PS 3545 .fl32 C8 1919 Copy 1 k.S i '^^jm Class _3:!iXi4_i__ Copyiiglit]^'^, \^ i 3 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. CHARLES L. H. WAGNER CRADLED MOONS A BOOK OF POEMS CHARLES L. H. WAGNER OLD MOONS CRADLED IN THE NEW Olden thoughts with lustre bright, Gleaned and garnered by the light Of the mystic queen of night. And each old thought seems to rest Snugly in a new one's breast, Like an old moon in its nest. PUBLISHED BY THE MANYCRAFTS SHOP 249 Washington Street BOSTON, MASS. Copyright 1919 CHARLES L. H. WAGNER George E. Crosby Co. Printers 394 Atlantic Ave, Boston ICI.A515786 DEDICATION THIS BOOK is dedicated to my Wife, to whom I owe much of its inspiration. Like the beautiful Ariadne of Greek mythology, who, because of her love for Theseus, gave to him a clew of thread by which he guided himself from out the mysterious paths of the Cretan labyrinths, so, indeed, has my good angel often assisted me when I have been seemingly helpless in the labyrinth of my ideas, and by the simple clew of woman's divine, intuitive knowledge, has given me the thread which led into the bright sun of progress. She it is who has suggested from time to time many of the thoughts which I have herein am- plified, and to her, more than to any other person, I shall be indebted, should my humble work find favor with those who peruse its pages. ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF INDEBTEDNESS I DESIRE to express my sense of indebtedness to the many friends whose helpful words of encour- agement have inspired me in the xvriting of these verses; to my Father and Mother, who, by their example and precepts, incidcated in me the ideals rvhich permeate this book, I am and shoidd be beholden. I trust that they xcill never have cause to regret the life which combines many of the qualities and traits of each of them. The Author. CRADLED MOONS 11 INTRODUCTION By William Stanley Braithwaite No art is capable, unless it be music, of so many fine shades of expressing human feeling and emotion as the art of poetry. If music be as various, the results are lost relatively tlirough the abstractions whicli are both its language and its substance. Poetry in its highest sense has the quality of music, it originates from the same abstractions, but these abstractions become ma- terialized in the imagery that is the language of poetry. Poetry, therefore, is more infinite in substance, more various in expression than any of the arts practiced by man. And while all the arts besides poetry, with the possible exception of painting, must deal with themes and subjects, that are in themselves exalted, or lend themselves, readily, to the evocation of symbols en- nobling their effects by wonder and mystery, poetry can deal with themes and objects homely in themselves, and by the essence of pleasure, which is a large part of its function, make those common themes and objects at- tractive and distinguished without altering their essen- tial aspects as the poet finds them. Tlie degree of perfection in which poetry renders the physical and spiritual world of the poet's imagination is in trans- muting object and emotion into a magic that becomes visible through some indefinable utterance. The magic may lie beneath the surface of the utterance, or shimmer over it like an atmosphere. One meets it in a word, a line, or a stanza, rarely in tlie whole body of English poetry, an unrippled under-current or an undarkened luminosity in an entire single poem. Scott, in his pro- lific bodv of work, achieved it in a few lines in the short 12 CRADLED MOONS lyric, "Proud Maisie;" Keats in tliose famous lines in the "Ode to a Nightingale"; Coleridge more often than any other poet in "Kubla Khan." in several lines in "Christabel" ; Webster in one lyrical passage; Shakes- peare in a number of lyrics. English poetry is prodigal of all the other qualities that make it as an art a delight to the emotions and a winged aspiration to the spirit. These qualities, embodying many manners of speech, many modes of thought and feeling, in which human nature in all its conspicuous purposes is given expres- sion, are at the core of all earnest and quickened utter- ance. The claim to attention tliat the poems in this volume put forward is upon the good ground of pos- sessing these qualities in an understandable degree. Mr. Wagner displays in this volume a very varied interest and sympathy. He is a poet to whom one can trust oneself with absolute faith. Where so many modern poets are devastating faiths and traditions, exercising with superfine emotions delicate instincts in the attempt to discover the subtle nothingness of dreams and passions, he is very sane and wholesome in his grasp upon the complexities of common life through "the strength of affirming." The kernel of this affirmation is contained in tliese lines of his : "For in those old thoughts we hut live again, And what is life but simply doing o'er The old time things with all their joy and pain, And modern wisdom is but ancient lore. Eternity, when summed up, means but this; There is no old, there is no new, and youth When touched by Time's regenerating kiss Receives a vision of eternal truth." The thought liere, which is a wise one for any poet to hold in his relation to life and the world, may be sup- plemented at this ]ioint by calling attention to an op- posite, suggesting the rounding out of the character of Mr. Wagner's poetic mind, and found in bis poem, "Advice to Poets." I liave indicated a level of thought and feeling in Mr. CRADLED MOONS 13 Wagner's poetry from wliich he is able to extend his sympathy and emotion to various points of human ex- perience. He catclies the significance of all that comes within the range of his poetic mind with extraordinary quickness. He has the power of extracting tlie heart interest, which is, after all, the significant sentiment in song, and turning back to us the experience with fami- liar recollection. It is the appealing quality of his work. In doing this he knows how to turn the helpful aspect of life up to us. He is profound in his cheer- fulness, a cheerfulness that sometimes is full-bodied beneath the surface with the gravest questionings of life and fate. Take the thirty-one poems that make the sequence addressed to Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson as a tribute to his interpretation of the "Beautiful Character of the 'Passer-by,' " and one finds a poem that is admirable and beautiful in its moods and thoughts and ideals, a poem that ought to win for its author an instant recognition. Into this sequence there is a glamor and subtlety that streaks the thought like a fine vein of gold. I sliall quote here the second poem which is called "Wilful Women": Women are wilful, and the kindest are Truly the wilfulest. 'Twas always so. For e'en in my poor home my brightest star Which in life's darkest spots reflects its glow And guides me towards that goal I long have sought Hath seemed at times so wilful in its way That I rebelled and wandered in my thought As madly as careens the owl in day. I fain would choose and choose for self alone. And choosing thus, have stumbled oft and fell, And only by the light of love that shone, Though wilful, have I saved my soul from hell. For I have learned that woman's wilful mind Bespeaks a deep and underlying plan Which elevates, ennobles human-kind And makes me for the nonce a better man. Well, there is a touch of the Elizabethan manner in 14 CRADLED MOONS these lines, a credit to Mr. Wagner's instinctive artless- ness of art. The themes that Mr. Wagner deals with are too numerous and varied to classify in this brief introduc- tion. An alert and ready sympathy gives his work a sense of the universal. He is a poet who expresses for each reader some particular interest. Hardly anyone but who will find in this volume the rendering of some dumb thought or feeling, emotion or idea, which they have carried about in childhood, in youth, in the noon- day of life, or in old age; during some moment of hope or sorrow, aspiration or love. ; CRADLED MOONS 15 INDEX Page FOR WHOM SHALL I WRITE? 23 TO AN ABSENT MUSE 24 THE FERN 25 MY MOTHER 26 THE PATH THAT BRINGS ME HOME 27 LILAC BLOOMS 29 I SHALL KNOW REST 31 LOVE'S MISTS 32 THE HUMAN LINCOLN 33 THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 34 MY EYES ARE YOUNG 39 THINK ON EMPIRES 40 YOU SIMPLY CAN'T 41 BEAUTIFUL NIGHT 43 THE MIDNIGHT HOUR 44 THE TIME OF THE SINGING BIRD IS COME 45 THE JUDAS WINDS ON CODMAN HILL 46 THE SECOND MILE 48 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR ? 49 DISAPPOINTMENT 49 THE LAND OF MEMORY 50 THE SERMON OF THE LILIES 51 THE DOCTOR 52 JUST A SIMPLE LITTLE FLOWER ; . . 54 WHIRLWINDS 55 SWEET ABBIE AT THE SPRING 56 I AM ONLY DREAMING, DREAMING 57 THE MOON, THE CLOUDS AND THE WIND 58 MY BUTTERFLY 59 THE BLAME 60 THE DAWN 61 THE LAND OF SHADOWS 62 THE WOMAN IN MY ARMS 63 WHISPERING FLOWERS 64 SUNSET IN TREASURE VALLEY 65 LINES TO THE BOSTON Y. M. C. A 66 THE FINISHED HOUSE 67 THE YARN OF THE "BILLOWS QUEEN".. 69 16 CRADLED MOONS Page TO AN OLD, OLD BOOK 82 THE SONG OF THE RUSHING FLOOD 83 OUT OF THE DEPTHS 84 TO THE FAIR UNKNOWN 85 WHO IS CONTENT? 86 HAPPINESS 87 THE "CLOSED-INS" 88 TO A FALLEN TREE 89 THE BECKONING HILLS 90 THE BLUE HILLS OF MILTON 91 ON CHICATAWBUT HILL 93 THE GHOST OF THE CRAGS 95 THE SPIRIT BOUND 102 THE FIRST CALL 103 THE SOUNDING BOARD 103 THE SHADOW MEN 104 HIS SOUL FLOWERS 104 IN THE SILENT REACHES OF MY SOUL.. 105 THE SPIRIT OF MIRTH 105 SLUMBERING YESTERDAYS 106 THE SADDEST TIME 107 MY STUDY 108 THE SPIDER 108 THE BLUE WAKE 109 MY SWEETHEART'S EYES 112 POEMS OF PARENTHOOD: FATHER 113 IT WOULD BE NICE 113 I WANT TO BE 'SIDE OF PAPA 115 A LITTLE OUTSTRETCHED HAND 117 A WORTHW^HILE THEME 118 DISGRACE CORNER 121 POLLIKINS 123 THE FIRST KISS OF SUNSHINE 124 BARBEE 125 KING ROBERT 126 MY BABY'S LIPS 126 THE MEASURES OF LOVE 127 THE PRICE WE PAY 129 CRADLED MOONS 17 Page A NOBLE THOUGHT 129 MY LADY: MY LADY'S MORNING SONG 130 MY LADY'S WITCHING DANCE 131 MY LADY'S PRETTY NAME 132 MY LADY OF THE VIOLIN 133 MY LADY'S WONDROUS HAIR 134 MY LADY'S GLEAMING GEMS 135 MY LADY AND THE CRYSTAL GLOBE.. 