm'd me in the days 
 
 While still I yearn'd for human praise." 
 
 THE LOVED ONE. 
 
 A VISION of the shadows 'neath her eyes, 
 Like violets languid with the heavy 
 dews 
 Of night's touch still upon them, doth arise. 
 
 The sounding of her foot upon the stair, 
 Like music heard in strange wild places, far 
 From haunts of man, makes tremulous the 
 air. 
 
 The color that her soft round cheek doth 
 
 flush 
 Tints also the fair petals of the rose. 
 The sweet wild rose upon the wayside bush 
 
HE. 
 
 The light that shineth in her clear gray eyes, 
 Is like the surface of some mountain lake, 
 When o'er it first dawn's meaning doth arise. 
 
 The memory of her beauty and her peace, 
 Like the calm strength obtained from 
 
 sunset's hour, 
 Abides with me where e'er my dwelling 
 place. 
 
INSIGHT. 73 
 
 INSIGHT. 
 
 /^NE might easily be a poet, 
 ^-^ If one could be always thrilled 
 With a present sense of the beauty 
 With which the grreat earth is filled. 
 
 But how can one write of green meadows, 
 And the might of the mountain's wall, 
 
 When the eye sees only gray housetops 
 Through a garret's low casement small ? 
 
 And how can one write of the ocean. 
 
 When the health and strength of its breath 
 
 Is spent on half the wide world before 
 To the writer it traveleth? 
 
 Not all the lore of the ancients, 
 
 Can show to the mind the way 
 Wherein to write of the sunset, 
 When all of the sky is gray. 
 
74 HE. 
 
 There is only one way, my darling, 
 That the miracle can be done ; 
 
 This, with the thought of you in my heart, 
 I have them all, every one. 
 
 And so I can sing for a lifetime 
 
 Of Life's wonderful beauty and grace; 
 Though I live apart from world glories. 
 
 Having looked, dear love, on your face. 
 
GOOD NIGHT. 75 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 /"^ OOD night! The world is hidden from 
 ^-^ view; 
 
 The silence thrills with thoughts of 3'ou. 
 God keep you in His shadows strong 
 From harm and wrong. 
 
 Good night! Beyond the weary screen 
 Of miles that stretch our lives between, 
 And hide you from my longing sight 
 I call — good night! 
 
 Good niglit! Since I am sure somewhere 
 Your kindly presence makes most fair 
 All days and nights, love's gratitude 
 Doth make night good. 
 
76 HE. 
 
 CLOUD LAND. 
 
 OTHE wonderful summer weather! 
 the sheen on the hillside fair! 
 Made by sunlight and shade together, 
 Through which we entered the Cloud Land 
 rare 
 To be Love's followers there. 
 
 the catch in the breath, when rapture 
 Merges into its twin-born pain! 
 
 the joy in its fresh re-capture! 
 the sweet in the passion slain! 
 
 These are the Cloud Land's gain. 
 
 the passionate, sobbing wonder, 
 Meager heart-room to hold so much! 
 
 the loss in the lives asunder! 
 the bliss in the present touch! 
 
 Know the world dwellers such? 
 
 They who see but the Cloud Land's border, 
 Eeaching never its paths we trace ; 
 
 They who hear 'mid the world's disorder. 
 Echoes only from out the place 
 
 Filled with its mystic grace? 
 
IMPERFECTION. 
 
 IMPERFECTION. 
 
 nrmS is the kind of a day 
 ^ Bej^ond the will's surprise; 
 When all sense of wonder dies 
 
 In a heart-contentment still. 
 
 When I reach the top of the hill, 
 Past the haze where the sunshine lies, 
 I may see you, love, with these eyes. 
 E'en you who are miles awa3\ 
 
 One feels in the warm, sweet air, 
 Each hindering claim of sense 
 
 Dissolve, as dissolves the life 
 
 In the clover swathes brought low: 
 Feels how human life doth grow. 
 
 When parted by Death's keen knife 
 From its rooted, earth pretense, 
 
 Into something far more fair. 
 
 Where your place is by my side 
 
 Almost I feel you, sweet ! 
 Almost I can make the miles 
 
 Between us seem ended things ! 
 
 How closely the spirit clings ; 
 How vainly the flesh beguiles; 
 
 On a day like this, complete. 
 Almost one is satisfied ! 
 
78 HE. 
 
 ASSURANCE. 
 
 "\ ly'AIT heart ! It is coming yet ! 
 ^ ' What is thine own is waiting too ; 
 Naught shall prevent its greeting you; 
 Changing seasons or tardy years, 
 Outer darkness or inward fears. 
 Grod's time serving we need not fret 
 The hour's retarding that's coming yet. 
 
 Wait heart ! For the stars they wait; 
 
 Every one that in turn appears 
 
 Set for signs and seasons and days and 
 
 years; 
 Thy star among them that would fair worse 
 Swifter grown than the universe. 
 Thy star's ascendant comes soon or late, 
 Learn thou to note it, and learning, wait 
 
SYMPATHY. 79 
 
 SYMPATHY. 
 
 V/'OU, and no one else will know 
 ^ What is meant by the song that the 
 rest pass by ; 
 You will hear through the words the cry 
 That caused the rhyme and the song to grow. 
 It will all be plain to you, onlj^ j-ou, 
 Who have lived, as I have, the story 
 through. 
 
 I would to-day that you stood beside 
 
 The desk where I write : if I held your 
 
 hand 
 Strong clasped in mine, I might understand 
 And defy pain's power: but one can't deride 
 Alone the shadow that flies before 
 The sound of a friend's voice at the door 
 
80 HE. 
 
 And yet, I sometimes think, as I hear 
 Through my life's stillness the melodies 
 That only sound in such hours as these, 
 That the best beloved, the friend most dear, 
 The nearest presence, perchance, would 
 
 break 
 The music's spell for the human's sake. 
 
 friend ! the dearest my heart has known, 
 If you stood beside, if I held your hand. 
 We might fail together to understand 
 The songs that gladden the heart alone ; 
 For never yet was the music heard 
 Through the heart's content, or the spoken 
 word. 
 
SONG'S RECOMPENSE. 81 
 
 SONG'S KECOxMPENSE. 
 
 T GAVE to thee, Song! the light 
 '^ That filled my eyes ere thou wast known : 
 I gave to thee the bloom that shone 
 Upon my face ; each swift delight 
 That fills youth's hours I gave, for what? 
 Thou answer'st not! 
 
 I'll answer for thee, that when one 
 Akin to what I was may read, 
 He'll shun, perchance thy paths, that lead 
 Through ways he dreams not of; he'll shun 
 If he loves ease and sweet content, — 
 Thy blandishment. 
 
 I'll answer for thee. When one takes 
 Upon his life thy seal, and turns 
 From thy slow kiss that stings and burns 
 Thereafter his heart's blood, that aches 
 Through all its pulse thus dispossessed 
 Of former rest, 
 
8:i HE. 
 
 Why even then, so strong art thou, 
 He'll feel thy chain a dearer thing 
 Than his life proved without, and sing 
 Thy praise, as I do sing even now, 
 first and best — worth seeking long, 
 matchless songj ! 
 
TWO YEARS. 83 
 
 TWO YEARS. 
 
 A YEAR ago, a year ago! 
 "'*■ What may we now of its sweetness 
 
 know? 
 What, heart! in this gloaming hour 
 Ma}' we recall of its vanished power? 
 What is there left we may call our own 
 Of the passionate strength of the year that's 
 
 flown? 
 The life is ended we fain would show; 
 Hid in the shroud of the year ago. 
 
 The year to come, the year to come ! 
 Voice in the heart why art thou dumb? 
 Having known wonderful things, what fear 
 Strikes thee now of the coming year? 
 In the twelvemonth's reign of the j^ear ago 
 Is all compressed that thou art to know? 
 Fate may keep one hope that need not 
 
 succumb 
 Hid in the womb of the year to come. 
 
84 SE 
 
 TO HOPE. 
 
 I AM resolved that thy deceit 
 No more shall make my pulses beat ; 
 That ne'er again my heart shall greet 
 
 Thy shadowy seeming, 
 With the old faith, that found thee sweet 
 And left me, dreaming. 
 
 Long, long ago, when youth and I 
 Abode with Peace 'neath summer's sky, 
 We first did hear thee, questioning why 
 
 We found such pleasure. 
 When 'cross the hedge in fields close by 
 
 Was greater treasure. 
 
 Didst not thou come to me and say 
 
 ' ' A little farther on, this day 
 
 Being passed, thou'lt surely find the way 
 
 More bright and pleasant"? 
 I listened to thy specious lay, 
 
 And lost the present! 
 
TO HOPE. 85 
 
 Didst not thou say to me that when 
 
 A few more years were passed, the men 
 
 Who laughed at my wise theories then 
 
 Would need their proving? 
 Since my defeat, the world, I ken, 
 
 Has still been moving. 
 
 O vain and fair and fleeting sprite! 
 Now that I walk without the light 
 That once made all the future bright 
 
 With scenes unreal, 
 E'en Wisdom cannot stifle quite 
 
 Thine old appeal. 
 
 Een yet as I recall the days 
 
 When thou didst spread a kindlj- haze 
 
 O'er fears that darkened all Life's ways, 
 
 restless spirit! 
 Methinks some word of human praise 
 
 Still due thv merit. 
 
86 HE. 
 
 PerchaDce the visions that arise 
 
 Beneath thy touch on mortal ej^es, 
 
 Are gleams from out the grander skies, 
 
 And fairer meadows, 
 That each of th}^ sweet prophecies 
 
 But dimly shadows. 
 
 It may be that thy clearer sight, — 
 Untouched by shadows of Death's night, 
 Undimmed by tears, — beholds the light 
 
 Of the great morrow. 
 That waits to set Earth's failures right, 
 
 And heal Earth's sorrow. 
 
 helper of our weariness! 
 
 Hope, deceiving but to bless! 
 
 Still lend thy charm, till our distress. 
 
 And wrath and scorning, 
 Are lost in the great tenderness 
 
 That fills God's morning. 
 
PROi'iya. 87 
 
 PROVING. 
 T F you knew 
 
 ^ How the sunrise and its setting 
 Keep my fond heart from forgetting; 
 
 How the moonlight and the dew 
 Bring so clearly, — bought how dearly! 
 
 Old delights once shared with you. 
 
 If you heard 
 Through the rising and the falling 
 Of sweet liquid notes, Love calling, 
 
 Though the messenger preferred 
 By his blindness to thy kindness 
 
 Comes to greet me as a bird. 
 
 If you saw 
 Shadows only, faint reflections 
 Of fair things amid dejections 
 
 Caused by separation's law. 
 These would show you what I owe you. 
 
 Strength and weakness of Love's flaw 
 
88 HE. 
 
 DISSATISFIED. 
 
 O SWEETHEART, dear heart, 
 How they came one at a time ! 
 After the love the roses, 
 
 After the grapes the wine, 
 After the power of possession, gifts. 
 Separate yours nor mine. 
 
 sweetheart, dear heart! 
 
 The}^ brought them to you and to me : 
 We have stood knee-deep in the roses. 
 
 Nor heeded that such things be. 
 We have heard the praise in men's voices 
 
 Like the sounding of the sea. 
 
 sweetheart, dear heart! 
 
 What thought of j^ou just so far? 
 Formed your dimensions fragile, 
 
 Fashioned you what you are. 
 Then granted lest you be joyous 
 
 Sweets, one at a time that mar? 
 
ENTHR^-^LLMEyT. 89 
 
 ENTHRALLMENT. 
 
 T^HERE, it is passed! We came 
 * Together unto this place; 
 We reached this corner's turn 
 
 And followed the woodland road. 
 
 Now I breathe again with no load 
 Of memoried thoughts that yearn. 
 
 Here no hint of your vanished face 
 May the roadway s course proclaim. 
 
 Strange that the things we call 
 
 Inanimate hold such power 
 To darken and thwart the flight 
 
 Of the soul in its onward sweep! 
 
 Is there reason that one should weep 
 In repassing a scene made bright 
 
 Through the charm of a vanished hour 
 That shall not again befall? 
 
90 HE 
 
 I never shall love again 
 
 The length of that winding way ; 
 My soul is not mine till I pass 
 
 Beyond its reflectiveness: 
 
 Not mine while I acquiesce 
 In its magic's power to surpass 
 
 My strength of will and gainsay 
 The present with its "has been." 
 
iNCoysTAyc}\ 91 
 
 INCONSTANCY. 
 
 OKISS me. kiss me, sweetheart! 
 Kiss me again and again ; 
 For the breath that I draw is torture 
 
 Among my fellow men ; 
 And the wine that I drink is bitter, 
 And my bread is salt with tears, 
 O kiss me, kiss me, sweetheart! 
 To help me through the 3^ears, 
 
 kiss me, kiss me, sweetheart! 
 
 With 3'our head upon my breast, 
 And I will forget life's promise. 
 
 While I am so caressed ; 
 And I will remember only, 
 
 When we part from such embrace. 
 The peace that follows passion. 
 
 And the light upon 3'our face. 
 
92 HE. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 SHOW to me the way Love went, 
 That I too may follow. 
 Till again onr paths are blent, 
 Vanished is sleep "s content 
 From ray eyelids hollow. 
 Show to me, ways that he, 
 And I too may follow. 
 
 You who love, tell me where 
 Love from me is straying. 
 
 In what fields of finer air. 
 
 All unknown to heart's despair. 
 Is my captor playing? 
 
 You who love, teach and prove 
 Where false Love is straying . 
 
ONCE UPON A TIME. 93 
 
 ONCE UPON A TIME. 
 
 ONCE upon a time — sweetheart. 
 Can you tell 
 If that time began or ended 
 
 111, or well? 
 Once in Time's most gracious kingdom 
 We did dwell. 
 
 Once upon a time! I falter 
 In Life's race, 
 
 Turn and stand a moment gaziuir 
 Toward the place 
 
 That this magic '-Once" encircled 
 With its grace. 
 
 Oh, the roses, pink and crimson 
 That did grow 
 
 Wild and sweet for our adorning 
 Long ago! 
 
 Now no flower reveals the beauty 
 Tiiey did show. 
 
94 HE. 
 
 Once upon a time the sunlight 
 
 And the shade 
 Swiftly sweeping o'er the hillsides 
 
 Pictures made, 
 Which were fairer that our footsteps 
 
 Through them strayed. 
 
 Ah, that Time still lives, nor alters 
 
 At our moan! 
 Though no second time may pilgrims 
 
 Reach its zone; 
 Still the paths are ne'er deserted 
 
 We have known . 
 
 Once upon a time! the vision 
 
 Of its might 
 Fades away into the darkness 
 
 From my sight; 
 Fades, and leaves more black the shadow 
 
 Of the night. 
 
AFTER. 95 
 
 AFTER. 
 
 TT is no loss to be dead: 
 •*• 'T is Fate's greatest boon to lie thus at 
 rest, 
 With this peace in the breast 
 That shall ache no more at a hot word said 
 By friend or foe, overhead. 
 
 'T is a wonderful thing to lie 
 
 In this state of quiet that is not vexed 
 
 By what may come next: 
 That is past, aye shut out with the sky 
 By this earth heaped so high. 
 
 \Yas it morn or eve when she came, 
 She, for whose sake this quiet lies 
 Forevermore on my closed eyes? 
 
 I know not, they are the same. 
 
 But I felt her tears through the grave - 
 
 clods break. 
 For Love's tardy sake. 
 
96 HE. 
 
 And the quiet that I had known 
 
 Grew yet more still, and I knew that hoar 
 
 Death's most awful power: 
 And, somewhere in the dark, a voice made 
 
 moan 
 For Love's empire flown. 
 