136 MY LADY WITH THE DROOPING ROSE. 137 MY LADY GOES TO CHURCH 138 MY LADY IN THE FIRE LIGHT 139 MY LADY SLEEPS 140 MY LADY IS MY DREAM GIRL 141 MY WISTARIA GIRL 142 FAREWELL 144 TWO LETTERS: FIRST LETTER 145 SECOND LETTER 146 THE SPIRE OF SHAWMUT CHURCH 14'J THE SKY IS AWAKE 150 SANDY ISLE 151 THE PASSENGER COACH OF LIFE 152 LINES TO A GROTESQUE INKSTAND 154 THE COUNTRY GRAVEYARD 155 THE SEEDLING THOUGHT 157 THE MEASURE OF LIFE 159 AU REVOIR, MISS JO 160 THE CLICK OF THE WIELDED PICK 161 LINES INSCRIBED TO MR. FORBES- ROBERTSON 162 I. THE WANDERER 163 II. WILFUL WOMEN 163 III. REFLECTED BRIGHTNESS ..... . 164 IV. PLEASANT THOUGHTS 165 V. MIDDLE AGE 165 VI. HUMOR 166 VII. JOYS OF LIFE 167 VIII. THE TRUEST LOVE 167 18 CRADLED MOONS Page IX. THE GUIDING HAND 168 X. THE PERFECT LOVE 169 XL THE MEETING PLACE OF FRIENDS 169 XII. OLDEN THOUGHTS 170 XIII. LOVE GOES ALL THE WAY 171 XIV. HOPE 171 XV. THE MISSION OF ART 172 XVI. THE GREAT PRIVILEGE 173 XVII. REGENERATING THOUGHT 173 XVIII. ALTRUISM 174 XIX. THE LONELY JEW 175 XX. LOVE'S OFFERING 175 XXL THE BETTER SELF 176 XXII. I KNOW YOUR VOICE 177 XXIII. THE FEAR OF BEING GREAT 177 XXIV. THE W^ORLD'S NEED 178 XXV. GIVING 179 XXVI. TRANSIENT BEAUTY 179 XXVII. SUBSERVIENCY 180 XXVIII. LOVE AND THE FEAR OF POVERTY 181 XXIX. A PROMISE 181 XXX. A GLADSOME GIFT 182 XXXI. LEAVE-TAKING 183 TOO PROUD TO PRAY 181 SONNET: To Virginia 185 I NEVER KNEW^ 186 HIS HEART WAS YOUNG 187 THE GENTLE LIFE 188 THE KINDEST MAN 189 WAR-INSPIRED POEMS: THE GLORY AND SHAME OF GOD 191 THE HYPOCRITE 192 LOOK TO THE END 193 THE YELLOW CLOUD 193 THE RETINUES 195 AN HANDFUL OF MEAI 197 ♦ THE ACCUSING HANDS 201 CRADLED MOONS 19 Page THE HALLOWED STAR OF GOLD 203 THE SERVICE FLAG 205 TWO LESSONS 206 NO MAN'S LAND 208 THERE IS BUT ONE 209 . AN APOSTROPHE TO FRANCE 211 THE SUPREME GIFTS 214 THE MASTER GARDENER 217 THE SYMBOL LOVE CHOSE 218 OUR FLAG 219 MY COUNTRY 220 THE SUNSET FLAG 220 TRUE PATRIOTISM 221 BUILD ME A LODGE 222 THE UNFOLDING WILL 228 THE BRAVEST MAN 224 WHAT IS A FRIEND? 225 A PROVEN FRIEND 225 REALIZATION 226 THE JEWELED TREES 227 THE HOPES OF SPRING 228 O NOBLE DEAD (Memorial Day) 229 HALLOWE'EN IS HERE 230 AM I THANKFUL? 231 THE HALLOWED HOUR 232 THE SPIRIT GIVETH LIFE 233 THE HOLLY THORNS 234 BELLS O' NEW YEAR 236 A NEW YEAR'S THOUGHT 237 THE UNKNOWN TREK 237 THE MAN W^ITH THE FIXED IDEA 238 THE SPIRIT OF GOD 239 THE WONDER SPRAY 239 CUB LOVE 240 THE DAISY TOLD A LIE 243 WHEN MARY MAKES THE BREAD 244 PREVARICATING MARY 245 ADVICE TO POETS 246 TOLSTOI'S REPLY TO THE RUSSIAN CHURCH 248 20 CRADLED MOONS Page OUR HOME IN THE WOODS 249 THE CONFESSION 250 DEAR LITTLE SPRITE 250 THE LOVE LETTER 251 MATRIMONY 252 CHARLES DICKENS 253 INDIVIDUALISM 254- SUCCESS 255 THE LAST CRUISE OF THE WABASH 256 TO THE MARCH WINDS 258 CAN ANY GOOD THING COME OUT OF NAZARETH ? 259 DEO GRATIAS 261 HE KISSED THE LIPS OF AMBITION 262 CHERRY TIME .263 THE GREAT MUSICIAN 265 NO MAN CAN ESCAPE 266 THE THINNING RANKS 267 THE TIME TO BE CROSS 268 THE KEEPER OF THE SPRINGS 269 MY HEAVEN 270 TO AN AUTOGRAPH FIEND 272 MY GARDEN OF BLIGHTED HOPES 273 THE POET'S ART • 274 THE SETTLEMENT OF WOLLASTON 275 THE PEOPLE I MEET ON THE TRAIN 294 ST. LUKE XXIV 295 A DROP OF INK 300 CRADLED MOONS CRADLED MOONS 23 FOR WHOM SHALL I WRITE? For wliom shall I write, and wliat purpose in sight? Do the critics give heed when invited to read The thoughts I indite in my study at night? Oh, no ; they impede every chance to succeed And strangle my might by praises so slight I fain would recede with my uttermost speed Back, back from the land of the poet's delight. For wliom, then, for whom shall I pierce the dark gloom Of the poet's own soul, or vent thoughts that control The spirits tliat loom in his intellect's tomb? Shall I stoop to cajole the plebian droll, Or shall I presume to the day of my doom To strive for a goal which is part of the whole ? Oh, no ; for such thoughts my soul has no room. I shall write for the prize in the gift of the wise, I shall strive for renown and in hope of a crown. My work shall comprise all the best I devise, What though critic or clown shall attempt to tear down Or damn and despise under faint praise's guise, And snicker or frown when they meet me in town, I shall write for the souls who with truth sympatliize. 24 CRADLED MOONS TO AN ABSENT MUSE Oil, come, fruitful spirit, long known as the Muse, I fain would embrace tliee, thou hidden recluse, I've chased o'er the hills and dales of my mind. But never a trace of thy presence I find. In the depths of my soul I've called loud and long To bid thee return and give life to my song; But now tliou art silent, undutiful elf, And I am alone with my thoughts and myself. Hitherto thou hast helped me when love's dream I wrote. Thou hast lent me the fever its passions denote. But toniglit all its fire and deep, ruddy glow Seems to me and my reason a mere puppet show. When I sang of the river and old rustic mill, Tliou hadst tuned up my lay with a rhythmical thrill; I could see the old mill-wheel and the swift-rushing stream, But now, thou old truant, the mill runs by steam. I would fain dip my goose-quill in ink steeped in gall, Which would burn as it flowed as a caustic on all Who deserve the rebukes which a poet can fling. But the ink which I use is devoid of its sting. I would summon the past with its gliosts to appear For to tell me of tilings which no mortal should hear ; But just as I try these weird ghosts to control, My good neighbor next door begins shovelling coal. I would write of the Spring and its pleasures again, Of its beautiful flowers and its soft, gentle rain. But my window looks out on the night damp and cold. With old Boreas shrieking like a rigorous scold. CRADLED MOONS 25 In the past I have drawn on full many a time The home and the mother to make up a rhyme, But tonight in my study come sounds through the door Which disturb me a bit, — 'tis the mater's low snore. I have studied the classics my soul to surcharge With beautiful thoughts which I fain would enlarge, But the cat's out of doors, and the fire, I know, Needs to have some more coal, or out it will go. Maybe, gentle Muse, when my labors are done You will light up my soul like a radiant sun. But too late you will be, for soon I will shed The mantle of poesy, and hie me to bed. THE FERN I saw a fern in creviced stone. Its dainty green pulsed with the wind, It must have grown for me alone, Since it brought God into my mind ; I saw its shallow earth confines. Its brothers in their leaf-loam glen Were lost amidst the grass and vines, But it brought joy to eyes of men. How like unto myself, I thought; The seed I've sown on stony ground Has taken root, and grown, and brought Rich glory to its narrow bound. And walls I thought that compassed me Have been but setting for my soul. Have raised me high and made me free, I am that fern in God's control. 26 CRADLED MOONS MY MOTHER The twiliglit falls on Mother's life, The golden sunset gleams But faintly now ; The gathering shadows, too, are rife With fears ; the sun's last beams Grow dim; somehow The}' trouble not — my Mother. 'Tis I who weep at close of day, For, as the dark comes down. Mine are the fears, I fain would fend her night away, I'd hide the proffered crown, Though Heaven nears. No anxious thought — has Mother. Her graying locks were once so dark. With ringlets prodigal, I was a child; Her voice, — the linnet and the lark Sang in her younger call And me beguiled, I've not forgot,- — O Mother. Dear God, — hold back those twilight shades. Heaven's shining land is blessed With angels fair ; If Night descends, my earth-light fades. No comfort lies in heart distressed; If she were there I'd be distraught, — for Mother. CRADLED MOONS 27 THE PATH THAT BRINGS ME HOME When the sun has kissed the tree-tops, When their sliadows interlace In a dance of seeming concert Just outside my sylvan place, When the ruddy sky has softened Into neutral tints of gray, Then I leave my humble cottage ^ Foi* the world I face each day. As I tread the crooked footpath That convenience fashioned out, My sweet better selves (the children) Follow close with laugh and sliout, While the mother, like an angel, Hovers near with love-lit eyes. Till the highway (cruel jailer) Shackles me with Duty's ties. As the hours mark the dial Of the clock within my gaze. All despite the thousand worries Crowding through the anxious days, I can see that footpath leading To the spot my heart calls home. And I would not change its boundings For the grandest court in Rome ! When the evening shadows gather, . And the minutes, wearisome, Seem to move so slow and listless. Then the footpath whispers "Come," And once more upon the highway I retrace the steps of morn With life's burdens still upon the Shoulders that have overborne. 28 CRADLED MOONS Till I reach that winding footpath Ages seem wrapped up in me, But a glimpse of smiling faces Waiting patient 'neath a tree That denotes my journey's ending Breaks a chord within my soul, And the millioned worlds of trouble From my burdened shoulders roll. Oh, the splendor of the sunset, Never w^as sucli golden glow. In each welcome kiss of childhood Is forgot life's fancied woe. Whilst my soul cries out within me. Life is Heaven typified. And the path seems paved with jasper Tread by angels glorified. There stands goddess of my heaven With the same love-light, I wis. In her eyes I saw at morning. Wafting me an ev^ening kiss, And the children's noisy prattle Of the day's recounted deeds Is of far more moment to me Than the fact that Europe bleeds. There, Ambition treads on roadbeds Built on greed and stained by blood. Here, 'tis Love that marks the pathway (Radiant bloom and growing bud). There, is mocked the God I worship. Here, His Name is lisped and sung. There, the world is lost to reason. Here the path has Wisdom's tongue. CRADLED MOONS 29 With the Poet's eyes I'm looking In the future, and I see Still another path that's leading To a place prepared for me; But until the day it wliispers To me, "Come," and I shall roam, I will ne'er forget that blessed Little path that leads me home. LILAC BLOOMS Sweet was the kiss of the singing breeze, And rich was the lilacs' scent. The Poet, a dreamer, lay Content, Content to dream, Not of the winds and the swaying trees. Nor of the regal purples, bent By the spring-sent zephyrs of the May; Ah ! no, — not these, But Dreams of a full, untrammeled will, Dreams of a body free from eartli, The Poet, the dreamer, dreamt, Content In the thoughts of a Universe to fill With the hidden music of a higher wortli Than that for the earth-born meant. Yet he saw in the blooms with a thousand parts, In the purple and violet tones, and white, A something beyond tlie ken Of men, Of mortal men; The unfolding blossoms of the hearts That had braved a winter's snows, and night. And rejoiced with the Spring again; 30 CRADLED MOONS His further dream This : That the countless flowers of the mortal soil Had felt the kiss of the winds of Love, With the world at peace once more, Yes, True peace ! And the racial blooms through a War's turmoil Had bowed to the Perfect Will above, To whispers that Hate foreswore ! Like an ocean's breast were the lilac flowers, On the side of the hill he stood. The Poet, the dreamer, saw Entranced The colored seas. And oh ! how he yearned for diviner powers, He would right the world, — if he only could. And rule by sublimer Law ; His God's Infinite Law ; That the trees and the shrubs and the flowers know, That the birds of the air and the bees obey. That the moon and the sun and the stars hold fast; Love ! God's Love; The Law that made the lilacs grow. That scented their tinted petals gay. The Law that is unsurpassed ! The Poet, a Dreamer, still. Content, Content to dream. CRADLED MOONS 31 I SHALL KNOW REST Rest, rest; Oh, for the golden rest to come, Pillow of green, sweet moss and tangled grass, Where fringed gentians wave with the zephyrs that blow, Where the honey-rich thyme lures the bees' drowsy hum, Where the birds of the June sing God's peace as they pass, Wliere Nature shall phantom all sorrows I know; This, this is the rest I seek. Rest, rest; I once saw the blue on a proud peacock's breast, And its oscellate tail iridescent with gold, (The sun lent a rainbow to add to its charm), And I thought, what a pillow for me in my rest. I would gather the plumes, oh, so ruthless and bold, I would cluster the radiant blue in my arm As down for the rest I seek. Rest, rest; In the infant's eyes was the wonder gleam. And I sensed in its feeble gripping hand Its voiceless alarms at the unknown things. And I wondered if I, in a new world, would seem Cowed by the scenes I could not understand, Or lost in the wonder the Infinite brings, Not ready for rest I seek. Rest, rest; Soul-Friend of mine, when true rest sliall be earned. And I shall deserve the green-sodded bed With its marvelous sleep, and my wearied eyes close. When the lesson of Death and its mission is learned, Take the clay from my soul, and give me instead The bodv that covers the scent of the rose, Then, then comes the rest I seek! 32 CRADLED MOONS LOVE'S MISTS Rainbows shine wlien clouds have parted, but their bril- liant colors seem Dull beside the dazzling beauty of the love-mist's glint and sjleam^ Mists that close on faults of dear ones^ mists that blind prosaic thought. Mists that capture blessed sunshine and reflect its brilliance caught, Mists that cast a golden halo over shallow, darksome pools, Mists that close on depths un fathomed, mists that bury deep the fools, Golden mists when kissed by sunrise, silver mists when twiliglits close. All surrounding, hiding secrets which are safe when but one knows. Only when love's mists have lifted is mankind exposed to blame. Only when the mists are broken is man's weakness known as shame, Only on life's burning deserts, where such mists are quite unknown. Do tlie faults, whicli men are prone to, naked stand and all alone. Shame on those wlio flout the presence of Love's rain- bow-tinted mist, Shame on those who see no beauty in the lives its tints have kissed, Shame, thrice shame on those who glory in the error brought to sight Which had best been left enveloped in the mists of Love's delight. CRADLED MOONS 33 THE HUMAN LINCOLN God sometimes sends From out His boundless treasure-house of life A God-like man; And when He gave Unto our land the life we honor now, He had a plan. Tlie times were ripe; Men's troubled liearts cried out for one to lead, One staunch and true, And then arose This human soul who fathered his great flock As God would do. Men clung on him As the soft, white snow clings to the leafless trees When Winter reigns ; His sorrows weighed As the frosted down weights deep each naked bough Wliich bends, sustains. He knew men's hearts. And, knowing them, he had no eyes for shame. But saw their best ; His own great soul Oft groaned in solitude for those he knew Were sore oppressed. When Strife's sharp claws Had torn the States as wild-cats rend their prey, He soothed each wound; His was the hand That loosed the shackles from a subject race. The blacks unbound. 34 CRADLED MOONS His spirit proved That man is more than simply moulded dust ; He mirrored God; And angels wept With finite men when he was laid at rest Beneath the sod. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL With the golden moonlight streaming Through my window open wide, I am all alone and dreaming, And the past years seem to glide Phantom-like before my vision, Each and every one in turn, Not a break nor an omission. And for them my heart doth yearn. Childhood's happy hours renewing, 'Neath the moon's soft, mystic spell, And my memory's reviewing Boyhood days I loved so well. Days in which no thouglit of sorrow Marred the joy which childhood knew, When each glorious tomorrow Opened a new world to view. I can see a boy whose features Much resemble those of mine, WHiich, like other earth-born creatures. Many traits seem to combine. CRADLED MOONS 35 I can see him as he trudges To that dear old village school ; I can see his skirted judges Place him on a dunce's stool. As I watch him mounting slowly, Step by step and grade to grade, I recall that great and lowly Each the first same steps have made. And each hope and aspiration Which I own, came first to me Through my teachers' inculcation And their kindly amity. I can hear the noisy prattle Of his schoolmates when at play ; But to-day they're doing battle With the world as best they may. Some have gone to study under Heavenly teachers of God's truth, And toniglit I can't but wonder If they still retain their youth. I remember, oh ! so clearly, Bright blue eyes and golden hair, One boy's sweetheart, loved so dearly. Who is now with angels there. Winsome smiles and blushes beaming On a bashful boy of twelve. And the tears fall wliile I'm dreaming Of the past in which I delve. I can see a wreath of flowers Resting lightly on a chair Close beside him, where for hours Sat this little maiden fair. I can hear the subdued sobbing Of a boy who'd lost a friend, 36 CRADLED MOONS And tonight my heart is throbbing With the memories that attend. And I wonder when the ringing School bell calls me to that shore. Where are white-robed choirs singing, I shall know her as of yore. Will she be the same as childhood Memories reveal her now, Romping through the field and wildwood, Purity stamped on her brow ? Or, have girlhood's blossoms parted To reveal a woman's soul, - Still endeavoring as it started Towards a grand and lofty goal.'' Was tlie thread of life here broken Bound by God into Hope's strand. Which should serve to us as token Of that better promised land? From the schoolroom window gazing I can see a grassy hill. Where the cattle now are grazing. There the world seems calm and still. Once again I view the river Flowing sluggishly along. Where the willow brandies quiver. Where I hear the robin's song. I can see a kind face beaming Full of happiness and joy, And two sharp, bright eyes are gleaming, Focused on a naughty boy. They were owned by dear "Aunt Hannah," As we used to call her then. Whose sweet, gentle, loving manner Will ne'er be forgot by men. CRADLED MOONS 37 I remember quite distinctly How she used to punish boys, How she often used to chide me For my whispering and noise. I was always quite loquacious (Even now it's not outgrown), And I think her efficacious Punishment I will make known. Every night as we were leaving She commanded those to stay Who deserved no kind reprieving, Those who'd whispered through the day, Wliile she kept them busy learning Poetry of every kind. Who, before their homeward turning, Verses five^must have in mind. So I think my love of rhyming Must have been augmented quite By the constant, measured timing Of those poems every night. Dear Aunt Hannah's now up yonder, And I think that I can see Good Saint Peter sit and ponder Over classic poetry. I can see a figure stately Standing by the schoolroom door, Ahd I watch it move sedately To the platform on the floor. 