 It is no loss to be dead : 
 
 The loss is in living, before is found 
 
 This place 'neath the ground 
 AVhere the heart's long aching is comforted 
 With this peace in its stead. 
 
LF. 97 
 
 IF. 
 
 WHAT would one do, I wonder, 
 If the ship that was lost at sea 
 Should come again to the harbor 
 
 When hope had long ceased to be ? 
 Should come with desire's fruition, 
 
 With white sails all unfurled, 
 Sailing grandly back some fair dawning 
 From the other side of the world? 
 
 What would one do, I wonder, 
 
 If the flowers that our clasp did turn 
 From the pride of the garden's splendor 
 
 To the withered leaves which we mourn. 
 Should revive to their olden fragrance, 
 
 Should bloom through Time's dust as 
 then ? 
 What would one do, I wonder 
 
 If the dead grace came again? 
 
98 HE. 
 
 What could one do but wonder, 
 
 Should one of the fall days fling 
 For an instant the clouds asunder 
 
 'Neath which we've been wandering? 
 If the spring-time hope and endeavor, 
 
 And the flash of the spring-time light 
 Should illume for an instant our pathway, 
 
 Ere the mists settle dow^n on the night? 
 
SELF SUFFICIENCY. 99 
 
 SELF SUFFICIENCY. 
 
 THERE is no one on this wide earth to 
 know 
 Thy sorrow save thyself. Each soul that 
 
 lives 
 Walks blinded by its own sad grief; nor 
 gives 
 More than a passing notice to thy woe. 
 There is no friend, how dear soe'er, to go 
 With thee into the silence that o'er grieves 
 Life with its shade, the death-hour that 
 retrieves 
 All former anguishes that life can show. 
 
 And, as that hour supreme is met, unshared 
 By other souls, as each one singly knows 
 Its power relentless, so methinks is dared 
 By strongest souls each hour of pain that 
 grows 
 From this poor life : one stands or falls alone 
 When all of help and comfort has been 
 shown. 
 
100 HE. 
 
 THWARTED. 
 
 ^ ^ T STOOD, friend, where you stand now; 
 
 1 My foot on the goal. 
 My hand touched the hope longed for; 
 
 We stood soul to soul. 
 1 trembled perhaps at completion, 
 
 By rapture misled. 
 I cannot tell how it happened, — 
 
 Thwarted! " he said. 
 
 < ' Love came to me also ; 
 
 Touched me and drew 
 All of my soul into being. 
 
 Love's grace I knew. 
 Love came and went swiftly. 
 
 By darkness o'erspread, 
 I cannot tell where, though I follow, — 
 
 Thwarted! " he said. 
 
THWARTED. 101 
 
 "Fame called to me softl}-; 
 
 Named me her own. 
 My heart rejoiced at her summons 
 
 To the unknown. 
 Fame turned in possession 
 
 To bitterness shed 
 Over my life's incompletion . — 
 
 Thwarted!" he said. 
 
 "Why you live satisfied, happy, 
 
 I made to feel 
 All aspiration but failure 
 
 At last to reveal 
 One hope I sought through emotion, 
 
 Patience, or dread, 
 I cannot tell while I stand here, — 
 
 Thwarted!"' he said. 
 
103 HE 
 
 IF I HAD KNOWN. 
 
 IF I had known, dear, the worth of loving 
 When you loved me, 
 I had not scorned then your true heart's 
 giving, 
 
 And thus been free 
 To wonder where 'mid the world's commotion 
 
 Such love has flown. 
 I had not turned from your life's devotion 
 If I had known ! 
 
 If I had known, dear, the world's caressing, 
 
 Its bitter sting, 
 I had not slighted your love's confessing 
 
 For such a thing. 
 I had esteemed then beyond all fashion 
 
 That may be shown 
 Of form or face, one such priceless passion ; 
 
 If I had known! 
 
A SPED YEAR. 103 
 
 A SPED YEAR. 
 
 A YEAR sped; 
 
 ■'"*• Spring and summer and fall, 
 With a winter's snows between 
 The golden leaves and the green ; 
 A year's sweet, proved, complete. 
 And Gods love over all! 
 
 Dixys in it, fair. 
 Filled with color and bloom, 
 Filled till they held no room 
 
 For shadows of after care ; 
 Swift they passed, all unfo recast 
 By hint of future gloom. 
 
 Nights in it, clear, 
 What did the sunsets show? 
 All peace that the heart ma}^ know, 
 
 All joy that the heart holds dear, 
 All life's best, revealed, confessed, 
 Shone in their afterglow. 
 
104 HE. 
 
 Nights and days! 
 These that linger unsought 
 Are thus named ; these enwrought 
 
 Of weariness, dread, dela3's, 
 These that the sped year brought! 
 
 A year sped, 
 What did it take away? 
 Fall only? winter and spring, 
 With the wondrous blossoming 
 
 That o'erspread 
 Earth from the summers sway? 
 
 A sped year. 
 Filled with rapture, and yet — 
 What may be left in a life 
 From its swift passing? Lo! strife; 
 
 Unknown fear; 
 Rejoicing, proved regret. 
 
 Not always, heart. 
 Shall the days smite thee with fear 
 Of their repeating; the year 
 
 Loved and sung was but part 
 Of that which waits for thee, dear! 
 
A SPED YEAR. 105 
 
 Waits all unmoved 
 By clays that tremble and break 
 Over the lives that o'ertake 
 
 Joys, thus o'ertaken, disproved. 
 
 Listen ! the crash, 
 Made by Time's waves evermore 
 Echoes here only. Their roar 
 
 Stirs not the center; they dash 
 All of their foam on the shore. 
 
 Listen ; nor grieve, 
 Lo, thou shaltcome to thy own! 
 This the year's passing was shown 
 
 Not that at last thou shouldst leave, 
 Heart-sick, the hope thou hast known. 
 
 Words! and they fail, 
 But the trust fails not; we scan 
 Life for the end of the plan 
 
 Whose marred beginning we wail. 
 Yet, the Power knows, that began. 
 
106 HE. 
 
 Listen, — and wait, 
 
 Trusting the Love that endures 
 Over the years and their lures, 
 
 Stronger than passion or fate, - 
 This that our grieving obscures. 
 
COMMUNION. 107 
 
 COMMUNION. 
 
 IF, while I lived, I had heard one word 
 
 ■^ From any other soul, 
 
 That meant, "I, too, havp seen and heard, 
 
 I also seek j'our goal ;" 
 It had not been so hard to stand 
 
 From all mankind apart, 
 If only one had grasped my hand 
 
 And known my secret heart. 
 
 If, while I lived, one voice had said, 
 
 ''I fully understand, 
 I also walk the path you tread, 
 
 I know the meaning grand 
 Of the Soul's song that dulls the ear 
 
 To any other sound," 
 We two had brought God's Heaven near 
 
 While treading earthly ground. 
 
108 HE. 
 
 If, while I lived, one little part 
 
 Of praise or sympathy 
 That sounded over my dead heart 
 
 Had been vouchsafed me, 
 I had not been so glad to go 
 
 To my appointed place. 
 God knows — perchance 'twas better so- 
 
 God knows in either case. 
 
INCOMPLETIOX. 109 
 
 INCOMPLETION. 
 
 IT matters not that I must leave 
 The work undone ; I may not grieve. 
 It must prove equal to the thought. 
 It matters not ; some one will make 
 The future effort for its sake. 
 
 Through which completeness shall be 
 wrought. 
 
 It matters not when all is done, 
 That hope is lost and death is won; 
 
 Since through his touch the larger hope, 
 Proved surety, waits to cheer and bless 
 The hearts made weak by sore distress, 
 
 With its enwidened horoscope . 
 
110 HE. 
 
 It matters not, we sing, and turn 
 From our weak loves to clear discern 
 
 God's perfect love through their alloy. 
 Since here or there must surely prove 
 Revealment of His promised love ; 
 
 What waiting shall our trust destroy? 
 
 It matters not, O weary soul! 
 
 That thou shouldst fail to reach the goal, 
 
 With obstacles so hedged around. 
 Beyond all chance the goal shines still. 
 Through life and death, past good and ill,. 
 
 The healing of its peace is found. 
 
g'gwtr^ij. 
 
 A YEAR of singing ; the year is gray ; 
 ^^ The mists hang thickly along the 
 
 way; 
 The spring is tardy, its pulse is slow. 
 What of the seasons we are to know ? 
 The night creeps slowly toward the day. 
 
 A year of singing; the spring-time thrills; 
 And Nature quickens the vales and hills. 
 The sun shines warm on the yielding 
 earth, 
 
 The green leaves welcome the year < 
 rebirth. 
 
 And hasten forward as Nature wills. 
 
 113 
 
114 r ENVOY. 
 
 A year of singing ; the year is green ; 
 The birds fly lowly the boughs between; 
 The birds fly high at the heaven's mark; — 
 And which is wiser, the wren or lark? 
 The glory sought, or the comfort seen? 
 
 The singing falters, the drought is here ; 
 The fields lie bare of the garnered year. 
 The toil is ended and what remains 
 To spur us onward toward further gains? 
 Not 3-et may autumn and strength appear. 
 
 A year of singing ; the orchards turn 
 From green to golden, the red leaves burn. 
 The subtle bloom of the ending charm 
 Of summer rests on the field and farm. 
 Between the frosts still the sunbeams 
 yearn. 
 
 The cold is gaining, the ice and frost 
 Have set their seal on the treasures lost. 
 The firelight draws us from field to hall ; * 
 The winter treads on the track of fall. 
 )V^hat of the seasons, their gain or cost? 
 
UENVOY. 115 
 
 A year of singing, the year is white, 
 The snows are spread o'er its past delight. 
 The birds are still, and the sun is cold, 
 silenced singing, the year is old! 
 The day has vanished into the night. 
 
 ended singing! lo, now as then 
 God makes the music; man holds the pen. 
 The notes are faulty ; the score runs right. 
 The whole is written within His sight ; 
 Whatever discord is caused by men. 
 
 endless singing, perfect bliss! 
 life eternal begun in this! 
 O perfect Love, as the symbols fail 
 The changelessness in our songs we hail 
 Thy mighty purpose we may not miss. 
 
^isjCjeXIatxjeouB goiMUs. 
 
117 
 AT PARTING. 
 
 JWl Y songs, the time has come when ye 
 ^ ^ * ma} be 
 
 No more as in days past my very own : 
 Soon other tongues will sing your music's 
 
 moan, 
 And other lives amid their tears will see 
 My own tears prisoned in your minstrelsy. 
 My songs that through such weary days 
 
 have grown 
 Of this my life such part, shall ye being 
 
 known 
 To other singers longer comfort me? 
 
 Within each one of you my heart has placed 
 Some record of its rapture or its pain ; 
 Some praise of much prized blessings that 
 
 remain, 
 Some wail for vanished joys no longer 
 
 traced 
 Upon Life's dial by Time's partial sun. 
 Go forth — no longer mine — nor live for one. 
 
118 
 
 My songs that came to cheer my own life's 
 
 dearth, 
 Gro forth to seek amid Life's ebb and flow 
 Some resting place, where, as men come 
 
 and go 
 You may be found, if in you lives aught 
 
 worth 
 The finding. Through the myriad paths of 
 
 earth 
 Comes each one to his own, perchance e'en 
 
 so 
 Ye may return from wandering to and fro, 
 And rest within the heart that gave you 
 
 birth. 
 
 It may be that I need you more than those 
 To whom I send you forth. No other heart 
 Beats with mine under the same weight, or 
 
 knows 
 The sorrow which, in forcing mine apart 
 From lighter living, through the silence 
 
 grows 
 To be at last Joy's tender counterpart. 
 
119 
 
 What do you know of Life? some souls 
 
 may cry. 
 You, sitting in your corner with your books, 
 Safe, sheltered from the hard Worlds cruel 
 
 looks ; 
 Unheeding evil things that pass you by? 
 What echo of Life's strain and agony 
 Can penetrate your stillness? In what 
 
 nooks 
 Of crime and sin have you cast grappling- 
 
 hooks 
 Of faith to raise us from our misery? 
 
 What claim have you upon us, unto whom 
 You never came before with deed or word? 
 W^hy do you seek to dissipate our gloom, 
 Because, forsooth, some power your heart 
 
 has stirred 
 To utter in the quiet of j'our room 
 Words of Life's song your ear cannot have 
 
 heard? 
 
130 
 
 When dail}' o'er your labor shines the sun, 
 Or, if that shines not, 'tween 3'ou and rain 
 Stretches the crystal shelter of the pane, 
 What do you know of lives that have to 
 
 run 
 Unsheltered through the weather's stress, 
 
 with none. 
 To bid them pause and from their flight 
 
 refrain, 
 Which leads where at the last there doth 
 
 remain 
 The outer darkness, entered here upon? 
 
 There is enough, they cry, to hear and see 
 Of wretchedness, without the added sting 
 Of lives like yours, that play at misery. 
 And harp in perfumed stillness on the 
 
 string 
 That but records Life's real agony. 
 Why should we cease our plaints to hear 
 
 3'ou sing? 
 
121 
 
 God knows my shelter did not prove so 
 
 strong, 
 But that Pain entering through it taught 
 
 my heart 
 To feel, though beating from the World 
 
 apart. 
 My kinship with its pulses. Right and 
 
 wrong 
 That ring alternate echoes in Life's song 
 Your sound at times seems one. Aye, 
 
 though I start 
 At thought of fallen nature's bitter part, 
 One heritage doth to us both belong. 
 
 We seem the sport of circumstance and 
 
 place ; 
 And, that to-night I raise to God my eyes 
 Unclouded with the sense of soul-disgrace 
 That dims so many, is not that there lies 
 More strength within my soul; or that 
 
 Sin's space 
 Is filled and farther entrance way denies. 
 
I'i3 
 
 DIRECTION. 
 
 HAT matters, after all is done and 
 
 ^ ^ said, 
 
 This life's resulting; whether loss or gain, 
 In these the things we strive so to attain? 
 Whether the soul is starved or comforted? 
 The question, friends, is of the path we 
 
 tread ; 
 Not of the place now reached, nor of the 
 
 pain 
 Of future strife, which must perforce 
 
 remain 
 Concealed, nor yet from whence the pathway 
 
 led. 
 
 There are so many words^ one can but 
 
 choose 
 At times unwisely 'mongst their multitude ; 
 But when the soul's desire is all for good, 
 Some good must linger with us, though we 
 
 lose 
 Through our o'er-reaching grasp, the things 
 
 that make 
 Life seem unworth its cost for their lost sake. 
 
123 
 
 THE LOST POET. 
 
 WHEN he is dead, and it is fairly known, 
 That nevermore shall his evanished 
 face 
 Make fair or darken any earthly place, 
 Why do we vainly seek to make our own 
 Each action of his daily life, once shown 
 To our unheeding vision? Strength and 
 
 grace, 
 The higher vision through the common- 
 place, 
 Came to him through soul-solitude alone. 
 
 Each little hindering act and jarring sense 
 In daily living, that annulled the fire 
 Of genius in his breast; each weak pretense 
 Of quenching at earth's springs his thirst's 
 
 desire ; 
 These being ended, let us, friends, from 
 
 hence 
 Worship the music's echo, not the lyre! 
 
134 
 
 SONG. 
 
 AH, yes, I sing! I sing to you, forsooth; 
 As little caged birds shut in the dark 
 To make them sing the tender strains we 
 
 hark 
 'Mid grosser sounds to hear. As these, in 
 
 truth, 
 Turning each impulse of their prisoned 
 
 youth 
 To living good, from the dead freedom 
 
 stark 
 Before them, while the passer-by may mark 
 The rapture only, guessing not the ruth. 
 