'Twas my dearly loved schoolmaster, Who impressed me as a child Witli a knowledge that was vaster Tlian old Homer e'er compiled. And tonight the moonlight streaming Seems to cast his silhouette 38 CRADLED MOONS On my mind as I am dreaming, And his pose I'll ne'er forget; One hand pointed to the ceiling. With his form erect and grand As he was to us revealing Oratory's master-hand. I can hear the windows rattle From his deep and lusty tone, As with Spartacus in battle Making his fierce feelings known. And the Storm King's mighty thunder Seemed not half as loud to me As that voice which we sat under Learning vocal purity. And whene'er I have occasion • To address my fellow men, I remember his oration. And old Spartacus again. And I try to put real fire Into everything I say. Such as he aimed to inspire i In his pupils every day. The old master still is living, Very gray and somewhat bent, And I know at times he's giving To this burning fire vent. And with truth I can assever Tlaat the knowledge which he taught Will inspire me forever Towards the goal my soul has sought. And tho schoolhouse still is standing Just a little from the street, Where upon each step and landing One can hear tlie children's feet. CRADLED MOONS 39 But the charm for me is broken, As I'm dreaming liere alone, Since each sweet and loving token Of my past there now has flown. Still, I love that quaint, old building. And the golden moonbeams bright Seem to- flood its porches, gilding Every corner with delight. And" I'll ne'er forget the teachings. Ne'er forget that dunce's stool, Nor my kind, old master's preachings In that dear old village school. MY EYES ARE YOUNG Soft spake I to Age at his dusk of day, "Wouldst tell me thy secret,' friend? Thy form is gaunt and thy locks are gray. Yet Youth withal doth seem to lend Its spring-time smile and thee attend, Give me thy secret, pray." And Age replied: "Seest thou yonder field With its silk-weed pods now burst. And the fine white tlireads by the frosts revealed. Not yet by the winds dispersed. Nor yet by the snows amerced, Of their cradle-forming shield.'' 40 CRADLED MOONS My locks are like down on the silk-weed, hung To pods on the frost-killed reeds, My limbs are like leaves to their dead stalks clung, But my eyes are liked margined seeds, Not scattered as yet to meads, And my eyes like them are young." Methought as I wended my way alone And viewed all the silk-weeds strung With their sloat-eyed seeds, and their down not blown. Of the golden words of this age-wise tongue, And I vowed to keep my eyes still young When mv vouth with vears had flown. THINK ON EMPIRES Many's the man who's fitted to lead Progression's van and empires build. Yet dribbles his time with things that impede And obstruct the things which might be fulfilled If he were but bold; Many's the place which harbors the man Who's fit to be king, yet by reason of doubt Contented remains and does what he can In some petty place with peasants about, And rusts and grows old. Many's the man whose parish has claimed All of his might while the world waits and waits For someone like him who can be inflamed With zeal for its needs and whose strength animates Tlie dull, sluggish mass ; CRADLED MOONS 41 Many's the place, like Bethlehem small, Least in world-fame, yet is destined to bring From out of its midst a Ruler of aH, Crowned and acclaimed a Saviour and King, Too great for one class. Many's the man and many's the place That needs to be roused to the things tliey can be ; Many's the land and many's the race That offers a field for activity When once they awake ; If men will but think on empires grand Instead of on parishes petty and small, Their minds will mature and their souls will expand. And they will be ready to answer the call The Future shall make ! YOU SIMPLY CAN'T You can't be sick of living when you're working with your might, You can't be sad and lonesome when your heart with love is light, You can't fail to be thankful when you look around and see All the good things which surround you and God's liber- ality ; You simply can't. You can't be mean and selfisli when you share the things you own, You can't be cold and heartless when the warpath of love you've shown. You can't be introspective when your eyes once view the scene Of a world of broken spirits and you realize what they mean ; You simply can't. 42 CRADLED MOONS You can't get out of patience when you sympathize with pain, You can't be cross and peevish when you know your loss is gain, You can't be slow or idle when your mind's responsive to Tlie great, glad world about you and tlie tilings wliich YOU might do; ' You simply can't. You can't rule men with hatred when the power of love is proved. You can't be hard or callous wlien you've let yourself be moved, You can't refuse a beggar when beneath his rags you see A brother man and heir to man's immortality; You simply can't. You can't be rude to children when you've felt a sweet child's kiss, You can't reprove tlie lonely when companionship you miss, You can't be deaf to sorrow when you've drained its bitter cup To the dregs and know the feeling of a hope that buoys you up ; You simply can't. You can't be irreligious when you ask and you receive, You can't be dumb and silent when you trust and you believe. You can't disguise God's presence when your soul is one with Him, Be you midst the scenes of plenty or where poverty stalks grim ; You simply can't. CRADLED MOONS 43 BEAUTIFUL NIGHT Oh beautiful night, oh, beautiful night, How weak are mere words to express The thoughts that arise in my soul by the sight Of those charms which the earth doth possess. The moon's bright reflection in the rippleless lake, The trees, sombre shadows of dun. The dark purple hills in the distance awake The thought which in daytime I shun. The myriad stars seem like holes in the sky Wliere the glory of Heaven sifts through. And that fantastic cloud I view scurrying by Takes the shape of a swift kangaroo. The soft, gentle zephyrs which rustle the trees Seem to sing to my soul a sweet tune, And my sub-conscious self is again at the knees Of my mother, and lists to her croon. I recall that sweet song which thrilled with delight As she sang to a youngster of four, "Oh, Motlier, how pretty the moon is tonight. It was never so pretty before." I remember those eyes gazing up at the moon, 'Tis the same moon that now greets my sight. And I choke back the tears as I hark to the tune Of the whispering breezes of night. And the ghosts of the past are now stalking abroad, Tlie mists of the valley take shape. They wander the roads which in past years I've trod. They now grip me, I cannot escape. 44 CRADLED MOONS Oh, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful night, How weak are mere words to express The thoughts that arise in my soul by the sight Of those charms which the earth doth possess. THE MIDNIGHT HOUR Give me the quiet midnight hour To pen my solemn thought, 'Tis then Creation's spirits tower And come to me unsought; Imagination tops them all, And leads in by the hand The king, men Inspiration call, Who reigns in Poets' land. The meanest herb in Nature's realm At that time seems to be Endowed with beauties which o'erwhelm And puzzle even me. Tlie drivel which some rustic spoke While old King Sol held sway. Remembered now, serves to invoke Some thoughts which went astray. The moon, just peeping o'er the cloud, I welcome as a friend. Save him alone, there's none allowed Their light with mine to blend; I want no one to come between The silence and my soul. My Better Self's at midnight seen And holds me in control. CRADLED MOONS 45 The grating sounds of busy life Are stilled, thank God ! at last, And Babel's tongues and Egypt's strife Seem ages in tlie past. I need no books to create themes, I need no mentor's word. My conscience rules, and genius gleams, And God's own voice is heard. 'THE TIME OF THE SINGING BIRD IS COME' Be still, my soul, in silence hark To raptured songs of pure delight From spring-birds on their winged flight. The mellow flute of meadow-lark With sequent notes rings clear and light. And breaks the spell of Winter's night; Oh, join in song, my soul! The red-wings on the brown marsh gleam, Their intermingled pipes are lieard In golden concert registered; The phoebe haunts the woodland stream. On listening brooks its song's conferred And sweet the cadence of its word; Oh, join in song, my soul! The grass-finch in the twilight sings The sombre song of closing day, He sings the passing sun to stay; The white-throat sparrow's carolings Reflect the joy of runaway From unloved climes, a bird's hooray; Oh, join in song, my soul! 46 CRADLED MOONS The robins and the blue-birds call, The veery cheeps rich melody, And echoes mock the chickadee; The God of Spring hath sent them all. And in their tuneful harmony My future Spring sings out to me; Oh, join in song, my soul! THE JUDAS-WINDS ON CODMAN HILL Good friend, know you of Codman Hill, In Dorchester, old Dorchester? 