 They sing, all else denied them but the 
 
 song,— 
 The sound of rustling breeze and water's 
 
 fall, 
 The gleam of sunshine's radiance over all, 
 Until the longing for these things makes 
 
 strong 
 The power that reaching them perchance 
 
 had grown, 
 Through much content, unfit to make them 
 
 known. 
 
OLORD, n 
 days I y 
 
 125 
 ASPIRATION. 
 
 my God! through these my 
 
 earn 
 
 For that day's coming, whose strong light 
 
 shall fall 
 On my cloud-darkened life, and ending all 
 My wanderings, which but sought at every 
 
 turn 
 For nearness to Thee, grant new power to 
 
 learn 
 The half-guessed truths I may not here 
 
 forestall 
 While hindered from Thee by the body's 
 
 wall, 
 Nor through the vesture of its flesh discern. 
 
 I have not found among the words that 
 sound 
 
 Men's echoing doubts — nor one strong doubt 
 dispel — 
 
 Words strong or pure enough in which to 
 tell 
 
 The AVorld of these vain longings that re- 
 bound 
 
 Unto the desert-ways that close me round. 
 
 Nor pierce the vail beyond which Thou dost 
 dwell. 
 
126 
 
 UNREST. 
 
 T SAID, I will go hence and find a place 
 * Where this despair that clouds my life, 
 
 is not. 
 And lo, the while I said it, came the 
 
 thought 
 That never yet in journeying through life's 
 
 ways 
 Had I beheld such place, or heard its praise 
 Sung by the restless hearts that long have 
 
 sought 
 The goal where rest from unrest may be 
 
 wrought 
 By patient toiling, after many days. 
 
 Throughout all Time the echoing cry re- 
 sounds; 
 
 From human hearts its wail sounds loud or 
 low: 
 
 "Ah, anywhere than here, these grievous 
 wounds 
 
 Were easier borne." Alas, that even so 
 
 We dull the good that lives within our 
 bounds ! 
 
 Tis self, not place that bears our burden's 
 woe. 
 
127 
 
 REALIZATION. 
 
 'T'HESE many years I sang m}^ songs alone. 
 ^ I sang them sof tlj^, in my heart, nor 
 
 heard 
 The faintest echo from my tenderest word. 
 The world went by, unheeding joy or moan, 
 Unheeding peace or longing in their tone ; 
 And men's hearts throbbed not, mine alone 
 
 was stirred 
 By far faint music to the world unknown. 
 
 And then, one day, one passing heard, and 
 
 caught. 
 With stronger breath, the music's charm ; 
 
 and all 
 The people listened to the louder call 
 Through which the same sweet symphonies 
 
 were taught. 
 And I too listened, all my heart o'er- 
 
 fraught 
 As self -belief proved that which did befall. 
 
128 
 
 LOST SYMPATHY. 
 
 OBROTHER-souls, who erstwhile trod 
 these ways 
 That now I wander in ; souls that found 
 Such sense of isolation in the round 
 Of things external that make up the days ; 
 O souls, that strove when there was none to 
 
 praise 
 The strife, till it, completed, did redound 
 Loud credit, — late found balm, brought to 
 
 a wound 
 Grown hard o'er its own pain through such 
 
 delays : 
 
 souls, who hungered oft for one to reach 
 And know your thought, e'en as you 
 
 understood 
 Its awful sacredness, which yet your speech 
 Echoed, although it might not as you 
 
 would, — 
 If it might only be that one could turn 
 Such grieving into help, nor longer yearn ! 
 
129 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 /^ YE, who hear the voices of the night, 
 
 ^-^ Arise with me and tell what je do 
 
 hear, 
 
 With other organs than the natural ear! 
 
 Arise, and keep your earthly vesture bright 
 
 From soil of daily use, and turn your sight 
 
 From worldly pomps unto the dayspring 
 
 clear. 
 O poets, sing! ye need no longer fear 
 Aught save the stifling of the new songs 
 might. 
 
 0, ye who see the coming glory through 
 The veil of matter clinging closely round 
 The spirit's insight into things profound, 
 
 Sing, though your heart-strings break in 
 striving; sing 
 
 The love of God to men! Through sufferino-. 
 The voicing of the highest love is founr:. 
 
130 INVOCATION. 
 
 There is no sound to utter unto men 
 
 The wondrous rapture of Love's strange 
 new word; 
 That may be writ in silence only, when 
 
 God's hand doth touch our foreheads — 
 only heard 
 By others in like ecstasy, and then, 
 
 That we mistake not, lo a word is found, 
 kinsmen. Poet is the nearest sound! 
 
 Fear not great Love's appointment; strive 
 
 But we are sinful men and women. Lord. 
 We love the shadow, trust, fail, love again 
 Thy fallen image in our fellow men. 
 And when Thj^ love into our hearts is 
 
 poured, 
 We weep at our unworthiness to be 
 Chosen from out mankind to tell of Thee. 
 
131 
 
 ONCE IN A WHILE. 
 
 /^NCE in a while, the days between! 
 ^^ Somebody comes w4th a word to sa}^ ; 
 Some moment's space in the hurried day. 
 We who are weary are comforted 
 For the long dull days when no word is 
 
 said, 
 Once in a while, the days between! 
 
 Once in a while, the years between! 
 Love comes unto the hearts that j^earn; 
 Late or earl}^, to each in turn ; 
 Shining through many eyes unto one; 
 To another, once only, and love is done. 
 Once in a while, the years between! 
 
 Once in a while, 0, the centuries 
 
 Of sin and struggle, waste that dies ! 
 
 Ere, slowly, surely, the human sees 
 
 Love's true fulfillment in sacrifice. 
 
 x\f ter long whiles ! in each soul forlorn, 
 
 As to the nations the Christ is born. 
 
132 
 
 THE SOUTH-WEST WIND. 
 
 THE south-west wind was blowing, 
 And lovely was the day, 
 The sunlight brightly glowing, 
 
 When Jamie went away. 
 There was no means of knowing ; 
 
 Earth kept glad holiday ; 
 The south-west wind was blowing. 
 And our twa hearts were gay. 
 
 The south-west wind was blowing. 
 
 The day they brought him back 
 But o'er the sky so glowing 
 
 Was spread the tempest's wrack. 
 Fate had no means of showing 
 
 The coming tempest's track. 
 The south-west wind was blowing, 
 
 The day they brought him back. 
 
THE SOUTH-WEST WIND, 133 
 
 cruel wind and faithless 
 
 I loathe your gentle breath! 
 
 Why did you leave me scathless, 
 
 And waft my love to death? 
 
 1 would all men were knowing 
 
 As I your cheating ways ! 
 When southwest winds are blowing 
 Then most I loathe the days. 
 
 When the winds, roused from slumber, 
 
 Shrill loudly, or sing low, 
 One voice among their number 
 
 My fearful heart doth know. 
 I see blue ripples flowing, 
 
 I see the waves grown gray, 
 When southwest winds are blowing 
 
 And lovely is the da}^ 
 
134 
 
 AFTER THE STORM. 
 
 OUT of the sky the storm has fled, 
 With rattle and crash of thunder : 
 To the welcome sun tarns each flow'ret's 
 
 head, 
 Still bending the rain drops under. 
 
 Forth from the shelter which welcome 
 
 proved 
 Through hours of the storm's enduring. 
 Again to the woodland haunts beloved, 
 I follow the path alluring. 
 
 And lo! where the wood and the meadow 
 
 meet, 
 Just the skirting-ground of either, 
 A little brown nest lies at my feet. 
 By the wind's force drifted hither. 
 
.■IFTER TUB .-^nORM. I35 
 
 Over my head two wild birds small, 
 Persist in a vain endeavor 
 To awaken life, by their loving call, 
 In their nestlings, hushed forever. 
 
 A little way from the empty nest 
 Is the cause of the old birds' sorrow. 
 Though the skies may clear, still their woi 
 
 birds rest 
 Beyond an awak'ning morrow. 
 
 Ah, other summers will come and go, 
 When is ended this summer's grieving: 
 And again will the birds fly to and fro, 
 With hope their new nest enweaving. 
 
 Yet here at my feet, while the earth is 
 
 thrilled 
 With joy at the storm-cloud's flying, 
 Here, with its music forever stilled, 
 This summer's nest is Ivino-. 
 
in 
 
 WINTER WHEAT. 
 
 TN the midst of the field's gmj stubble 
 
 ^ Patches of green appear. 
 
 "Tis the winter wheat, with its promise 
 
 sweet 
 Of a blessing that waits to cheer, 
 With its crowning bloom, after days of 
 
 gloom. 
 The brow of the coming year. 
 
 Through the stretch of life's gra}^ surround- 
 ings 
 
 Flit glimpses of brightness too ; 
 
 Like hint or promise of better things 
 
 To come in life's yet unnumbered springs. 
 
 When the winter days are through ; 
 
 When the hopes that lie 'neath the winter's 
 sky. 
 
 Shall unfold to their harvest true. 
 
137 
 
 TOWN OR COUNTRY. 
 
 "\1 /"HEN the rain comes down, 
 ' ' Out of a sky of leaden hue and 
 dreary ; 
 When the small birds, grown 
 So suddenly of their wet kingdom weary, 
 Nestle 'mid dripping leaves, with rueful air; 
 The town seems fair. 
 
 When all the fields 
 
 Of waving corn and grain are blurred to- 
 gether ; 
 
 When all the prospect that fair Nature 
 yields 
 
 Looks marred and dismal in the rainy 
 weather , 
 
 With all our soul's might, as the rain comes 
 down. 
 
 We long for town. 
 
138 TOWN OR COUNTRY. 
 
 But, when the night 
 
 Between us and the stars hangs its wet 
 
 curtain, 
 The crickets voice of might 
 Assures us still in accents clear and certain, 
 That "next week"* comes some good to 
 
 surely cheer 
 Life there or here. 
 
 *"'Creek creek, creekity creek 
 Something's sure to happen next we^k. 
 
139 
 
 RP.FLECTION. 
 
 r^OWN in the water below my feet 
 *-^ There lies reflected an image sweet 
 
 Of the world in the Maj^-day weather, 
 The old, old world, in the garments new 
 Of her latest spring ; and I pause to view 
 The pictured grace in the mirror blue. 
 
 Of the old and the new tosjether. 
 
 Over the edge of the banks are seen 
 
 Low fields far-stretching, whose vivid green 
 
 In the spring-time light shines onl}': 
 While fruit-trees yield to each breeze that 
 
 springs 
 The wondrous scent of their blossomings. 
 And from topmost branches a bird's song 
 rings 
 To gladden the watcher lonely. 
 
140 REFLECTION. 
 
 Still covers the landscape o'er, the spell 
 That God created when all was well 
 
 In the grand old garden story; 
 Before came sorrow and care and dread, 
 'Neath whose advancing the secret fled. 
 Ah! dear first mother, the ages dead 
 
 Have dulled not that secret's glory. 
 
 I wonder about it, sitting here, 
 The strength that bore thus from year to 
 year 
 
 The pain of the keen regretting; 
 As over the lives of the children small 
 The curse descended, and slowly all 
 The sorrows that unto the race did fall 
 
 Kept your tortured heart from forgetting. 
 
 0, shoulders slender to bear the weight 
 Of a world's madness and scorn and hate. 
 
 Nor sink 'neath so sore a burden! 
 0, heart courageous to still beat on 
 After the faith in your strength was gone! 
 0, weary waiting before Life won 
 
 From Death's touch the longed for guer- 
 don! 
 
REFLECTION. 141 
 
 We are so used to it, we have borne 
 Through such long ages the life forlorn, 
 
 Decreed to us through your sinning, 
 That this j^our courage to us appears 
 A thing unknown in the later years, 
 Not found, alas! in the hemispheres; 
 
 New-found since your world's beginnino^. 
 
 As, slowly rising, I turn my face 
 Toward the home pathway, the subtle 
 grace 
 Of the scene mocks my retreating. 
 Ah, still there rests upon earth and air 
 The peace perfected, we may not share, 
 Till the lips of the silence unsealed declare 
 Its charm through some sweet, strange 
 greeting! 
 
142 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 HOW did you store and make so real 
 The fleeting flame of the sunset's hue? 
 Where did you gain what you now reveal 
 
 Of vanished glories the summer through? 
 When did you prison the color fleet? 
 Tell me your secret, Bitter-Sweet! 
 
 When days were long, o'er the summer 
 flowers 
 
 Your hard green berries unnoticed swung ; 
 And no result from the soft, sweet hours 
 
 Lingered your clustering leaves among. 
 Ah, frost was needed and cold and sleet, 
 For your completement, my Bitter-Sweet ! 
 
 Who first named you had doubtless tasted 
 The bitterness of the summer's flight; 
 
 Had known the sweets of the season wasted, 
 Had felt the fear of the winter's blight; 
 
 And through his kinship to you did greet 
 
 And name your being, Bitter-Sweet ! 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 143 
 
 Sweet and Bitter you bind together 
 
 Known and unknown within your sphere ; 
 
 The vanished sweet of the summer weather; 
 The sharp'ning chill of the closing year; 
 
 In your scarlet globes, lo, these forces 
 meet, 
 
 That make you as life to us, Bitter-Sweet! 
 
 Christmas comes but once through the 
 waning 
 Of the year's seasons, or swift, or slow. 
 Lo, through your sweet is our old com- 
 plaining 
 Changed to hope as the seasons grow! 
 With added courage our pulses beat, 
 For days untried to prove bitter, sweet. 
 
144 
 
 QUESTION AND ANSWER. 
 
 iiHTELL me why all through the living 
 ^ Of the troublous life you have led, 
 There has shown on your face, through its 
 grieving, 
 Such courageous endurance," she said. 
 ' ' Tell me, woman, whose sorrows 
 
 Far outnumber your hopes, why the fear 
 Of the coming relentless tomorrows 
 
 Chills 3'ounot?" ^' Just the words, ' I am 
 here.' " 
 
 ' ' Can you hear, then, this echo resounding 
 
 Through the ages of tumult and sin? 
 Through the passionate sorrow surrounding 
 
 Your life, can its comfort creep in? 
 heart, that beats on when the beauty 
 
 Of your life is turned pallid and drear, 
 What upholds your adherence to duty?" 
 
 Low she whispered the words, " I am 
 here." 
 
QUESTION AND ANSWER. 145 
 
 * ' Is there then in the world not one lover 
 
 One friend, one true heart unto whom 
 You could turn till the storm-cloud is over, 
 
 That now shadows your life with its 
 gloom? 
 Is the wide earth so faint in its aiding 
 
 That thy hurt spirit turns for its cheer 
 To past ages, and thus retrograding 
 
 Cheats itself with the words, ' I am 
 here?' " 
 
 ' ' heart that thus questions so keenly 
 
 The faith that for ages has stood 
 As a rock, 'mid life's surges that vainly 
 
 Pour upon it their desolate flood, 
 The one thing that is real 'mid the fleeting 
 
 Of life's changeable shades that appear 
 But to vanish, is this, God's own greetingv 
 
 ' To the end of the world, I am here.' " 
 
146 
 
 SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI. 
 
 AT mom it stood within its walls 
 Of hard-baked clay, a sightly thing; 
 At eve within the palace halls 
 Its direful fate I sadly sing. 
 Only the day before 'twas bought, 
 A little Fuchsia in a pot. 
 
 Out on the pride ! that soon did raise 
 The Fuchsia from its resting place, 
 
 And unto every passing gaze 
 
 Displayed its beauty and its grace . 
 
 'Twas lifted early to the ledge 
 
 Of rock that guards the palace edge. 
 
 The Fuchsia is a modest flower; 
 
 It hung its head and blushed and sighed 
 For the past peaceful morning hour 
 
 When first it stood the steps beside. 
 A vague presentiment did fill 
 
 Each leaf with dread of coming ill. 
 
SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI. 147 
 
 At evening's close a cloud did rise 
 In the far east and quickly spread ; 
 
 And in the dark and sultry skies 
 Each careful mind the lesson read 
 
 Of danger, from the gathering wrath, 
 To all within the tempest's path. 
 
 But while we rushed, with eager pace, 
 The flower to save — alas, alas! 
 
 With simple, unaffected grace. 
 Its former station on the grass 
 
 It reassumed, by turning round 
 
 Some three times ere it reached the 
 ground. 
 
 Methought I heard its voice, as low 
 Upon the ground it lay forlorn ; 
 
 * ' My mournful fall but serves to show 
 The fate of all too early borne 
 
 From peaceful homes to meet awhile — 
 Then faint 'neath — Fortune's fickle smile. 
 
148 SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDJ. 
 
 ' * country roads, beside whose track 
 Unharmed the wild sweet clover sways, 
 
 Through sunshine warm or tempest's wrack^ 
 Contented through the summer days, 
 
 Your humble voices could relate 
 The moral in my early fate!" 
 
 I listened, but it spoke no more, 
 The rain beat on its bruised head 
 
 The flower which but the day before 
 Cheered every heart, alas! was dead. 
 
 And, thinking on the clover weed, 
 I mourn the Fuchsia's fate indeed. 
 
149 
 
 HOME GREETING. 
 
 O, mine b}'' every right the soul 
 
 Of man may claim from God! and won 
 
 By granting to each setting sun 
 Some part of life's allotted whole . 
 
 Home, looked forward to for years, 
 When nights were long and days too full 
 
 Of toil and pain and burning tears 
 For one to reach the Beautiful! 
 
 O vision! that the silent night 
 So often brought and took away ; 
 
 Now realized within my sight, 
 And strong to bear the light of day. 
 
 Among thy lovers live but few 
 Who longed as I to reach thy rest; 
 
 Thy sacredness seems ever new 
 To this world-weary, tired breast. 
 
 O Home! place divine! whose walls 
 Shut out the sound of wordly strife ; 
 
 breathing space! wherein the life 
 Gains strength to meet World's grief, that 
 falls 
 
 More lightly at thy threshold sweet 
 Than elsewhere on the land or sea; 
 The weary waiting, it may be. 
 
 But makes possession's sense complete. 
 
150 
 
 DREAMS. 
 
 IN my dreams, the tenderness 
 Of dead friendship charms again ; 
 All its olden power to bless, 
 Still is felt in each caress, — 
 Shadow-pictured, now as then. 
 
 In my dreams the kisses are, 
 
 Which throughout the daylight's space,. 
 Wait from daily cares afar; 
 Wait, till freed from commonplace 
 
 To them turns the tired face. 
 
 In my dreams, Death's victory 
 
 Is annulled; and, through the gloom 
 
 Of the night, returns to me 
 
 One dear Presence to illume 
 
 Yet again Life's tarnished bloom. 
 
isr 
 
 TO MY ROOM. 
 
 r\ COMRADE mine! the shadowy hour 
 ^-^ that o'er us, 
 
 These many years, 
 Has made its presence felt, at last before us 
 
 In form appears ; 
 We greet, nor longer dread the ended power 
 
 Of parting hour. 
 
 Through each vicissitude of life, I've found 
 thee 
 
 Most true and tried; 
 When the great world was ringing false 
 around me, 
 
 I've sought to hide 
 My doubting heart where thy sweet peace - 
 fulness 
 
 Did always bless. 
 
152 TO MY ROOM. 
 
 Yet I have left thee in pursuit of pleasure, 
 
 Where pride and joy 
 Filled utterly the glad hour's rapturous 
 measure ; 
 
 Where no alloy 
 Dimmed pleasure's chain, except the haunt- 
 ing thought, 
 
 Thou must be sought. 
 
 Wilt thou remember, as fresh faces fill thee 
 
 And life goes on, 
 Mid the new human griefs and joys that 
 thrill thee. 
 
 The friend that's gone? 
 And will thy memoried air disturb the rest 
 
 Of some new guest? 
 
 I shall remember in the strange new places 
 
 Where I may dwell, 
 Pursuing the old aims amid new faces; 
 
 Nor let the spell 
 Of coming years make those I've spent 
 with thee 
 
 Less dear to me. 
 
TO MY ROOM. 153 
 
 Through youth's best years, dear room, 
 we've shared together 
 All life can hold 
 Of storm and sunshine, warm and wintry 
 weather. 
 
 The seasons rolled 
 
 Past us and came again, nor discord found 
 
 In all their round. 
 
 Farewell! thine air dismantled seems to 
 chide me 
 
 As I depart. 
 Whatever may in coming years betide thee, 
 
 Grant to each heart 
 That seeks thine aid, the help and sym- 
 pathy 
 
 Thou gavest me. 
 
154 
 
 CORAM NOBIS. 
 
 'T^HERE is no grief and no regret 
 -* In that which lies before; 
 No weariness the heart to fret, 
 
 No losses to deplore; 
 We bring our burdens of the past, 
 
 And leave them at the door. 
 
 O mystic door, that swings between 
 The known and the untried! 
 
 Who passes through this arch serene 
 Finds but one right denied; 
 
 The shadow of his former self 
 No more may walk beside. 
 
 Before us shines the dawning clear. 
 Behind us lies the night. 
 
 The Future brightens as we near 
 To make our own its might; 
 
 Freedom, self- chosen, evermore 
 Has he who finds its light. 
 
155^ 
 
 UNCOMFORTED. 
 
 T T never can seem again 
 
 * A.S it used to long ago, 
 
 The years between now and then 
 
 Have altered the world's face so; 
 And the power to bless in the new seems, 
 less 
 
 Than the old, as the seasons grow. 
 
 It never can seem again 
 
 Be the journey short or long. 
 As it seemed in youth's spring-time, when 
 
 The hope in the heart was strong; 
 Ere its courage blent in the discontent 
 
 Of the world's great chorus-song. 
 
156 UNCOMFO RTED. 
 
 It never again can seem 
 
 As it used to when the light 
 Of the home-lamp's cheering gleam 
 
 Streamed out on the winter night ; 
 When the heart grew warm through the 
 wildest storm, 
 
 At sight of its lustre bright. 
 
 Look up — Soul! o'er thy sighing 
 Dawns a hint of that morning, when 
 
 Thou shalt cease thy querulous crying 
 '' It never can seem as then " ! 
 
 Ah its wondrous grace shall all loss efface 
 When the time shall be one again! 
 
157 
 
 RECEIPT FOR POETRY. 
 
 /^ NE half an ounce of common sense, 
 
 ^-^ One ounce of world's experience, 
 
 One pound belief in other men, 
 
 And one of being duped again. 
 
 Two pounds of power to dream, the while 
 
 The waking brain takes note of time. 
 
 I grant ye, friends, the right to smile ; 
 
 This quaint receipt is solely mine. 
 
 Mix these in crucible whose form 
 
 Was forged in fires of deathless Love. 
 
 Be sure and keep the mixture warm ; 
 
 If cooled it hardens from above, 
 
 Becomes o'erlaid with scum of pain, 
 
 And renders bitter all below, 
 
 And hence the whole receipt is vain. 
 
 One taint of self, it must not show ; 
 
 But only Love's resistless might. 
 
 And only Love's unceasing grace. 
 
 This, followed surely, brings to light 
 
 True poetry in every case. 
 
158 
 
 HER ANSWER. 
 
 T HAVE no time, she said, 
 * To marry you. 
 
 Youth's sunshine is too sweet, too dear, 
 To overcloud with duties drear 
 That housewives do ! 
 
 I have no heart, she said, 
 
 To say farewell 
 To freedom sweet, that strayed with me 
 Through journeys far, whose ecstasy 
 
 No tongue can tell! 
 
 I have no power, she said, 
 
 To put away 
 From clamoring heart the things that filj 
 Its need, that I may do your will, 
 
 From day to day. 
 
HER ANSWER. 159 
 
 I have no strength, she said, 
 
 To face the years, 
 Weighed down with other's weal or woe ; 
 My own soul's weight doth heavier grow 
 
 As each appears! 
 
 You cannot think, she said, 
 
 Because your heart 
 Beats faster at my step, and each 
 Swift pulse unto m}^ own doth reach, 
 
 Why we should part. 
 
 This may not be, she said. 
 
 Yet, at your call, 
 My reasons wise had worthless proved, 
 If, as I have not, I had loved 
 
 You more than all ! 
 
160 
 
 IMMUTABILITAS. 
 
 "He sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." 
 
 HE sends the rain 
 Alike upon the just, and those 
 Made otherwise by cruel blows. 
 Whom loss or pain 
 
 Have rendered hard or weak. On all 
 His rain-drops fall. 
 
 He sends the rain 
 
 Upon the just and the unjust, 
 
 And some are strengthened and their trust 
 
 Doth still remain. 
 
 Some rise refreshed to do His will, 
 
 And some lie still. 
 
IMML'TABILITAS. 161 
 
 The grass lifts up 
 
 Its spears, made strong by drops that beat 
 
 The life out of the fragile, sweet, 
 
 Spring flower's cup. 
 
 And strong and weak are raised, or slain 
 
 By the same rain. 
 
 The grass shall live 
 
 Through summer days, that beasts mn}' 
 
 know 
 Its garnered sweet, when storm-winds blow, 
 And winters grieve. 
 The useful thinojs are strono- to l^ear 
 The rain-drops' care. 
 
 But flowers, why earth 
 
 Is covered with these useless things. 
 
 These olT'rings that the earth-life brings 
 
 Our joy or dearth ! 
 
 Soon other flowers will fill the place 
 
 Of such dead grace. 
 
162 
 
 CHRISTMAS-ROSES. 
 
 ONCE a year do the roses blow, 
 June-time roses so fair and fleet. 
 This is the time of the frost and snow, 
 This the season of cold and sleet, 
 But we remember through Christmas cheer 
 The fragrant bloom of the earlj^ year. 
 
 Once a year do the roses blow, 
 Christmas-roses, but oncea3'ear; 
 Which flowers are fairer we do not know, 
 Or which are found to our lives more dear 
 The roses lost with the summer skies, 
 Or the Christmas-roses to-day we prize. 
 
CHRISTMAS-ROSES. 163 
 
 This we know through the summer daj^s, 
 This we know while the sleigh-bells chime, 
 The Love eternal that placed our ways 
 In changing seasons and fleeting time, 
 Will surely render, each in its place, 
 The Christmas gladness, the June-time 
 grace. 
 
 And so, thus knowing, we let them go. 
 The things that gladden, the things that 
 
 cheer. 
 We may not keep, e'en while loving so. 
 Each gracious season throughout the year ; 
 We may not lose as the seasons pall. 
 The Love unchanging that granteth all. 
 
164 
 
 LIFa^'S LESSON. 
 
 NOW I would know how to love you; 
 If you should come again, 
 From out the years and the distance 
 
 That keep you safe since then. 
 I would not fret you nor grieve you, 
 
 As I did once long ago ; 
 I did not know then, my darling, 
 my love, I did not know ! 
 
 But the years I know, and the patience 
 
 That comes to the life from each ; 
 The loss in the worldly living. 
 
 Of the tender, daily speech ; 
 The silence in thronged assemblies. 
 
 The leaden heart below 
 The bravest smile, my darling. 
 
 My lost love, these I know! 
 
165 
 
 THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 
 Spring, 1888. 
 
 TOWA? 5^es sir, that's the state 
 -^ Most of us hails from here ; 
 Downright good folks, I calkelate. 
 
 To tie to through the year. 
 I'm glad to know you anyhow, 
 
 Though you don't mean to stay 
 More'n two days ; that, I allow, 
 
 'S about the tourist's wa}'. 
 
 This funeral to-day, 
 
 Made all on"s, you might s^y, 
 Just bluer than a whetstun. 
 
 We all loved Johnson ; fact I knew 
 
 Him better n the rest. 
 We come from the same town, and grew 
 
 Up longside. I come west 
 Ten years before him, stopping some 
 
 To see w^hat luck would do ; 
 
166 THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 
 
 Farmed in Nebraska, then I come 
 
 All Colorado through. 
 
 The restlessness just grew ; 
 
 Some times, sir, that I knew 
 Seemed bluer than a whetstun. . 
 
 Settled here finely in this spot. 
 
 Four years ago, and done 
 The best I could to buy a lot, 
 
 To stow the folks upon. 
 I had time on't and put my all. 
 
 Three hundred dollars in. 
 Thinking with any chance at all 
 
 The rest on't I would win. 
 
 It seems now like a sin, 
 
 The way that things did spin; 
 Now its bluer than a whetstun. 
 
 In just six months, sir, it was found 
 
 My lot was needed more 
 For business property; the ground 
 
 I got six prices for. 
 And while the stores were buildin' there. 
 
 The lot and contract too 
 
THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 167 
 
 Changed hands three times, sir, I declare 
 
 I'm not a stuffin' you . 
 
 Good Lord, the wa}^ it grew! 
 
 The boom that we've lived through 
 Left us bluer than a whetstun. 
 
 You see, sir, Johnson come too late. 
 
 Though that we didn't know; 
 It takes a boom to educate, 
 
 Men's senses seem so slow. 
 We thought that things would keep along 
 
 To all eternity. 
 Town lots from ranches bouorht for a son^ • 
 
 We got slipped up, you see. 
 
 I'm sure, though, you'll agree, 
 
 Mournin' for him with me. 
 All on's bluer than a whetstun. 
 
 The wise ones saw the edges thin 
 
 Some months ago, when he 
 First struck here and they took him in. 
 
 I 'clare to God, sir — we 
 Were not all sharpers — I was green 
 
 As any tenderfoot 
 
168 THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 
 
 That crossed the Rockies; if I'd seen 
 
 This break think I'd a put 
 
 His all and mine afloat 
 
 In sucli a leak}^ boat, 
 And him bluer than a wlietstun? 
 
 I heard a woman sent him first 
 
 To the Pacific slope. 
 He aint the first one, nor the worst; 
 
 Most men get through with hope 
 In one shape or another 'fore 
 
 Thej try the climate's spell. 
 There's some things, sir, it can't restore; 
 
 'Twas so with Johnson. Well, 
 
 He'd lived, sir, through his hell, — 
 
 Finished, as dead he fell 
 Being bluer than a whetstun! 
 
 He had a brother, I've not seen 
 
 Nigh on to twenty year. 
 He was right fond of, but between 
 
 Them something come, — 'twas queer. 
 I've fancied sometimes it might be 
 
 This same orhl. It's too bad 
 
THE CALIFORNIA CRISIS. 169 
 
 All round! What's that you said to me? 
 "Silence!" or you'll "go mad. " 
 Your brother surely had 
 Some cause, then, to be glad; 
 
 I^ot bluer than a whets tun. 
 
170 
 
 LIMITATION. 
 
 J SPOKE to-day through the telephone ; 
 ^ Sent my voice miles away to a friend. 
 Wonderful link from the purpose shown 
 To the distant ear at the circuit's end! 
 Dumb was the wire in the outer air, 
 Naught could the passersby hear or see 
 Of the thought of love that was traveling 
 
 there, 
 Between the heart of my friend and me . 
 
 Sound is that we are tuned to hear, 
 
 Air vibrations that strike the sense ; 
 
 In one second the human ear 
 
 May forty thousand experience . 
 
 But to the millions, perchance, that break 
 
 Above, around us, our ears are numb. 
 
 And from lesser waves that do not o'ertake 
 
 Our second's limit, no sound may come. 
 
LIMITATION. 171 
 
 There is a man 'mid the surging crowd, 
 Smiled at, wondered at, all unknown; 
 "Poet" called, when the world laughs loud 
 At the words he hears o'er God's telephone. 
 He is keyed to vibrations beyond the ear ; 
 There are such we know in our planisphere. 
 There are sounds above, there are sounds 
 
 below 
 The plane where we walk, that we may not 
 
 know ; 
 Well, these are the sounds that the poets 
 
 hear! 
 
 There are vibrations, we hear it said. 
 The ether makes for each color seen ; 
 Four hundred millions, the light shines 
 
 red. 
 Increasing waves show the yellow, green, 
 More and more form the ideal blue. 
 Faster and faster, increasing yet, 
 The scale ascending in order true 
 Finds culmination in violet. 
 
172 LIMITATION 
 
 And, where the light falls on the eye, 
 So many waves ere the eye may see, 
 Think of the things we may not descry, 
 Which move among us so mightily! 
 Perohance the terrors our souls that shake 
 Are living shapes in the world unseen; 
 The love that binds and the hates that ache 
 May use us idly, poor toys that break! 
 Or crush us, unknowing, themselves be- 
 tween 
 
173 
 
 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 I KNOW that these things are : 
 The restless sea, 
 The strong white breakers, and the mount- 
 ing foam, 
 (Like joy in sailors' hearts at nearing home,) 
 The inspiration of the morning star, 
 The moonlit waves, the glory of the sun 
 That gilds the western sky when day is 
 done . 
 
 I know that these things are: 
 
 The deep blue sky, 
 
 Undimmed by smoke and dust and toil of 
 
 men. 
 With whom I strive for life. I know this 
 
 when 
 Above my head the brazen heavens scar 
 Sweet summer's meaning in the parching 
 
 town. 
 And hope and thought and God are beaten 
 
 down. 
 
174 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 I know that these things are: 
 
 — Though not for me, — 
 
 The breezes laden with the sweet strong 
 
 scent 
 The early summer brings; the deep content 
 Of dumb things grazing in green fields afar ; 
 The song of birds; the peace on earth and 
 
 sky, 
 That changes not for creatures such as I. 
 
 I know that these things are : 
 
 And are for me, 
 
 Who know them (as in heaven I too am 
 
 known), 
 And so I bide in peace, far from my own. 
 Yet not in truth am I so very fur. 
 What matters one's abiding, when the soul 
 Contains within itself earth's wondrous 
 
 whole? 
 
175 
 
 GRANDMOTHER'S SINGING. 
 
 T ? VE been thinking to-night of a story ; 
 * Not romantic indeed, scarcely strong 
 Enough at the best for much glory 
 
 To follow its ut' ranee in song ; 
 Yet I doubt not that odes laudatory 
 
 Have been writ where less praise should 
 belong. 
 
 My thought was of a little old lady, 
 One without whom I might not in this 
 
 Most peculiar of worlds, as a baby, 
 
 Have been brought to find things so 
 amiss. 
 
 But this question of Fate's one that may be 
 'T will take sev'ral more worlds to dismiss. 
 
176 GRANDMOTHER'S SINGING. 
 
 She lived long years ago, when a woman 
 Had more duties than now to fulfill . 
 
 When the questions that trouble the human 
 In this later-day culture were still. 
 
 And she married when young, quite the 
 true plan 
 To adopt even now, if one will. 
 
 It may be that a smile will come stealing 
 O'er your face when I tell you she had 
 
 Thirteen children, with whom in her dealing 
 She lived ever as common sense bade : 
 
 And they rose up and blessed her, revealing, 
 Through their lives, truths the proverbs 
 have clad. 
 
 Now it happened five times the Lord 
 brought her 
 Back from laying her dear ones at rest ; 
 And again to the living who sought her 
 
 Was her loving sweet ministry blest. 
 Ah, in thinking of this, her granddaughter 
 Writes through tears, of the strength she 
 possessed ! 
 
QRA^'DMOTHER'S SINGING. 177 
 
 Dear heart! all through Life's toil and its 
 pleasures, 
 All through losses and grieving and pain, 
 Still there rang in her soul the sweet 
 measures 
 Of the music we strive so in vain 
 To express. Few our words for its treasures, 
 Few the souls who expression attain. 
 
 Yet, 'mid sweeping and mending and 
 baking. 
 Amid efforts unpraised and unknown. 
 Did she lighten each toil's undertaking 
 With quaint phrases and rhj^mes of her 
 own; 
 Till the work was made blest through the 
 breaking 
 Of its chains by the courage thus shown. 
 
178 ORANDMOTHER'S SINGING. 
 
 Fourteen years have gone by since her 
 singing 
 Has been ended on earth ! Fourteen years ! 
 And to those whom she left, lo, their 
 bringing 
 Has been bitterness often and tears ! 
 But we know that she dwells 'mid the 
 ringing 
 Of the songs made by stars in their 
 spheres ; 
 
 Where the music continues, unbroken 
 By the noise of the days and their care ; 
 
 Where its harmonies only are spoken; 
 Where the seasons are ended; and where 
 
 The rest that remaineth is token, 
 
 Evermore, that God's presence is there. 
 
179 
 
 APPREHENSION. 
 
 A SHADOW turned, a shadow spake 
 ''*■ Some words my soul unto ; 
 And all my heart did fear and quake 
 
 Its strongest pulsing through. 
 For who can tell what a thing like that 
 
 Ma}^ further say, or do ? 
 
 For years I had taught my doubting heart 
 No trust in this shade to place. 
 
 For years I had striven to heal the smart 
 Left by knowledge of its grace. 
 
 For years I had journey' d far — at last 
 To meet it face to face. 
 
 I knew that duty was hard and cold ; 
 
 That the shadow was false and sweet ; 
 But my heart was numb and the year was 
 old. 
 
 With its promise incomplete; 
 And so I stood in the dawning gray 
 
 And heard the shadow speak. 
 
180 APPREHENSION. 
 
 *' You have not known me," said the shade, 
 " To thus feel fear and dread. 
 
 My own behold me undismayed, 
 A passing gloiy shed 
 
 On mortal life. Behold my face, 
 Lo, I am Love! " it said. 
 
 It drew the hood from off its face, 
 And turned its glance on me . — 
 
 I thank God for this sight of grace, 
 Daily on bended knee. 
 
 That once great Love revealed himself. 
 That I was there, to see ! 
 
 And now between me and the sun 
 
 No shadow dims the way. 
 I know no fear as life goes on ; 
 
 No hopes my heart betray, 
 If 1 had known the shade was Love, 
 
 I were his own, to-day. 
 
181 
 
 UNAIDED, 
 
 T^HERE is no one to hear the song, I said, 
 -■■ And thenceforth stilled the echo in 
 my breast. 
 Then all earth's outer sounds were hushed 
 to rest, 
 x\nd I did walk as one uncomforted. 
 
 There is no one to see the light, I cried, 
 The strange white light that blinds me as 1 
 
 see, 
 The vision to my fellows is denied. 
 
 There is no one to hear or see with me! 
 
 O fool, the voice that cries is not thine own 
 That thou shouldst still it at thy will's 
 behest! 
 Utter what thou dost hear, nor make thy 
 moan 
 At others' heedlessness. Do thou thy 
 best. 
 
182 UNAIDED. 
 
 If the world heard and answered thee, what 
 then? 
 What thank have ye? The sinners do 
 the same. 
 Give forth thy thought, if to unheeding 
 men, 
 Ye had example if Christ came again . 
 
183 
 
 THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 
 
 OR THE MISADVENTURES OF THE LATER-DAY 
 
 GILPINS. 
 
 Five kindred spirits once resolved 
 
 Upon a ride to go: 
 The hour was set at five o'clock, 
 
 Ere yet the sun was low. 
 
 They all agreed 'twas best they should 
 
 Meet at some central spot; 
 The Gilpins' was the house they chose 
 
 As being easiest sought. 
 
 The evening came, the clouds were drear, 
 
 And many thoughts were sent 
 From five most anxious minds to know 
 
 What all the others meant. 
 
 At last Miss G-. — saw at the door 
 
 Her brother's manly form. 
 And of the legal mind enquired 
 
 His thoughts about a storm. 
 
184 THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 
 
 On other evenings, when the clouds 
 
 Were full as dread and drear, 
 And he intended forth to ride , 
 
 He saw no cause for fear. 
 
 But when he saw his sisters dear 
 
 Arrayed in riding trim, 
 He said no soul would ride that night, — 
 
 Or so it seemed to him. 
 
 But very soon the door-bell sent 
 
 Fresh courage to each heart, 
 A page appeared and said, ' ' Now, girls, 
 
 All's ready for the start." 
 
 So these two maidens sallied forth. 
 
 Resplendent to the view. 
 To seek the others who would start 
 
 From Ellis avenue . 
 
 But when they reached the house they 
 heard 
 
 What caused them much dismay ; 
 The other three were seeking them, 
 
 But b}' another way . 
 
THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 185 
 
 So they returned, right hasLily, 
 
 Unto the Grilpins' door, 
 Only to find the other three 
 
 Had started back once more . 
 
 Again their weary steeds they turned, 
 
 And the familiar way 
 Was traveled once again by them. 
 
 All on the self- same day. 
 
 The avenue again was reached, 
 
 And nothing was espied. 
 With heavy hearts they backward turned 
 
 Upon their lonely ride. 
 
 They galloped up, they galloped down, 
 
 And argued earnestly 
 Upon the proper course to take. 
 
 But not a friend did see. 
 
 At last, with wisdom which their years 
 
 Scarce led one to expect. 
 They said no more they'd try to meet. 
 
 Nor on their woes reflect. 
 
186 THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 
 
 And, so thej^ hied them down the street 
 
 To Drexel Boulevard, 
 And, with each other satisfied, 
 
 Their joy no more was marred. 
 
 When the sweet scenery of the park 
 Had caused them much content. 
 
 The youngest maiden's thoughts returned 
 Where they'd been often sent; 
 
 And from the store of scripture truths 
 
 This one she called to mind, 
 That in the mercy shown to beasts 
 
 One's character we find. 
 
 The other girl had also read 
 
 Much scripture in her day, 
 But was too wise to call't to mind 
 
 When bent on pleasure's sway. 
 
 And when she saw far down the street 
 
 A party riding fleet, 
 She to her horse applied the whip 
 
 And hastened them to meet. 
 
THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 187 
 
 As they drew near the riders proved 
 The ones they long had sought; 
 
 And, in their joy at meeting, all 
 Past troubles were forgot. 
 
 But soon they proved the words, that all 
 
 ''This world's a fleeting show," 
 For one young woman's horse when urged 
 Would straightway trotting go; 
 
 Which caused her such distress and gave 
 
 Such mental anguish too. 
 They gathered round and all did think 
 
 What it were best to do. 
 
 Then one whom years had wisdom taught. 
 
 Inquired most earnestly, 
 Why from the trotting -steed the girl 
 
 Should not transferred be, 
 
 Unto the easy-riding steed 
 
 Her escort then bestrode, 
 Which grave suggestion all agreed 
 
 Unnatural wisdom showed. 
 
188 THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY. 
 
 So, in a moment, all was o'er; 
 
 At least some twentj^ past 
 When the equestrians homeward turned 
 
 Their wearj- steeds at last. 
 
 One of the party rode a steed, 
 Whom neither rein nor check, 
 
 Could hinder in his efforts vast 
 To break his owner's neck. 
 
 And though each steed's peculiar mind 
 
 Was different from the rest ; 
 On one point they were all agreed 
 
 They would not keep abreast. 
 
 At last the riders reached their homes. 
 
 But not as fresh and gay 
 As when an hour or so before 
 
 They started on their way. 
 
 That night their bones were all full sore, 
 
 But, O, the weariness, 
 Which on the next and second day 
 
 Their bodies did possess! 
 
THE EQUESTRIAN PARTY, 189 
 The moral that this tale affords. 
 
 I'm sure you'll all agree 
 Has been so clearly shown, it need 
 Not now repeated be. 
 
 But, lest some mind the moral lose. 
 And feel the loss most sadly. 
 
 And others different morals choose, 
 We'll state the true one gladly. 
 
 'Tis this, when all have once agreed 
 
 Upon a place of meeting, 
 Let not wild youth's impetuous wish 
 
 To give them earlier greeting. 
 
 Cause you to gallop off too fast, 
 Lest in the s^ain endeavor 
 
 To o'erreach fate, jou. find too late, 
 The friends are lost forever. 
 
190 
 
 COMMANDMENT. 
 
 SPEAK, " it said. ' 'The world will heed 
 'Mid its heartache and wild laughter; 
 Its sad toiling and its greed, 
 
 And the silence that comes after 
 The first heartbreak, when despair 
 
 Strongest seems while passionless ; 
 Speak, and to the world declare 
 How Pain's ministry may bless." 
 
 " Speak," it said. But 1 was dumb, 
 
 In the sudden, strange outpouring 
 Of the rapture that had come 
 
 To my life, its past restoring. 
 So I hid my face and said, 
 
 "Lord, my lips unworthy prove; 
 Let some heart still undismayed 
 
 Teach the lessons of Thy love." 
 
COMMANDMENT. 191 
 
 *' Speak, "it said. And then I poured 
 
 All my soul into the telling 
 How the angel, man-abhorred. 
 
 Stern -faced Pain into mj dwelling 
 Entered once and made her own 
 
 All my claims to life together; 
 Showed thenceforth her face alone, 
 
 Changeless through the changing weather. 
 
 Days and weeks and months rolled by ; 
 
 Months grew into years before us, 
 While we watched there, she and I, 
 
 Embers of the fire, while o'er us. 
 Stars shone through the summer nights, 
 
 Rain fell through the autumn's grieving. 
 Springs bloomed through the winters' 
 blights. 
 
 Yet she never spoke of leaving. 
 
192 COMMANDMENT. 
 
 Stern and grave and sad her gaze 
 
 Lingered on each wish I cherished, 
 Until Hope forsook my wa3's, 
 
 And my joys all slowly perished. 
 Till at last I tried to hnj, 
 
 Her departure fi'om my portal 
 For I loathed her, being I, 
 
 And but human ; she, immortal. 
 
 So I bought her one by one 
 
 All fair things that gave life pleasure, 
 Merry thoughts that used to run 
 
 Through the mind in joyous measure, 
 Old delights and tenderness. 
 
 Treasured yet more close since never 
 On this earth their like shall bless 
 
 Future effort or endeavor. 
 
COMMANDMENT. 193 
 
 Then I laid beneath her touch, 
 
 All the wild ambitious yearning 
 That assailed me overmuch 
 
 In youth's springtime undiscerning, — 
 Yielded all, save one thing, kept 
 
 In a secret place, where only 
 My own heart knew that it slept, 
 
 In a sacred stillness lonely. 
 
 Then Pain spoke, who 3^ears had sat 
 
 Mute and still, ' ' Your best is guarded. 
 I am waiting still for that 
 
 All to me must be awarded. 
 E'er I leave you," Here her smile 
 
 Filled me with strange sudden wonder. 
 She had never smiled the while 
 
 Of her sojourn my roof under. 
 
194 COMMANDMENT. 
 
 Blinded, dazzled, by its light, 
 
 Rendered powerless of concealing 
 What was hers, even by the might 
 
 Of her majesty's revealing, — 
 Then I brought her where I kept 
 
 Life's supreme and dearest token. 
 Led her where Love's shadow slept 
 
 Since the day his power was broken, 
 
 Then she left, and nevermore 
 Sought to enter at my door: 
 But the wonder of her smile 
 Lingers with me yet the while. 
 And I sometimes know the fear 
 I was blind while she was here. 
 
COMMANDMENT. 195 
 
 So I spoke and so T wrought 
 All the feeling into thought — 
 But the blessing I should tell ? 
 Pain has vanished, that is well ; 
 But Love's shadow followed Pain, 
 Thouo^ht alone doth now remain. 
 