'Twas there Tlie mild -November day I spent Till twiliglit shadows grew and lent To sappling trees a measurement That years might not fulfil. The Judas-Winds that kiss, — betray, And steal the leaves in Fall's array, Were mellowed by the sun this day, And bore no season's chill. Behold ! The sun, a ball of crimson gold. Another day as fair foretold, But, oh ! my soul was not consoled, It fain would stay the light; It sensed in even's murk and gloom The shadowed death of primehood's bloom, It caught the odors of the tomb Borne on the breeze of night. CRADLED MOONS 47 A boy In yester-years, I've not forgot , I goaded kine on yonder lot Close by, the brook's moss banks I've sought For tender flowers of spring. The southern slope, near where I stood, We used to know as Morton's Wood, A paradise-like neighborhood To boys with soul a-wing. And oh ! I well remember gypsy bands That camped upon the sloping lands, They read one's future in the hands. And traded basket ware ; The mill-folk in the village near Would double lock their doors in fear Lest some nomadic hag appear And steal their treasures rare. This night The Judas-Winds on Codman Hill That kissed my cheek, soft blowing, still Like Magyar tribes, who stole at will. They robbed me of my joy; They took the jewels of my past. And blew away to ages vast The treasure-stores that once were massed Within the heart of boy. Good friend, ril go no more on Codman Hill, In Dorchester, old Dorchester. For there I saw the hopes of youthful years Blown on the winds of doubts and fears, 48 CRADLED MOONS The whirling leaves that Autumn seres . Were prayers of mine, now dead ; But, oh ! if you will climb the slope With staff in hand and telescope, The winds that made me misanthrope May bring you joy instead. THE SECOND MILE Has it been your lot to meet One who's gracious, kind and sweet, One who greets you on the street With a smile? Have you found a friend, unpressed, Giving all at Love's behest. And who goes without request One more mile? Do you give that extra touch. Prove a favor not as such. But a pleasure wished for, much, And worth while ? Do you add sweet grace and charm, Lend refusals soothing balm. Go in spirit arm in arm One more mile ? 'Tis the little acts, my friend. Simple arts which oft-times blend Happiness with deeds, and lend Grace and style; Wealth and fame are poor beside Such a charm, and vain is pride, Love will ever prompt and guide One more mile. CRADLED MOONS 49 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? Who is my neighbor? He of whom 'tis said That I must love e'en as my very self, And act unto as Good Samaritan In time of need? Does this imply that he Whose latticed porch is shadowed by the sun Upon my walk has the first claim on me For love and help ? Or is it he who comes Each day with me in contact on the mart Within the town? Oil, foolish soul to ask! My neighbor is the world and all therein ; The lowly, poor, the struggling, troubled heart, The sick, the lame, and they whom sorrow rules Are neighbors all to me — and I should strive To prove my love to them in everything. DISAPPOINTMENT I said I had a friend, A worthy friend; I gauged him by his daily word, I plumed myself on strength inferred As lent by him ; somehow he heard My need was great. Did aught he ever lend? Not he; I lost my friend ! I said I had a friend, A kindly friend; I proved him seemingly to ring Like purest gold, and friendship's seasoning Seemed evidenced. I bade him hear me sing My burdened song. Think you he did attend? Not he; I lost my friend ! 50 CRADLED MOONS I said I had no friend, No sincere friend; I knew not friendship's sweetest bliss Was near to me, — my sweetheart's kiss Redeemed false loves. Not now I miss My erstwhile friends. Think you she could pretend? Not she; I have a friend ! THE LAND OF MEMORY Where is the Land of Memory, The land of long ago? Is it some isle on Love's deep sea Where everlastings grow ? Are shining stars with twinkling light The peep-holes in its floor? Or was the sunset of last night Its brilliant, golden door? There is no death in Memory, But all is life and joy, And innocence and purity Our baser thoughts destroy ; We see the soul and not the clay. The God, and not the man. And what seemed dross but yesterday Proves gold within the pan. And age and youth in Memory Are welded into one. The dim shades of futurity Reflect its setting sun. CRADLED MOONS 51 No storm-king rules witli tyrant hand. No lightnings rift its sky, Its outskirts border Heaven's land, And God is ever nigh. I love the Land of Memory, The bright tlioughts of the past Take shape tonight and come to me From out tlie Unknown, vast ; The dear ones tliat have gone before Are wakened from their sleep ; Whene'er I knock on Memory's door They bid me not to weep. I've found the Land of Memory, Tlie fairest land of all. The bluebirds flit from tree to tree, I hear tlie linnet's call ; And lilies bloom so pure and white. Sweet fragrance they impart. Oh, Memory's Land is my delight, I've found it in mv heart. THE SERMON OF THE LILIES In the beauty of the lilies we can see the love of God. TJiey, without a conscious effort, rise supreme above the sod, clothed in purest tints of glory,, fed by springs sent from above,, each a Message of Creation, each an em- blem of His love. O ye souls that doubt and falter, here is Truth sublime, that lives in the lilies kissed by Heaven, prov- ing Love divine He gives ; are ye not of much more moment than the lilies of the field.'' Yea, believe, and Faith returneth more than fondest hopes can yield. 52 CRADLED MOONS THE DOCTOR The Doctor ! How that name doth call to mind A train of thoughts, some painful, some sublime. And visions rise of grim Death put to rout By his great skill. No hero of the past Deserves to be acclaimed, or wear a crown More than doth he. For him no sacrifice Has been too great; no deed too small to claim His noblest thought. His duty stands supreme. On his broad shoulders there is placed a load So great, which, were we called to share, we'd cry Aloud in agony and pain, — and yet No sign or word doth emanate from him. He doth not show by outward countenance The burdens of humanity he bears. I watch him as he sits beside the bed Of a sick child. The mother with her hands in prayer In dumb appeal aloft entreats God's help. The father with a soul too full of grief To shed a tear is close beside her there. And he alone of all reflects a calm Like unto that which stills the ocean's deeps Ere they are lashed by furies of the storm. I see the yellow lamp-light gleam and spread Its brilliant rays which seem to tinge with gold Each little curl that nestles 'round the head Of the sick babe. No smile plays o'er those lips Made redder by the fever's burning course. E'en hope seems dead; — and yet, to him, there's hope. Again my memory doth reveal a scene, A happy, thankful scene of joy which shows A doctor's hope made real, an answered prayer; Two grateful hearts whose benisons descend Upon his head. I see a child wlio bursts Into the picture with its arms outstretched. CRADLED MOONS 53 With smiles upon those lips where fever raged. I see two arms around the doctor's neck In child-like love; and all is peace and joy. I read a doctor's heart as he departs. Anxiety and care have furrowed deep. That heart has bled and wept in solitude, And no one knew. And now its prayers ascend In thanks to God who stayed Death's fearful hand. I go with him upon his daily round To other homes where sickness and despair Are crouching low, like monsters of the wood Who snatch life's travellers as they tread the road. And in them all he's treated just as if He bore within his palm the spark of life, And could bestow on all who asked of him The boon of health and happiness and peace. I watch him in the fierce storm's height go forth With no thought of himself or rest's desire^ And answer duty's call with a sweet smile Which cheered and briglitened every soul in sight, And never do I hear a word that breathes A discontented syllable aloud. O Doctor, there's a regal crown for you. And when the Great Physician calls you home You'll find a robe of iridescent cloth Is weaved for you from out the tears of love Which have been shed by those you've blest on earth, You'll find a place that Christ Himself has made And has reserved for you. He went about As you do now, and healed the sick and lame. And He has granted you the skill and might To emulate Him in your work of love. And every morn our prayers on high shall rise To bless you as you go upon your way, And never will you lack an earthly friend While we are living in this finite world. 54 CRADLED MOONS JUST A SIMPLE LITTLE FLOWER Just a simple little flower Wet with morning dew and shower, Blest with potent, mystic power To dispel Gloom and sorrow from the faces Of the poor in cheerless places, And the sweetest heart it graces Oh, so well. Just a simple little flower Never missed from Nature's bower. Yet it cheered a darkened hour And beguiled For a day a fever-ridden, Helpless soul in slum-life hidden. Where sweet gardens are forbidden To a child. Just a simple little flower Rifts with sunshine clouds tliat lower, And disperses glooms which tower Mountains high. Even kings can ne'er be knowing Greater joys that its bestowing To the child of sorrow showing Bright blue sky. CRADLED MOONS 55 WHIRLWINDS The deepest dregs of direst woe Are drained in time by those who sow The whirlwinds. You cannot glean from woman's tears Repentance for the misspent years In whirlwinds. The idler's sport, the gambler's dice, The moments spent in foolish vice. Are wliirlwinds. Neglected hearts, forgotten pride. And perverse thoughts are things that ride On whirlwinds. And Love's bold wings are much too weak To soar on winds of which we speak. These whirlwinds. Its pinions spread are blown away And lost forever and a day By whirlwinds. God help the fool that thinks that he Can sow and reap successfully All whirlwinds. 