 Thought remains and thought alone 
 Forms the life I call my own . 
 Is it well when all is gone 
 Thought and I should tarry on? 
 *'Lord," I said, "I cannot guess 
 How Pain's ministry may bless!" 
 
196 COMMANDMENT. 
 
 From the bounds of night and day^ 
 From the web of flesh and sense 
 Was my spirit borne away, 
 Severed from its earth pretense ; 
 To a place where souls remain 
 Ignorant of loss or power, 
 And I missed, remembering Pain, 
 My inheritance and dower. 
 
 For I saw how very slow 
 Souls who know not Pain do grow. 
 All Pain's terror, all her good, 
 By my soul was understood. 
 '<Speak," was said, and I obeyed; 
 When the flesh my soul arrayed. 
 
197 
 
 APRIL WEATHER. 
 
 A PRIL weather, you'd jest think the 
 ^~^ sun 
 Never meant to shine agen, skies all dark 
 
 and dun, 
 Then a blaze of glory, not a cloud in sight, 
 Seems like what is runnin' things 'd never 
 
 git it right. 
 
 April weather, pretty close to May, 
 Here the robins jawin' bout it ever)^ day; 
 Perkin' up and tellin' all about the run 
 Of bad luck their havin' sense the spring 
 begun. 
 
 April weather, jest, and no man knows 
 When the wind's a kitin' from which way 
 
 it blows ; 
 Awful tryin' season. It don't seem to me 
 Sky's as bright and clear and blue as it 
 
 ust to be . 
 
198 APRIL WEATHER. 
 
 Got to quit my speechin' and see about the 
 
 work. 
 Neighbors mebbe have some right, callin' 
 
 me a shirk; 
 Alius laughin\ sneerin', cause I hear and 
 
 know 
 Other things in spring than rain while 
 
 the green things grow. 
 
 There's no use a talkin' wisht' I'd never 
 
 had 
 One more sense than other folks, makes 
 
 me so blame mad. 
 Wisht' the work was further, wisht' I'd 
 
 time to say, 
 Jest how glad I am the year's gitten 
 
 into May. 
 
 April weather, jest a year to -.lay — 
 
 God! to think about it, — sense she went 
 
 away; 
 'Nd me a beggin', prayin', I might go with 
 
 her, 
 Er else she'd tell me bout the place 
 
 she was startin' fer. 
 
APRIL WEATHER. 199 
 
 ''Where's your christian faith, man?" all 
 
 the preachers say, 
 Rubbin' in a smartin' wound when they 
 
 come to pray. 
 I can't make them understand how it run 
 
 aground 
 Such a little slab of stone and a tiny 
 
 mound. 
 
 Wonder ef she's found out! wonder ef she's 
 
 sure, 
 Wonder ef she feels now all that I endure! 
 I knew more of heaven when Lucy Jane 
 
 could speak, 
 'N a raft of preachers could tell me in 
 
 a week. 
 
 I don't doubt that heaven's somewhere, 
 
 shinin', strong, 
 Can't be changed or altered jest by one 
 
 man's wrong; 
 Know this sure and certain, lived once in 
 
 that state, 
 'Fore last April left me all disconsolate. 
 
200 APRIL WEATHER. 
 
 Yes I'm sure of heaven, but what tries me 
 
 more 
 Is, jest what a man kin do, when God shets 
 
 the door. 
 There's so much of hunger and so little 
 
 food; 
 Mebbe ef he's been there once, that is all he 
 
 should. 
 
 Mebbe there warn't quite enough — seems so 
 
 when its found — 
 Bliss to last forevermore, 'nd its passed 
 
 around : 
 Jest a taste of rapture, then an awful 
 
 thirst 
 For an endless time of love, stronger than 
 
 the first. 
 
 I don't know egsactly what I'd say or do 
 Ef she'd come and kiss me, ef my dreams 
 
 came true; 
 Ef some April mornin' when the sun shines 
 
 bright, 
 I should see her standin', shinin' on my 
 
 sight. 
 
APRIL WEATHER. 201 
 
 Think I'd go plumb crazy, wouldn't need a 
 
 word. 
 I'd forgive the year that's gone sense I've 
 
 seen or heard. 
 I'd forgive a lifetime, all that men endure, 
 Ef only while I'm waitin', I could jest be 
 
 sure. 
 
202 
 
 WAIFS. 
 
 SCATTERED, here and there, 
 Where all or none may see ; 
 Lost from heart's keeping, where 
 
 They nevermore may be 
 Its own, once flown, 
 
 My songs go forth from me. 
 
 Read by many or few, 
 
 Laughed at, spurned, or sought; 
 Ah, if the people knew 
 
 From what the song was wrought! 
 Heart's loss, grief's cross. 
 
 Ah, if the heedless thought! 
 
 Some live on through the years; 
 
 The best? Lo, who shall say? 
 Ever the truth appears 
 
 Stronger through Time's delay. 
 Heart's good, withstood, 
 
 Lives in a song some day. 
 
2oa 
 
 THE CRITIC'S VERDICT. 
 
 T T chanced I heard what the Poet said 
 ^ When the critics gave him leave. 
 They all agreed, < ' It is sad to read 
 
 How a soul like his can grieve. 
 If he could write in his fates despite 
 
 Of Hope — we might then believe. " 
 
 He answered them, ' < One writes what one 
 knows. 
 Far better it is to tell 
 Of thorns that wind 'round the paths we 
 find 
 If they be described well. 
 Than to cheat the eyes with mists that rise 
 Before Hope's glamouring spell. 
 
 I write of pain, for my life grew one 
 
 With its shadow day by day. 
 There is no need you should pause to read 
 
 The words that I fain must sslj. 
 Somewhere I know there are souls that grow 
 
 Toward God in the self- same way. 
 
204 THE CRITIC'S VERDICT. 
 
 I write for those who have stood alone 
 In the dark, where none might see 
 
 Their soul's distress in its loneliness, 
 For I know that such there be; 
 
 And they will hear with the inward ear, 
 While the critics disagree. 
 
 I write to tell of a certainty, 
 
 So much stronger in its might. 
 Than hopes that break, leaving hearts that 
 ache 
 More keenly for their light; 
 Of strength, outgrown from the spirit's 
 moan; 
 
 Of God's everlasting right. 
 
 But the critics murmured on, that Hope, 
 Although proved deceit, was still 
 
 A better theme for a poet's dream 
 Than a strength derived from ill. 
 
 But I was glad that the Poet had 
 
 Proved stronger than their will. 
 
205 
 
 REOENERATION. 
 
 piRST, discontent 
 
 ^ With what the hand can reach, and then 
 Grieving, as swift each bubble breaks 
 Within the grasp, that overtakes 
 To lose again. 
 
 Dull wonderment, as life goes on, 
 Unchecked bj^ loss of all that made 
 
 The effort it has undergone 
 
 Seem worth the struggle thus betrayed. 
 
 An insight into Order's laws ; 
 
 Thence surety past all hopes or fears. 
 Of living strength through Nature's flaws;. 
 
 Of good beyond the fleeting years. 
 
 Perception through the letter's art 
 Of truths its forms but dimly show, 
 
 That one must lose life's counterpart 
 Before the real life he may know. 
 
206 REGENERATION. 
 
 He who would find his life must lose 
 Desire that all may understand 
 
 Its poor expression, and must choose 
 To be, unproved, the substance grand. 
 
 Regenerate, aye, born again ; 
 
 These are the throes the soul must bear, 
 Before its entrance otherwhere 
 
 To truths but dimly guessed of men. 
 
207 
 
 THE PHARISEE. 
 
 T THANK Thee, Lord, that I am not 
 As other men, whose lives fulfill 
 Their destiny, nor well, nor ill, 
 But tamely prove a common lot. 
 
 I thank Thee for the power to turn 
 From sin's domain the passions rude 
 That try the heart, until for good 
 
 Their utmost strength alone may yearn. 
 
 I thank Thee for the restlessness 
 That drives me on, without reprieve : 
 I thank Thee that no more I grieve 
 
 For low contentment's |^listlessness. 
 
 I thank Thee for the keen desire 
 
 To search Thy laws, that fills my breast ; 
 For truth that lies^all unexpressed 
 
 Save to the minds that do not tire. 
 
THE PHARISEE. 
 
 I thank Thee even for all loss, 
 
 All bitterness, that proved at length 
 Unto the life a source of strength 
 
 To separate it from world's dross: 
 
 And that, through bars of flesh and sense 
 That bind the soul, I feel and know 
 Thy love's revealment, even though 
 
 They mar its larger consequence. 
 
 I thank Thee, Lord, for all these things ; 
 For my life's lot, for others' good, 
 For rest denied, and peace withstood, 
 
 For all that clearer knowledge brings : 
 
 For this identity, that strives 
 At variance with what surrounds 
 The narrow circle of its bounds, 
 
 I thank Thee, while it yet survives. 
 
209 
 
 THE PROBLEM. 
 
 T HAVE followed the thought of Charles 
 * Darwin, 
 
 Through creation's vast problem, to find 
 At the last that the link is still missing 
 
 Which should marry all matter to mind. 
 Ive evolved from the Past but the knowl- 
 edge, 
 
 " Thus far slialt thou go, and th}^ kind." 
 
 I've attended the later-day lectures. 
 
 With which ministers striA^e to supplj. 
 The hunger and thirst of the needy ; 
 
 But mere words cannot stifle the cry 
 " Give us food or we perish, ' that echoes 
 From men's souls that for lack of it die. 
 
310 THE PROBLEM. 
 
 I've drawn close to the second-sight seers, 
 
 And sought, while they truly did show 
 My life and my thought and my purpose, 
 
 Their secret and insight to know; 
 But though baffled, each soul that so 
 searches 
 Clears the soil where Truth's blossoms 
 shall grow. 
 
 I have sat in the halls where the culture, 
 Called Ethical, seeks to dispel. 
 
 The hope and the fear so inherent 
 In man's soul, of a heaven and hell; 
 
 'Til the clamor of words made me able 
 To exclaim when they'd proved it, 'tis well ! 
 
 And then, when, my searching all ended, 
 I've returned to myself, is made known 
 
 The strength and the power of the spirit ; 
 The Truth that in silence is shown, 
 
 Through the still voice that whispers, ' 'Be 
 patient, 
 Grod is, thou shalt come to thy own." 
 
11 
 
 MY PRAYEE. 
 
 r\ LORD, my God, through all my life 
 ^-^ Let Hope be mine ; 
 
 To whisper still of Thy Di\ine, 
 When all my ways are filled with' strife, 
 When all my thoughts with care are rife. 
 Lest I repine ! 
 
 Lord, my God, for cheerfulness, 
 I then would pray ; 
 Through each dark hour that clouds the 
 
 Seeming to make Thy bounty less 
 Than it forever is, to bless 
 The devious way ! 
 
 And then, to keep me near Thee, send 
 
 With ill or good — 
 
 That it may well be understood 
 
 An humble spirit, to befriend 
 Though Life's ordeal, unto its end 
 
 My humanhood. 
 
212 
 
 VICTORY. 
 
 A S I lay a dying, a dying, 
 •^ The noise rolled up from the st 
 Where men were selling and buying,— 
 
 For the day was incomplete, — 
 Till the quiet chamber echoed 
 
 With the tread of their restless feet. 
 
 As I lay a dying, a djing, 
 
 The faces came and went ; 
 The living faces were crying, 
 
 But the dead ones looked content. 
 'Twas the only way I could tell them, 
 
 So closely were they blent. 
 
VICTORY. 313 
 
 As I lav a dying, a dying, 
 
 I took back the words I had said, 
 
 Against God's grace in denying 
 The hour for which I had prayed. 
 
 I was strong to forgive my existence, 
 The hour before I was dead. 
 
 As I lay a dying, a dying. 
 
 Was hushed Life's bitter moan. 
 
 The heartache ceased from its cryino* 
 At Life's injustice shown. 
 
 I had thought, at the last, God would hear it ; 
 But I went on alone. 
 
 As I lay a dying, a dying, — 
 
 friends /never died ! 
 I reached Love's truth, whose denying 
 
 Had caused all griefs betide ; 
 But I lost all griefs in the passing 
 
 Lo ! with Death's self they died. 
 
214 
 
 EXPIATION. 
 
 [ DIED. Grod placed me in a lurid place, 
 * Because of deeds done in the body's 
 
 thrall. 
 (For my soul's good it was.) And all the 
 space 
 About it echoed with the wailing call 
 Of evil souls. Ceaseless it rose and fell^ 
 And one in passing railed and called it 
 Hell ! 
 
 But still I heard, as when I lived on earth, 
 Faint rapturous music halting into speech. 
 And in my heart there was no sense of 
 dearth ; 
 Still to my soul Love's mighty chord did 
 reach ; 
 And so I did not fear its gruesome spell, 
 I knew the while I heard, it was not Hell. 
 
EXPIATION. 215 
 
 I lifted lip my eyes and from afar 
 
 Two of Gods angels came and stood 
 amazed 
 Beholding me. Where utmost raptures are 
 Their sphere triumphant rolls, — They 
 stood and gazed, 
 ^'Can God be mocked?" they said. <' Lord 
 is it well, 
 To leave this soul who hears Thy voice, 
 in Hell?" 
 
 I strove to answer them. They could not 
 hear. 
 My voice was soundless through my 
 happy tears. 
 God's voice filled all the place and far and 
 near 
 A tremor ran through high and nether 
 spheres. 
 I strove to answer them, ' ' Lo, all is well ; 
 He does not leave the soul who loves, in 
 Hell ! 
 
216 EXPIATION. 
 
 ' ' Lo, I am here because of evilness 
 That overcame my struggling soul on 
 earth. 
 Here in this place of tumult and distress 
 
 Must I await in hope my soul's rebirth. 
 Here louder, hour by hour, soundeth the 
 knell 
 Of fallen nature's power. Can such be 
 Hell? 
 
 < ' The debt of sin I pay. God cannot err ; 
 Here or in highest Heaven, I am Hia 
 own, 
 To raise or to cast down. All souls that 
 were 
 On earth to reach His Heaven draw near 
 the throne 
 Through expiating that by which they fell. 
 I am content, though this indeed be 
 Hell ! " 
 
EXPIATION. 217 
 
 My whole soul thrilled with music and I 
 knew 
 God's will the while they heard. I bowed 
 my head. 
 The sweeping flames leapt nearer. They 
 withdrew, 
 Their questioning souls silenced and 
 comforted . 
 Beneath my feet I heard the demons yell, 
 And yet for me the place could not be 
 Hell. 
 
 What then is Heaven? To love! and that 
 alone. 
 How am I Heaven debarred since this I 
 know? 
 What though beside me souls in torment 
 groan, 
 Not knowing yet what only Love can 
 show? 
 Who has known Love may not his law repel, 
 For such an one, in truth, there is no 
 Hell ! 
 
218 
 
 THE PORTAL. 
 
 I SAID, '< It is my will 
 
 That guards from Sin's invasion my 
 weak heart." 
 And thenceforth strove with every human 
 art 
 To strengthen will, but faltered as before. 
 
 God said, " It is thy thought. 
 
 That opes to Sin's advancement thy 
 
 heart's door. 
 Make clean thy thought, and then 
 forevermore 
 As one of us, lo, undismayed thou art!" 
 
219 
 
 DUALITY. 
 
 /^ SOUL, companion in Life's mj^stery, 
 ^-^ How many times since I began to be, 
 Thou hast grown weary of thy charge in 
 me ! 
 
 And I, how many times I've wished that 
 
 thou 
 And I might part! We dare not each avow 
 How many times unto each other now. 
 
 How often would'st thou soar were I not 
 
 by, 
 
 To hinder all thy striving, even I, 
 
 To mar thy song triumphant with my cry. 
 
 The time draws near when thou mayst rise, 
 
 soul, freed 
 From this that dulls thy efforts with its 
 
 need 
 
 Of things to which thou giv'st such little 
 heed. 
 
220 DUALITY. 
 
 I shall not grieve at parting. Thou hast 
 
 made 
 By thy monitions and thy counsels staid, 
 Life only, that of which I am afraid. 
 
 It may be that when we together stand 
 For the last time, when God dissolves the 
 
 band 
 That holds us now, aye, on His borderland, 
 
 We may forgive each other all the good 
 That we have missed, the joys misunder- 
 stood, 
 The pain and grief of this long bondagehood ! 
 
 Soul! companion in Life's mystery, 
 
 Be patient yet a little while with me 
 
 Ere thou mayst rise and I may cease to be. 
 
321 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE SPIRIT. 
 
 T AM that I am, and the ages shall change 
 
 -^ me not. 
 
 Time, past and to come, is not before my 
 
 thought. 
 This I inhabit is subject to change and 
 
 death, 
 Upheld alone by the might of the Spirit's 
 
 breath ! 
 
 I am that I am, and I leave as I found 
 
 them. 
 The appearances met in the forms that 
 
 surround them; 
 The rapture called Youth that knows no 
 
 second morrow, 
 The wisdom called Age, and the life breath 
 
 called Sorrow. 
 
222 THE VOICE OF THE SPUUT. 
 
 I am that I am, and the stretches of space 
 
 for me 
 Wait the fulfilling my manifold destinj^ 
 Lo, the stars and the winds and the Law 
 
 that restrains them, 
 Are one and the same with the Spirit that 
 
 names them! 
 
 I am that I am, hindered, caught from 
 
 pursuing 
 My flight after Truth, to the moment's 
 
 undoing ; 
 But the lodestar of Earth shall prove faint 
 
 in concealing, 
 What I seek, when is ripe the Sought' s 
 
 utmost revealing ! 
 
 I wait without hope, without fear, the 
 
 betrayment 
 Of the spell of the flesh, that conceals in 
 
 its raiment 
 This force which is I, for in waiting or 
 
 moving, 
 I am that I am, beyond question or proving. 
 
333 
 
 OCCULTISM. 
 
 T^HE lowest depth that thou canst reach^ 
 * The grandest height thou canst attain, 
 Thy kind possess. When thou canst teach 
 Thy spirit this, the rest is plain. 
 
 Thence comes a helpfulness for all 
 That strive beside thee for the light. 
 
 They are thyself, whate'er befall, 
 
 Their sin is thine, their peace thy right. 
 
224 
 
 PERCEPTION. 
 
 T MYSELF, through it all! 
 * I, myself, consciously 
 Behold the mystery. 
 Swayed by the bad and good. 
 Throughout my humanhood, 
 
 Each must befall : 
 By each in turn possessed, 
 Each by my soul confessed, 
 
 Hearken Life's call! 
 
 I myself, through it all, 
 I myself, changelessly 
 Witness the things that be. 
 Witness Youth's passage fleet 
 Dauntless old Age to greet, 
 
 These are not all. 
 Joy, pain, hope, fear, are one 
 After their trial is done 
 Down the scales fall ! 
 
PERCEPTION. 225 
 
 I myself am the whole ! 
 
 What beside judges true 
 
 All Life can say or do? 
 What is it does not fear 
 Death's touch with duty near, 
 
 Flesh, sense, or soul? 
 Lo, the flesh bends and breaks; 
 Doubt the sense overtakes; 
 
 Sees, then, the Soul! 
 
336 
 
 AB INITIO. 
 
 WHAT did I do in the past, I wonder. 
 By Ttieosophy portioned as mine, of 
 Fate? 
 'Neath what skies ran that conflict under? 
 Came Death too soon? Did he tarry late? 
 Was Love my shame, or Life's crowning 
 glory? 
 Was Hate my captive, or owned my king? 
 There is no page of the vanished story 
 To be returned for my reckoning. 
 
 Filled joy or sorrow that far-off living? 
 
 Was I of noble or low degree? 
 Was I proud of strength that now Karma's 
 giving 
 
 Restricts so sadly the soul of me? 
 Was I kind or cruel who now so lonely 
 
 These questions ask? Am I opposite 
 In the scale of Fate, or the outcome only 
 
 Of former livinsj because of it? 
 
AB INITIO. 227 
 
 Fifteen hundred years since tliat livinor, 
 
 Fifteen hundred are yet to be, 
 Before this bundle of hopes and grievino- 
 
 Becomes embodied again as me. 
 Ah! the little time for the Soul's completing, 
 
 And the dragging passage of centuries, 
 The moment's space of the earth-life 
 fleeting, 
 
 Ere is reached the last of its victories ! 
 
 The creed were useful if surely tracing 
 
 The web of the net that now confines, 
 The justice plain of Life's present placing, 
 
 Soul's right of freedom for which it pines. 
 That knowledge waiting in far, cold spaces, 
 
 Between the living, is all unknown 
 While the conflict rages in earthly places, 
 
 To the struggling human it is not shown . 
 
228 
 
 SOUL CRAVING. 
 
 IF there were but one, we say softly, 
 One other to know 
 The weight of the burden that living 
 
 To each soul doth show: 
 If there were but one to know fully 
 The days as they grow! 
 
 When God said, " Let light be," it shone 
 forth. 
 
 His mandate to greet, 
 Revealing all forms of creation, 
 
 The strong and the sweet; 
 Man only, the shade of his Maker, 
 
 Was made incomplete. 
 
SOUL CRAVING. 229 
 
 The flowers and the fruits and the seasons, 
 
 Ungifted with will, 
 Bloom on as at first, all Law's order 
 
 And grace to fulfill : 
 But the breath and the thought of the 
 human. 
 
 Bring grief with them still. 
 
 Lo! everything finished, completed, 
 
 Seen good of its kind, 
 Save the last of the thinking incarnate, 
 
 Man's spirit and mind. 
 Which ever, the walls of their dwelling 
 
 So hinder and bind. 
 
 Is it true that the old scriptures tell us, 
 
 This thing, that our God 
 Is jealous of progress, and renders 
 
 The way we have trod 
 So thorny because the true knowledge 
 
 Would lighten His rod? 
 
230 SOUL CRAVING. 
 
 Ah no, with the old days have vanished 
 
 The fear and the dread, 
 Of man's image made fiercer and larger, 
 
 And placed overhead 
 In some stronghold of justice, the tyrant 
 
 Men worshipped, is dead! 
 
 As a blind man to whom has been granted 
 
 The sight never known. 
 Might strive in the black of the midnight 
 
 To image the sun, 
 So we in the darkness of Nature 
 
 The vision have won. 
 
 And yet, till the dawn, we have only 
 
 A new, useless sense; 
 And still do the blind call the vision 
 
 An idle pretense, 
 And tread the ditch'd circle that never 
 
 Leads outward from thence. 
 
SOUL CRAVING 231 
 
 From Life's incompletion is proved 
 
 The only mistake, 
 That throughout the chain of creation 
 
 God's wisdom doth make ; 
 Or else that a progress unending 
 
 Exists for its sake. 
 
 The soul growing stronger casts ever 
 
 A deepening shade, 
 It is this we see only and tremble 
 
 Within it afraid ; 
 Yet the height and the breadth of the 
 substance 
 
 The shadow has made. 
 
332 
 
 LOVE'S DWELLING HOUSE. 
 
 NOT built of reeds or leafy boughs, 
 Not hidden in far solitudes, 
 Is this the wondrous dwelling house 
 
 O'er which Love's gracious spirit broods: 
 But placed within the city's street, 
 
 Amid men's daily strife and care ; 
 Humble it stands where grandeurs meet 
 Yet none the less Love's dwelling fair 
 
 And yet with awe our hearts are filled 
 
 Whene'er we enter at the door. 
 That mighty Love with us hath willed 
 
 To tarry here and share our store . 
 However humble it may seem. 
 
 Life's crowning gift it doth contain; 
 All else is but an empty dream, 
 
 And home itself a mocking name. 
 
LOVE'S DWELLING HOUSE. 233 
 
 O narrow space, to hold so much I 
 
 littleness, which yet is great! 
 O sacred place wherein we touch 
 
 The ruler of all life and Fate! 
 God grant the walls be firm and strong. 
 
 And that the door, 'though sorely tried, 
 May bar out hate and sin and wrong 
 
 Forever from our fireside. 
 
 We may not bar from out the door 
 
 Sad Sickness' face, whom all must greet; 
 And passing Griefs upon our floor 
 
 May loiter with unwelcome feet ; 
 And Poverty may find a place 
 
 Herein to bide nor further roam ; 
 But by God's ever living grace 
 
 All these are naught while this is Home ^ 
 
 For Love is here our Lord and King. 
 
 Love's very self with us doth dwell ; 
 Whose touch makes light our suffering, 
 
 Whose voice is heard and all is well. 
 Through life we feel His presence near. 
 
 Through death we shall behold His face. 
 The kingdom of our God is here 
 
 Begun on earth within this place. 
 
Zbc princess Beautiful. 
 
235 
 
 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 There once lived a princess who was so 
 beautiful that her like did not live upon the 
 earth. Nor ever had lived within man's 
 memory. There was no charm of face or 
 form which she did not possess. And the 
 fame of her beauty spread far and wide 
 until her father's kingdom was thronged 
 with travelers who came to worship at the 
 living shrine which held the perfection of 
 that ideal beauty which men desire, but 
 which, until her time, had never been 
 encased in mortal mold . 
 
 Now this princess was very proud, and 
 satisfied with her own perfection. She 
 took no pleasure in the society of an}' other 
 person. Being so beautiful, she took small 
 notice of any of her father's subjects, and 
 much preferred to gaze upon her own face 
 to looking at the inferior countenances of 
 those around her. 
 
236 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Nor was this state of things much 
 changed when the time came for her to 
 marry. As may be readily supposed, she 
 had many suitors, but she was disdainful 
 to each and all of them, and married the 
 prince her father selected for her with so 
 much gracious indifference of manner that 
 the other princes were half consoled at 
 their worse fortune and did not hate the 
 prince so cordially as they might have done 
 had she been able to manifest the least 
 interest in him. 
 
 But as time went on there came at last a 
 change, and to the Princess Beautiful was 
 granted life's great and crowning gift of 
 motherhood. At first she loved her little 
 child because he too, like her, was beauti- 
 ful ; but gradually, day by day, she paid 
 less attention to her own loveliness, and 
 thought more and more about this tiny life 
 that lived and rejoiced in life because of 
 her. She grew also to care more for the 
 father of her child and to take an interest 
 in her subjects , who were so proud of her 
 and of her little son, their prince. And so 
 
THE PRIKCESS BEAUTIFUL. 237 
 
 the years slipped by until the boy had 
 smiled at her on eight birthdays since the 
 one when first she held him in her arms 
 and knew the beginning of an interest in 
 something more worthy than her old indif- 
 ference and self-satisfaction. 
 
 And then one dreadful day the little 
 prince disappeared from the palace, as com- 
 pletely as though the earth had closed over 
 him, (as it does when one has accomplished 
 his life's purpose and come to the begin- 
 ning of its revealment. ) They sought him 
 long and earnestly. The old king and the 
 prince and princess, the courtiers and all 
 the people journeyed all over the kingdom, 
 but there could be found no trace of him. 
 After many months the people gradually 
 gave up searching, and together with the 
 king and prince mourned the boy as being 
 hopelessly lost. But the Princess Beauti- 
 ful could not live as she had done before 
 the little prince was given to her, and she 
 started out alone to search for him all 
 through the world. Nor was this at all 
 self-sacrificing on her part, because she 
 
238 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 could not rest without such searching. 
 She met with much kindness from many- 
 people, for the fame of her beauty and the 
 great loss which had befallen her were 
 widely known, but no one could tell her of 
 her son. Until one day she met a strong, 
 dark man (who was of the race of the 
 immortals.) He smiled when she told him 
 the reason of her journey. "I do not 
 know where your son is, " he said . " But I 
 am related to a race who know much of the 
 affairs of men, and I might direct you to 
 some one who could tell you more of him. 
 My name is Force. And men call me 
 various names, some of which are Magnet- 
 ism and Personal Charm. I draw from or 
 grant unto each one with whom I come in 
 contact. I have been very generous to you 
 all your life. What will you give me if I 
 will tell you something of your son ? " 
 "0 sir," the princess cried, "I will 
 give you anything you desire in my king- 
 dom! Great wealth and jewels, the most 
 costly things in my possession, if you will 
 only tell me how to find my little boy again. 
 
THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 239 
 
 You shall have anything you may ask for/' 
 The strong man laughed disdainfully. 
 '<I have no use for wealth," he said, 
 * ' but that is not the only thing you have 
 to offer. Will you return to me that subtle 
 gift I gave you at your birth, and which 
 draws to you the hearts of men, that 
 which is your chief charm will j'ou render 
 up again to gain some tidings of j^our son?" 
 The princess hesitated. She thouo-ht 
 what it would be like to live without the 
 homage she had always been accustomed 
 to. But her need was great, and she felt 
 that the presence of her child would make up 
 after all for the loss of what now seemed to 
 her so valueless without him, and so she 
 said to the dark figure, ' ' I will, " and 
 closed her eyes and bowed her head while he 
 touched her. Instantly she felt somethino- 
 which she had always thought was life 
 itself depart from her, and a feeling of 
 great cold possessed her, and henceforth 
 when she met mankind a feeling of distrust 
 and fear as to what they thought of her 
 was constantly with the princess. 
 
240 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Now this was very bitter to one who had 
 never felt such emotions before. She 
 looked imploringly at Force, who said, "I 
 am only one of many. I cannot tell you 
 where your son is, but I can tell you the 
 name of my sister, and she can tell you 
 more if you will pay her price. Her name 
 is Vanity and she is coming toward you 
 through the city yonder." 
 
 The princess sought to question him 
 more about her next guide, but when she 
 dried her tears and turned to speak to him 
 he had disappeared. 
 
 Now when the princess met Vanity she 
 had no doubt as to her identity; a curious 
 feeling of being related to her and yet of 
 disliking her was strong within the mind of 
 the princess as she approached and asked 
 about her boy. 
 
 Now Vanity was herself beautiful. Her 
 garments were fashioned of the cobwebs 
 that are stretched upon the grass when first 
 the sun rises. But there was about her an 
 air of unreality which made the princess 
 fear she could not be of much use to her in 
 
THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 241 
 
 her quest. Vanity smiled graciously, and 
 said she could certainly aid the princess, 
 although she could not bring her directly to 
 her son. • ' But what will you give me for 
 my services? " she said. "I am not mor- 
 tal like yourself and only supersensuous 
 things are of value to me . Will you give 
 me the bloom upon your face, the light of 
 your eyes that dazzles all beholders, the 
 smoothness of your brow, the lustre and 
 glory of your hair, 3'our crown of woman- 
 hood? Will you go on from me dis- 
 pleasing to the sight and with the loss of 
 all your beauty? " 
 
 This time the princess did not hesitate. 
 "Yes, yes/' she cried. "What are 
 these things to me, when my child may be 
 obtained by their loss? Take them all and, 
 0! in mercy direct me where I ma}^ find 
 him." 
 
 Vanity laughed softl}^ to herself. "You 
 need not further run the gauntlet," she 
 declared, ' ' since I have won from you all 
 that the rest of our family might desire. 
 You have onl}' one thing more to lose. See 
 
242 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 yonder in the wood that tall, veiled figure 
 standing. She can bring you to your own 
 again." And Vanity tripped away over 
 the meadow, while the poor despoiled and 
 saddened princess ran to the veiled figure 
 and, falling at her feet, told all her sor- 
 rowful story, and besought her name and 
 kindly offices. The figure raised the prin- 
 cess from the ground. ' ' You have once 
 known me," she said, ''since I brought to 
 you your son, who has been removed from 
 you, as you shall yet know, in kindness, 
 and who shall be restored if you are strong 
 enouo-h to pay the last price demanded of 
 you?"" 
 