56 CRADLED MOONS SWEET ABBIE AT THE SPRING I have read of sculptured beauties Carved by Phidias of old., With liands and feet of ivory. With draperies of gold; But to me he never equaled The grace which seems to cling To the picture of sweet Abbie A-drinking at the spring. I have read the odes of Horace And have marvelled at his art. And the sweet love-songs of Sappho Have found echoes in my heart, But the music of these poets And the love of which they sing Seem but dross compared with Abbie A-drinking at the spring. Her simple gown of muslin More regal was to me That ermine robes of princes In courts across the sea. No artist ever painted For potentate or king A picture quite like Abbie A-drinking at the spring. The riisted, battered dipper. When raised to her pure lips, Was filled with nectar sweeter Than that which Bacchus sips. No hand-wrought cup of silver Could recollections bring Like the dipper used by Abbie A-drinking at tlie spring. CRADLED MOONS 57 Her laughing eyes reflected The liquid depths below, And as I stood and watched them My heart was steeped in woe; Alas for me! I'm married, And bound as with a string, I must not think of Abbie A-drinking at the spring. I AM ONLY DREAMING, DREAMING Golden hair and laughing eyes, Wealth of beauty which men prize. Ruby lips and form divine. No, they never can be mine, I am only dreaming, dreaming. With the golden moonliglit streaming Through my study door. Just a boy I seem to be, Happy as a lark and free. Romping through the wooded dell Witli the one I love so well. But I'm only dreaming, dreaming. With the golden nioonlight gleaming Through my study door. Why, oh why, must I awake. And my pleasant dreams forsake. Wake and find denied to me All but grave reality? Know I'm only dreaming, dreaming, With the golden moonlight beaming Through my study door. ^8 CRADLED MOONS THE MOON, THE CLOUDS AND THE WIND The moon would shine on the earth below, But the clouds said "Nay/' They'd tease her by rifting an inch or so, They'd mock her by thinning their depths, and crow When tlie angry moon its clioler would sliow In its dismay. Tlie moon then whistled the wind to come. And begged its aid, It came with a rusli, and roar, and hum. It came in a mood so quarrelsome Tliat the naughty clouds were all struck dumb. And were afraid. They scampered away like frightened mice. And then for this The moon paid the wind its usual price For using its blust'ring, fierce device To scatter such pest'ring clouds in a trice, A golden kiss. CRADLED MOONS • 59 MY BUTTERFLY As the butterfly held in the mesh of the net, So have I caught you, darling, at last, 'Twas a right merry chase whicji I'll never forget You led me in days which are past. Your poor little wings are worn out with the flight, They were strong and defiant at start, But now they're outstretched as a proof of Love's might And are pinned on the walls of my heart. But, unlike the insect which dies when impaled, Your capture and pinions have seemed To invigorate life, and my heart is assailed With regrets such as I've never dreamed. I know I've no right to steal you away. You were happy when sipping the dew P'rom the sweet-scented rose and the hyacinths gay Which God must have meant just for you. But wantons like me never think till too late. Nor regret till regrets are in vain. We pluck where we will and we quarrel with Fate When denied the things we would gain. I'm sorry if I, in my long, cruel race. To capture so pretty a thing, Have forgot all but self and delights of the chase. And the hopes which a capture might bring. 60 CRADLED MOONS But there, — never mind, I shall set you free; Look ! here are the pins in my hand, If you will, you may fly to your flowers, and be The same rainbow queen of the land. What ! staying around when you might go your way ? 'Tis madness, O Butterfly mine. Did I crush your poor wings so you really must stay And weep for the past that was thine? No, no, pretty one, love heals every wound, I've guessed why you stay, — 'tis just this: There's honey as sweet as in flowerets found Which lies in the depth of a kiss ! THE BLAME Men couple her name with sin and with shame. They sneer as she passes them by. Yes, they do, brother mine, yes, they do, But she not alone is deserving of blame, Has she fallen much lower than I, Or than you, brother mine, or than you? We helped her along the vice-cobbled road. We made it alluring and grand. Yes we did, brother mine, yes we did, And coward-like now, we turn and we goad. And the shelter of home to such of her brand We forbid, brother mine, we forbid. We forced her to slave for a pittance a day. It was hard, by the gods ! it was hard. So she cried, brother mine, so she cried. We cabined her soul and we stifled its play. We fed her on husks and all pleasures we barred, She 'most died, brother mine, she 'most died. CRADLED MOONS 61 We licensed the hell that meant ruin to her, Maybe we put wine to her lips^ Did we thus, brother mine, did we thus? We tempted, she fell, and when once she did err, We drove and we scourged her with whips Far from us, brother mine, far from us. We closed every path that led to the right, We locked every door of return. Was it wise, brother mine, was it wise? And with hypocrite hearts and with tongues all polite W^e buried our sins in an urn Made of lies, brother mine, made of lies. She has paid the price, and we have gone free, 'Twas always that way in this world, What a shame, brother mine, what a shame! The onus of such falls upon you and me. At Judgment this trutli will be luirled. We're to blame, brother mine, we're to blame ! THE DAWN Shimmering, glimmering, mystical Dawn, Herald art thou of the birth of the morn. Robed in thy gown bespangled with dew. Flushed is thy cheek with a deep crimson hue, Golden thy locks and blue is thine eye. Sweet are my thoughts when thy charms I descry. Gloom in my lieart at thy coming takes wings, Joy sees thy smile and exultingly sings, Memory sleeps and dead is the past. Yester-year's hopes like an army are massed, Strengthened, I leap with a power new-born, Loosed from my doubts, I welcome thee, Dawn. 62 CRADLED MOONS THE LAND OF SHADOWS The Land of Shadows is the Land of Dreams, The realms of the "Might have been," And it lies just beyond the mountains called "Schemes, It is close to the land of "Begin"; Their shores do not meet, though the roseate rays Of tlie sunshine of Hope oft have shone On them both in the dawn, but it lights up the days Of the Land of "Begin" alone. The Land of Shadows is the Land of Death, It looms on the great sea of Life Like a mirage of Hell, yet it's lost in a breatli When it's touclied by the winds of strife ; 'Tis peopled by ghosts of the wrecks of mankind, 'Tis watered by Lethean springs, No flowers grow there and no trees will you find, And never a bird sweetly sings. The Land of Shadows is the Land of Shame, The sliame of our imperfect wills. Where impulses burst for a moment in flame. And die ere they light up the hills ; I'd much rather live in the Land of "Begin," Where dreams and where doubts are unknown. Where the gods of the land bid men rise up and win Through the strength of afiirming alone. CRADLED MOONS 63 THE WOMAN IN MY ARMS As the soft wliite down of the wild duck's wing Or the gossamer webs which the spiders fling In iilmy tangle beside the spring So liglit are the weights of love; And my weakling arms are as bands of steel When my sweetheart's form in their clasp I feel. For the gods give strength to a lover's zeal And smile from their heights above. For my loved one's kiss and her soft caress Dispel every tinge of my weariness Brought on by a day of bitterness In the marts where the slavish toil; And her gentle voice with its liquid strain Seems Lethean like to each seeming pain, And drives from my mind every trouble profane And thought of tlie day's turmoil. Here's a kiss, my love, with a silent prayer. Which, granted, shall yield you blessings so fair That naught with your happiness e'er shall com})are While God gives you life on earth; My arms I'll extend to encircle your soul, A refuge for you when storm billows roll. My heart sliall I keep for your fullest control As tribute to womanhood's worth. 64 CRADLED MOONS WHISPERING FLOWERS Whispering flowers, murmuring liours, Nodding and sighing to us as you grow, Bowing and bending, Sweet perfume lending, Zephyrs attending Which softly blow. Tell me your story, whence comes your glory, Why are your petals with color aglow ? Have you been stealing Hues from earth's ceiling. And them revealing To us below ? Sunrise and sunset, cobalt and roset, All have been merged and in you overflow. Each color gleaming Reflects the streaming Sun in its beaming. Radiant bow. When Nature fashioned in love impassioned. Did she intend just your beauty to show.^ In your gay dressing Was she not blessing Us by expressing. Love which we know ? CRADLED MOONS 65 SUNSET IN TREASURE VALLEY The golden stream reflects the gleam Of sunset on the hills, The waters glide in peace beside A land which nature tills. No dark clouds loom with wrathful gloom To mar the gorgeous sight, The whispering trees rocked by the breeze Have kissed the sun good-night Again in Treasure Valley. The herded sheep in grasses deep No longer roam the vale. The rising moon gives light that soon Will flood each hill and dale. The barn-yard fowl and beasts that prowl Have sought their covered nooks. No singing bird is seen or heard Where flows the babbling brooks, 'Tis night in Treasure Valley. Enraptured, I view earth and sky In glorious ecstasy, For this is life, here is no strife, But all is harmony. I fain would stay by night and day By Golden River's lands. When sets my sun and life is done I'd rest beneath its sands For aye in Treasure Valley. 