 The figure placed her arms around the 
 princess, and into her poor, hungry soul 
 there crept a sense of such protecting love 
 and shelter that she ceased to fear and 
 tremble, and waited to hear what she must 
 next give up to obtain her child again. 
 
 The figure paused a moment and then 
 drew back her veil. The princess gazed in 
 rapture at the wonderful face that beamed 
 upon her gaze . The beautiful face, whose 
 
THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 243 
 
 beauty transcended what hers had been, 
 because it held an element she had never 
 known. " I was called beautiful,'' cried 
 the princess, '^but I never had the beauty 
 which you show. 0, highest and best, tell 
 me your name, and, 0! tell me, where is 
 my little son? " 
 
 • ' Tell me first, " said the figure, ' 'will you 
 pay the price? Who reads the name writ- 
 ten on my forehead must do so with 
 unselfish eyes. Who calls my name must 
 do it with unselfish lips. Who knows my 
 meaning and my purpose must learn 
 through rendering up all trace of self. By 
 such only am I understood. Gaze upon 
 me, and if you are worthy you will see my 
 name." The princess gazed, and as she 
 looked, all the radiance of the figure's face 
 gathered upon its forehead. Little sparkles 
 of light glanced here and there, until 
 finally the princess read in glowing letters 
 of flame upon the serene and beautiful 
 forehead the name of Motherhood. Then 
 all grew dark around the princess and she 
 sank away into a swoon. And when she 
 
244 THE PRINCESS BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 came to herself her little son was with her. 
 Then hand in hand, through many lands 
 and climes, they journeyed slowly back 
 unto her father's kingdom. 
 
 There was great rejoicing at their return. 
 And as the princess had gained a new and 
 tender thoughtfulness through her misfor- 
 tunes, she was more beloved than ever, 
 although for very different reasons. As 
 the years went by she grew like the veiled 
 figure in the wood more every day. So 
 that in the kingdom where she long lived 
 and reigned, there came at last to be in 
 men's sight all her olden charm with the 
 something added which she had seen in the 
 face of that figure. To all her subjects 
 was she dearer than of j^ore. And when 
 men speak of her, even to this day, she is 
 still called, The Princess Beautiful . 
 
246 
 
 THE FAK COUNTRY. 
 
 There once lived a man who felt con- 
 stantly in his soul the longing to go to a 
 far country. 
 
 In the home where his lot in life had 
 been cast he had everything man could 
 desire to make his life a happy one. He 
 had pleasant gardens and a beautiful 
 house filled with books and music and 
 flowers. He had dear friends, a wife who 
 loved him truly, and sweet little children to 
 call him father. 
 
 He had great wealth and all that great 
 wealth brings of culture and learning, but 
 he had also with it all the longing for the 
 far country. And one day when he could 
 bear no longer the hunger and thirst of his 
 spirit, he went away from all that he had 
 known, and began a search for the place. 
 
THE FAR COUNTRY. 247 
 
 the intuition of which had rendered all his 
 prosperous life so valueless to him. He 
 left his home and friends, his loving wife 
 and children, and went away alone to 
 search for what he knew somewhere awaited 
 him, the peace which passe th understand- 
 ing of the far country. 
 
 Now when he did not return again his 
 friends and wife and children mourned for 
 him and missed him sadly from their midst. 
 But, as time went on, they grew accus- 
 tomed to their life without him, and con- 
 tinued to live as they had done and take 
 pleasure in the beautiful house and gar- 
 dens; although they remembered how much 
 more beautiful it had all seemed before 
 their dearest had gone awa}^ unto the far 
 country. 
 
 Among the children of this man was one 
 who was more like him than the others. He 
 had been always glad to sit upon his 
 father's knees and hear him talk about 
 the far country, so he grieved sorely 
 when his father went away alone to find 
 this land. He alone took pleasure no 
 
248 THE FAR COUNTRY. 
 
 longer in his former games and plays nor 
 in the amusements of his brothers and sis- 
 ters. And one day he resolved to set 
 forth, all ignorant as he was, in search of 
 his father and the far country. He walked 
 a long way; sometimes crying softly to him- 
 self, because he was such a little boy and 
 felt so helpless in the search he had under- 
 taken, and sometimes singing as the way 
 seemed nearing the place he sought. His 
 feet grew ver}" tired and he was more often 
 sorrowful than glad; but he never thought 
 of turning back, or ceasing from his quest, 
 because he also bore within his soul the 
 longing for the far country. 
 
 The child met many persons as he jour, 
 neyed. Some traveling in the direction he 
 was going, but more walking toward him 
 and away from what he hoped was the right 
 direction. So he questioned them one by 
 one, telling them where he was going, and 
 that his father was only a little way ahead 
 of him, and asking them if they had seen 
 him, or if they were sure about the path- 
 way leading to the far country. 
 
THE FAR COUNTRY. 249 
 
 Many of the people told the child that 
 his search was useless; tliat he had better 
 go back to his own place in the land where 
 he was born, and that there was no such 
 countr}' to be found as he described. They 
 had come toward him from all lands and 
 directions and while they had heard vague 
 rumors of such a place they had never met 
 any one who had seen it, and that no one 
 ever came back from the journey he had 
 started on. " Gro back now," they im- 
 plored him, "and live the life that men 
 may understand. Be happy and industri- 
 ous and learned and give up this vain 
 searching for what is so unsure ; for this 
 desire which feeds upon your soul brings no 
 one happiness. GrO back while yet you may 
 and leave to those whose birthright it is 
 the possession of the far country. 
 
 But the child pressed on until one day 
 he met a beautiful woman whom he ques- 
 tioned, as he did each one he met, if she 
 had heard of, or knew the way toward, the 
 far country. 
 
 The woman looked upon the dusty, way- 
 
250 THE FAR COUNTRY. 
 
 worn child, and the bitterness of her soul, 
 that showed through all her beauty, melted 
 into pity as she answered him. ' ' There is 
 but one thing that can aid you^ dear heart, '' 
 she said, " in this or any other country, and 
 that is gold. With gold one can buy cul- 
 ture and learning. These alone can guide 
 you to the far country. I have never had 
 the means, but I am sure there is but one 
 way, that of learning, to find the pathway 
 to the place you seek. Life without knowl- 
 edge of the far country is bitterness when 
 one has the desire for it. You are too poor 
 and helpless for this quest and without 
 gold it is useless for you to continue it. " 
 
 "My father," said the child, "had 
 these things of which you speak. He had 
 books, and knowledge, and great wealth, 
 but he left these thinajs behind him and 
 started forth, as I have done, all ignorant 
 of the pathway. If he had surely known 
 the way to go he would have taken me 
 with him to find that home. And so I 
 cannot feel that gold is the one thing need- 
 ful." 
 
THE FAR COUNTRY. 251 
 
 The woman thought a little while on what 
 the child had said. "I have always felt it 
 was," she said, plowly. "I know no other 
 means to find the way. I shall try yet 
 longer to procure the knowledge by working 
 hard for sjold, then I shall study, and when 
 I find the way I will return and overtake 
 you, and we will go together then unto the 
 far country. " 
 
 The child took leave of her sadly, for he 
 was loath to part from anyone who knew the 
 longing for the place he sought. 
 
 One day he overtook a man journeying 
 in the same direction he had chosen, and 
 he asked him if he had seen his father, and 
 if he knew anything about the longed-for 
 land. The man was tall and strong. He 
 had a noble face. He lifted the child from 
 the ground and carried him in his arms as 
 he talked. He had not seen the child's 
 father, but he knew about the far country. 
 
 ' 'There is only one way to find the entrance 
 to it," he said, " and that is by loving some 
 one better than one's own life. This great 
 love lights the pathway; when two persons 
 
252 THE FAR COUNTRY. 
 
 feel this love for one another there is no 
 longer any doubt. Thej^ are upon the 
 pathway to the far country. 
 
 But you are such a little boy, 3"ou can- 
 not understand this yet. You are too 
 young to undertake this journe3^ Wait 
 yet a few more years before you seek to 
 find the way. There is much awaiting you 
 in this land of joy and happiness before 
 you need to seek the Blessed in the far 
 country. " 
 
 The child put his arms around the man's 
 neck . He leaned his head back and looked 
 into the man's eyes. ' ' 1 am so glad 1 met 
 you," he cried; '< since 3"ou have found this 
 great love and are upon the pathway! And 
 are you sure this is the only wav? And 
 where is the one whom you love, whose 
 answering love shall guide us all to the fair 
 region of the far country? " 
 
 The man's face grew very sad, yet a 
 great tenderness softened the sorrow and 
 made it very beautiful. 
 
 '^She whom I love," he said, " feels not 
 for me this self-surrender. Had she done so, 
 
THE FAR COUNTRY. 253 
 
 we should be even now within the borders 
 of the far country. Therefore is it that I 
 am hindered in ray journey, for while I 
 understand Love is the only way, I am as 
 yet ignorant why my love has thus far 
 served me not as a help but a hindrance. 
 Now while I understand this so imper- 
 fectly, I find that I progress but slowly 
 toward the far country. But it will all be 
 plain to me some day, " he continued. "To 
 those who feel the longing, soon or late the 
 pathway will be shown that leads unto this 
 countr3^" 
 
 <' I feel it! " said the child. " Then am 
 I sure! hasten your steps and seek with 
 me more rapidly this pathway! " 
 
 But the man could not walk faster 
 because he was yet so ignorant of the 
 reason whj^ his love had proved a source of 
 sorrow instead of blessedness unto his soul. 
 
 And so the child, not having known this 
 hindrance, parted from him and hurried on, 
 while a great doubt rested on him like a 
 cloud, tbat he should never find the far 
 country. 
 
254 THE FAR COUNTRY. 
 
 As he ran on, the hills which had been 
 on either side of him for many miles drew 
 nearer to each other, and the sandy soil 
 which had so tired and blistered his feet 
 gave way unto a winding road with great 
 rocks scattered here and there, around 
 which he could climb with difficulty. But 
 he hurried on, and presently he saw an old 
 old man seated on one of the rocks. 
 
 The child again resumed his questioning, 
 and heard with joy that his father had 
 passed that way. The old man could not tell 
 him how long ago, but he had seen and 
 talked with him, and told him, as he did the 
 boy, that he was in the right pathway and 
 Yery near indeed unto the far country. 
 
 * ' You cannot miss the way now, " said 
 the old man. "Where these hills narrow 
 and meet is the entrance to the country. I 
 have never felt, myself, the desire to go 
 on farther and explore this valley. My 
 home is here. Those who wish may seek 
 and find this country. I know it is just 
 beyond, where the hills meet, for no one 
 ever comes back to dispute this, and many 
 
THE FAR COUNTRY. 255 
 
 people pass this way all seeking this same 
 place; but few indeed there are so young 
 and so eager." 
 
 The child felt very sorry for the man 
 who was content to live so near and yet 
 outside the far country, and he told him 
 so, then hurried on, till finally he reached 
 the place where the great rocks met and he 
 could go no farther. 
 
 He could see through a narro\v space, 
 but it was very dark and heavy mists hung 
 all about the place. The child was very 
 tired and cold. He lay down beside one of 
 the rocks and wept. He thought of all he 
 had left in the land where he had lived ; of 
 his playmates and his brothers and sisters • 
 of his mother, who must now be grieving 
 for him as she had grieved for his father. 
 And as he thought of all these things he 
 glanced above him at the rock and there he 
 saw his father's name, and beneath the 
 name were the words, '< I have found here 
 the only entrance to the far country." 
 Then the child, not knowing what else to 
 do, and despairing of any entrance through 
 
256 THE FAR COUNTRY. 
 
 the rocks to the country, called loudly to 
 his father to return and take him to his 
 place beside him. And thus calling and 
 weeping, he fell asleep. 
 
 Now while he slept he saw the great 
 rocks slowly open, and the mists surround- 
 ing them were lifted, and he looked into a 
 more beautiful place than he had ever 
 imagined in his fairest dreams of the far 
 country. A soft, white light glowed every- 
 where as far as he could see, which 
 changed not like the light of the sun, and 
 which cast no shadows as the sunlight does. 
 — All the shadows of the far country were 
 clustered about the entrance to it, and 
 within where this white light shone there 
 was no change. 
 
 The child saw great multitudes of people 
 walking about in groups, and upon the 
 faces of those who spoke the same language 
 there dwelt a great peace. They seemed 
 to belong in bands of varying num- 
 bers, and he perceived that those who be- 
 longed to one another were never sepa- 
 rated, and that they were all sure where 
 
THE FAR COUNTRY 257 
 
 the)' belonged and were all satisfied. Now, 
 as he looked, he saw one of the groups 
 open and his father come out from among 
 the people surrounding him. He came 
 toward the child, and leaving the fair coun- 
 try he entered the shadows of the border- 
 land. Nearer and nearer he came, while 
 the mists gathered around him until the 
 child could only see his face. That shone 
 with the light that filled all the region he 
 had left. That shone, the while his father 
 stooped and raised the boy unto his breast 
 and carried him back gently through the 
 mists and shadows unto the place from 
 whence he came. 
 
 And, when his father touched him, the 
 child knew that he should hunger no more, 
 neither thirst any more, because the long- 
 ing in his soul was stilled now that he was 
 come unto his own. And, in the place of 
 the longing, a great love filled his soul, a 
 love that was not for father or mother, or 
 friends or brethren, but was greater than 
 any love he had yet known, because it was 
 the love of Love and not its symbols, even 
 
258 THE FAR COUNTRY. 
 
 the knowledge of Love that waits Love's 
 own. 
 
 * -X- ■!<■ -St * -X- 
 
 Now it happened that the old man 
 thought about the child more than about 
 the other travelers who had passed his way, 
 and finally, when he did not return, he 
 resolved to go and find the country the 
 child had s.mght so earnestly. So he 
 walked on and on through the A^alley until 
 he reached the place where the rocks met, 
 and there beside them he found the body of 
 the child from which the spirit had de- 
 parted. This he sorrowfully covered with 
 earth and returned to his home in the valley. 
 
 " I have been mistaken," he said to the 
 next traveler who inquired the way of him. 
 * ' There is no far country, for I went as far 
 as man can go and found onl}^ the valley of 
 the shadow of Death. Stay here with me 
 and rest from your searching. Bej^ond 
 this valley there is nothingness. " 
 
 Then, after listening to the old man. one 
 by one the travelers stayed and made for 
 themselves homes among the rocks of the 
 
THE FAR COUNTRY. 259 
 
 valley until there was founded a great city, 
 and the city was called the City of Unbelief. 
 And upon the dwellers in this city some- 
 times the sun shone, and sometimes the 
 storms descended, and they knew hunger 
 and cold and desolateness, and pride and 
 joy — because while they loved each other, 
 life even in the City of Unbelief could not 
 be wholly desolate . 
 
 But to those who paused not in this city, 
 nor gave up their faith in the far country, 
 but persevered even unto the end of the 
 valley, the rocky portals opened as they had 
 done for the child and as they entered in and 
 reached each one his own appointed place, 
 they left behind them in the darkness of 
 the borderland the shadows of their former 
 selves. And in each heart was stilled for- 
 evermore desire for more of life than they 
 had reached. 
 
 For, in the place of Desire dwelt Love, 
 seeking no more, but giving out from its 
 own fullness, and thus satisfied. So for 
 these travelers there was no more A Far 
 Country, for Love became their home, and 
 
260 THE FAR COUNTRY. 
 
 Love, when once one understands its power, 
 is always very near.