66 CRADLED MOONS LINES TO THE BOSTON Y. M. C. A. On the laying of the corner-stone of the New Building, October 3, 1912. A signed copy of this poem was deposited in tlie corner- stone box of the Y. M. C. A. Building Xhou miglity force wliich builds today and well A fitting home to give expression to Thy noble work which has no parallel In this our day; we pledge to thee anew Our strength, our love ; and fervently we pray That He Whose life has been thy glowing light Will bless these walls which symbolize the way Thou doest good, — the way of building right Builder in men of character sublime, Whose life outlasts such monuments as these Which must give way to all-desti*oying Time Despite their strength, and fall when Age decrees, Thy work shall last ; thy noblest building stands Defying all the elements and e'en Eternity, It is a house that was not made by hands. Its cornerstone, — the Holy Trinity. Teacher of Truth, men's bodies thou hast shown To be the biding place of greater things Than e'er were dreamed, or by our fathers known. The gods of health, long bound by custom's strings ; Thou makest men where brutes had seemed to dwell, Thou findest depths where shallows heretofore Had marked Life's sea; — thou always builded well For no reward but Love, — received no more. If all the deeds which glorify thy past Were marked by stones and built within this wall. The World would stand amazed because so vast Would be this pile that naught could hold it all; CRADLED MOONS 67 Were half the tilings made possible through thee, Or quarter known, thy name would ring for aye Through unborn years, and men thy worth would see, And pray the Lord thy strength to amplify. Rise up, ye walls, your heads in splendor lift, No grander heritage than yours I ken, For you shall house God's greatest, noblest gift To mortal kind — tlie gift to work for men. Build strong, ye builders, typify in stone The divine attitude which marks the past, The sacrificial spirit, which alone Has made this great Association last. THE FINISHED HOUSE Written for tlie Dedication of the New Boston Y. M. C. A. Building The finished house. The realized dream of those Who bore the brunt of pioneering toil Midst darkened hours of doubt and stern resolve And saw it loom as Jacob viewed the steps Loom liigh to Heaven; whose prayers moved mountain rocks Of men's indifference. Behold it now ! Complete it stands — complete, yet not complete, Each brick within its bounds marks sacrifice Of earnest souls who moulded flesh and blood Into its chryalis. Its lieritage So grand, so rich,, must equalled be by deeds Ere it doth stand complete. 68 CRADLED MOONS How proud it gleams ! A conscious pride. Its form seems animate And breathing liope of future worth and place. It feels the blood of Service course and run Within its veins, — the purest, richest blood, Drawn from its pristine source, the Master's heart, The Sacrificial Lamb. God's proven wealth ! The Book of Life. Its gold of knowledge shines Within these walls-, and needs no alchemist To bare its sheen ; no mint to coin its form For earthly use. The struggling soul's desire Is here fulfilled. Save immortality. No greater boon exists. The earth-clay's needs ! God's temple, loaned, herein finds strength renewed. The deep, sore wounds of worldly conflict heal As though some potent talisman had charmed And cured straightway. The almost-man here finds His nature's needed vent. The streams of life Pulsate and flow within. O God^of Hosts! This finished house we dedicate to Thee ! We pledge its service and its inhered strength Unto Thy cause. Yet not in vaunting pride We offer this. We but return a tithe For measures granted us. Bless Thou this house, O God of Hosts ! Amen. CRADLED MOONS 60 THE YARN OF THE "BILLOWS QUEEN' While resting in a quiet park One sultry summer day, I heard a grizzled tar's remark, And turned my gaze his way. His tone, his walk, his style, his look Betrayed the sailor bold, His bent and crooked body shook As he this story told. Before him, seated in a row, Were children half a score, I saw their faces flush and glow Because of treats in store, And I could not but overhear The gray-haired mariner, As he told of his life's career I played the listener. He sat upon the grassy sod And puffed his pipe of clay. And with a wink and knowing nod To me, I heard him say: "Yo ho, my hearty crew, yo ho, A story will I tell Which none but me its trutli doth know, Indeed, I know it well. 'Twas in the year of '61, I never shall forget, And though full fifty years have gone. Its memory haunts me yet. 70 CRADLED MOONS I sailed upon the 'Billows Queen,' A good ship, staunch and bold, A trimmer craft I ne'er have seen, Nor e'er liope to behold. A goodly crew we had on board, Nigh tliirty robust tars, Our Captain was by all adored, He knew each harbor's bars. We hoisted sail at Boston Town, Bound to tlie Afric sliore. And in our hold was battened down A hundred casks or more. Each cask contained old Medford rum To cheer the Hottentot, And I'll confess that often some Of us its good clieer sought. We'd scarce been out three days at sea Wlien stormy winds awoke The ocean from its reverie And did its rage provoke. The waves they ran like mountains high. We thouglit our doom was sealed, Tlie lightnings flaslied from out tlie sky, And our bare poles revealed. We rode first on the highest crest, Then sank into the trough. No voice was heard in lavighing jest. No one was known to scoff. We prayed the saints as ne'er before. With fervor not outdone, And some got mixed and loudly swore. For prayers they had learned none. CRADLED MOONS 71 I heard tlie bos'n rant and curse^ I heard the mate revile, And what the Captain said was worse In fluency and style. The wind it blew us off our course Almost a thousand knots, Unto the North with frightful force To cold and unknown sjjots. We soon were in the Arctic climes, Where icebergs could be seen. All threatening to smash at times Our good ship 'Billows Queen.' That storm had lasted most a week Ere we could see the blue And smiling sky, though we did seek Each day the sun anew; And when at last it shone out bright. We danced in ecstasy, But suddenly we saw a sight Which stopped our shouts of glee." The old man paused and looked around The quiet little group. Who sat upon the grassy mound. An interested troupe, With rounded eyes and faces white They listened eagerly. And to be frank, he did excite My curiosity. They waited for him to renew His story of the sea. And as he filled his pipe anew The old man winked at me. 72 CRADLED MOONS I saw a twinkle in his eye, I heard him chuckle low, As he commenced to amplify And make his story grow. "Our good ship's bow was headed south When lo ! abaft the beam. We stared with widely open mouth And saw the sunlight gleam Upon an ice-encrusted mast A league or more away, An ancient craft bound hard and fast Full many an Arctic day. Although we knew full well our plight, We luffed her, then hove to, And launched our boats with all our miglit, And towards the wreck we drew. The air was bitter, bitter cold, 'Twas forty, quite, below. For miles around we could behold The white and crusted snow. We stepped upon the icy main. And o'er its tortuous grind We struggled on with fear and pain. The whiteness made us blind. The way seemed longer, too, by far That WQ. had deemed it so. But nearer loomed that naked spar Which beckoned us to go. With fearful hearts _we toward it drew, Our party numbered ten. The bravest of our goodly crew. All sturdy, stalwart men. CRADLED MOONS 7^ We climbed the ragged, icy peaks. We wrested with the snow, The wind it slashed and cut our clieeks, 'Twas fierce to undergo. An hour brought us to the wreck, An ancient craft was she, We clambered quickly on her deck With all our energy. We noted everything in sight From forecastle to aft. To see if anything there might Be salvage on the craft. But all was still and like a tomb, Thougli as we gazed around We noted that despite her doom Her timbers were all sound. We knew she must have been at least A hundred odd years old. And since her active days had ceased Full seventv-five were told. The rigging, what was left of it, Was of an ancient style, And nothing outward did befit Our needs or seem worth while. We forced the frozen deck house door. And entered one by one. The Captain's room first to explore Ere we the hold begun. And I was first of all of those Who entered in that place, I tripped and fell, and as I rose I gazed into a face. 74 CRADLED MOONS 'My God!' I cried, for sitting there Before me I could see A frozen man in an old chair. Alive, he looked to be. And in that dim, uncertain light His eyes shone with a glare At me, as if to ask what right I had to enter there. And question why I dared intrude In such an awkward way, With manners that were very rude And ignorance display. But sailors have no time to fear, And we all gathered round The grewsome sight with oath and jeer To learn what could be found. There in a corner I espied, Stretclied out as if asleep, A maiden fair, who must have died While in a slumber deep. A prettier lass I've never seen, Although deatli robbed her bloom, A frozen smile was on her mien, Wliich seemed to light the room. Methought that eighteen years had rolled Ere this catastrophe O'erwhelmed her, and the bitter cold Had stilled her vouthful glee. The dress of both the man and maid Was of a period known When George the Third his hosts arrayed Against our valiant own. CRADLED MOONS 75 The furniture bespake the day When Paul Jones did his share To drive the British fleet away In fear and dire despair. No other bodies did we find. Although we searched riglit well. And each of us the cause oyined The reason we could tell. The coward crew which manned the boat Had taken to the sea When icy storms the vessel smote W^itli dreadful cruelty. We found the vessel's log and read. She was the 'Polly Q,' And hailed from New York Port, it said, In seventeen eighty-two; And she was bound to old Bordeaux To fill her hold with wine. And in lier cargo down below Were silks and cottons fine. W'e had no mind to carry off Such cargo on the ice O'er ragged peaks and hollowed trough. We had no sledge device ; But up I spake and said we ought In decency to take The frozen dead and them allot A grave of Christian make. I laugh whene'er I think of how We tried to lift the male From his cold seat, and even now I laugh to tell the tale." 76 CRADLED MOONS The old man paused again and roared, His body shook and swayed, "Ha, ha," he cried, "words can't record Tlie siglit that poor corpse made." He slapped his right knee, then his left, And then slapped both at once, He laughed until he was bereft Of breath and utterance. I waited for him to resume, Tlie children waited, too. Until he would again presume To start his tale anew. And soon again with nod and wink To me the old man spoke, "Ha, ha ! ho, ho ! what do you tliink Such laugliter would jirovoke .^ For he was frozen liard and fast. We pulled with might and main, And suddenly the old chair smashed Beneath the awful strain. The poor corpse fell upon the floor With a tremendous crash, And wlien he struck, into a score Of bits his limbs did smash. His arms and legs flew everywhere, His poor nose went askew. And for a while I do declare We broken up were, too. We let the scattered fragments lie. And ruefully essayed With tender hands and greatest care To lift the frozen maid. CRADLED MOONS 77 We chopped her dresses from the floor, And gently raised lier high, And up the stairs and through the door We went with anxious sigh. We left the poor, old 'Polly Q,' Right glad was I for one To leave the craft, and all the crew Were glad their work was done. And soon we reached the rugged coast. Where, riding safe, was seen. With sails all furled, our pride and boast. The good ship 'Billows Queen.' We launched oirr boat and tenderly We laid our burden down, But spite our care I awkwardly A piece broke from her gown, For happening to turn around I spied two polar bears Approaching us with leap and bound To take us unawares. In haste we shoved off from the shore, And grabbed our oars again. For well we knew what was in store If we stayed on the main. We had no guns or such on board, And but a single knife. And every man the thought abhorred Of giving up his life. The bears rushed toward our launching place And with a roar and leap They tumbled in and gave us chase As we sped o'er the deep. 78 CRADLED MOONS But, spite our speed, we could not cope With either hungry brute, We'd almost given up all hope, So swift was their pursuit. We saw their eyeballs flasli and glare. We saw their cruel teeth, W^e watched them with a resigned stare, And hardly dared to breathe. The foremost beast was but a rod Or two behind us, when I heard a crash, and cried, 'My God!' A swordfish rammed us then. The sword it barely grazed my ear, It lifted up our prow, I snatched a rope and spite my fear I tied it to the bow. The fish it struggled with its might To draw its sword-point out, And backward swam in rapid flight. We gave a lusty shout. P'or in its haste it drew us fast Straight towards the 'Billows Queen,' The bears in speed were both outclassed, 'Twas easy to be seen. The men on board our valiant ship Had heard the noise we made. Amazed, they watched our rowboat skip. Their wonder they displayed. The poor fisli could not see the boat. And bumped into its side. So great its speed that when it smote The 'Billows Queen' it died. CRADLED MOONS 79 With willing; hands men lent us aid To reach our good ship's deck, And gently raised the frozen maid We'd brousht off from the wreck. They carried her with softened tread Into the galley, where They laid lier down upon a bed Beside the fire's glare, And I was detailed from the men To watch and see that she Did not get burned and to tell when A-thawed slie seemed to be. They .filled a flagon to the brim From out the vessel's store To keep my spirits in good trim, I could not ask for more. The room was warm, and soon I fell Into a slumber deep, I must have dreamed, for with a yell I woke from out my sleep. I glanced towards wliere the maiden lay And by tlie fire's light I saw her move an arm away With just a motion slight. I scarce believed what my eyes saw, It could not be, I said. That she would flout Dame Nature's law And come back from the dead. I loudly called unto the crew, Who came upon the run. And they stood round and watched her, too, Aye, every mother's son, 80 CRADLED MOONS And soon a leg she moved, and then We saw an eyelash wink. Ere long she moved an arm again, We knew not what to think. Tlien up there spake a sailpr bold. And said we ought to pour A glass of spirits down her hold, And then perhaps some more. We put some brandy in a glass, Enough for two good nips, And when we fed it to the lass She smiled and smacked her lips. She soon thawed out and seemed as well As any maid could be, And none the worse for what befell Her in the Arctic sea; And she could not believe that most Four-score year^ had flown by Since they were wrecked upon that coast Beneath the northern sky. She thought she'd only fell asleep Upon the cabin floor, And hoped to rise with the first peep Of daylight through tlie door. She told us of the dastard crew And of her father bold, Wliom we broke up into a few Odd thousand pieces, cold. The Captain in his gallantry Gave up his room to her. And all the crew did vie to see Which one she would prefer. CRADLED MOONS 81 And though in years she was quite old, 'Twas easily observed That Time its imprints did withhold, And left her well preserved. I was a stalwart, handsome lad, And soon I saw her eyes Were cast on me with glances glad With no thought of disguise. And though I was but twenty-three And she was ninety-eight, I loved her true, and she loved me. To marry was our fate. And when we got to Boston town W^e found a preacher good With book in hand and surplice gown, Who spliced us as he should, And oftentimes she sailed with me Upon the 'Billows Queen,' We weathered many a storm and sea, And life was all serene. Full forty years we happy were. And then she up and- died, While ever since I have mourned her, — She was my joy and pride. Although she was not very young, She never looked her age, But she knew how to hold her tongue And save mv seaman's wage. And now, my hearty lads, I've done, My yarn is finished quite. So run along in play and fun And frolic in delight." 82 CRADLED MOONS The old man rose upon his cane. And with another wink To me he said, "It looks like rain, The wind is east, I think." And as he started off to go, A child's voice piped, "I wish The old man had a let us know What they did with the fish." And even I would like to learn If swordfish steak was seen Upon the mess-cloth near the stern Of the good ship "Billows Queen." TO AN OLD, OLD BOOK To what strange chance, thou sere and yellow book. Am I indebted for thy presence here.^ Who brought thee forth from thy obscurity And bade the ribald present pause and look Upon the confined wisdom of a year Long since engulfed in the Eternity ? Thou'rt but a link in the forged chain of Time Which fetters cycles and an eon's years, Methink'st thy hoop hath welded been of gold? And binds thy past to present days of mine, Nor weights my soul with joyless, doleful fears. Thy wisdom taught cannot for aye grow old. CRADLED MOONS 83 THE SONG OF THE RUSHING FLOOD I liave burst tlie bonds of my gaoler, Man, I, the captive that was, am free, Untrammelled I surge, and I laugh at his plan To hold me by dam or levee; I uproot and crush everything in the rush Of my waters as onward they flow, And I laugh to behold my jailor of old As he races to hill and plateau ! jNIan has bound me long in the grip of his hand, On my bosom his white fleets I bore, I have ground his corn, I illumined his land, And for nauglit have I garnered his store ; But now I am freed, each bound is a reed. To me and the power I own, I mine and tear down every city and town. And I chortle when man I dethrone ! My comrades in arms are Tornado and Flame, And Famine tracks close on our heels, P'or the miscliief we do man himself is to blame^ The wood-lands he foolishly peels ; For man is a fool, and he dams me by rule. He builds on the edge of my realm. And he never can learn to prepare ere I tunj And scourge with my might, and o'erwlielm '. Oh, I come with a rush and a roar and bound, No power can stay nor defy. And lest weakling man seeks the rise of the ground, He and his kind must die ! t For I am the Flood, and my waters are blood. They boil with the fevers of rage. Oh, I mock and I jeer at man's wliimpering fear Wlien I'm out of mv bound and gauge! 84 CRADLED MOONS OUT OF THE DEPTHS (De Profundis) Out of the depths comes a voice I liear calling, Calling "Young man, young man," Soft on my ear are its grave accents falling, Ever "Young man, young man, The years are unfolding The life you are moulding, What is it, young man, to be? Will you fashion your clay In a haphazard way, Or build for eternity, Or build for eternity?" Out of the depths comes a voice I hear saying, Saying, "Young man, young man," A voice that reproaches, in language inveighing, "Why do you lag, young man? The world is demanding The life you're commanding, The life that you waste away. There's no need for droning With strength that you're owning, Necessity cries to-day. Necessity cries to-day." Out of the depths comes a voice that is pleading, Pleading, "Young man, young man, Your Master entreats and you should be heeding. You must obey, young man. In each undertaking Your history's making. Build for the future to see. For life is beginning. Your spurs you are winning," Oh thus spak