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 THE SERVICE FLAG 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 By 
 
 ALICE TAYLOR HILL 
 
Copyright, 1919 
 By Alice Taylor Hill 
 
To my father and mother 
 in Heaven 
 
THE SERVICE FLAG 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 By 
 
 ALICE TAYLOR HILL 
 
^ \ pt" 
 
 •V^ 
 
 JAN 12 I9?0 
 
 yCI,A»«140 
 
THE POET'S LAMENT 
 
 If I could sing the songs that fill 
 
 My soul with melody, 
 The heai-ts of all mankind would thrill 
 
 At my sweet poesy; 
 
 But ere I write them they ai'e fled 
 From out my rhyming brain ; 
 
 And these you read, my friend, instead 
 Are vagrants in their train. 
 
 Heaven, touch with fire my pen, 
 And fix my fleeing thought; 
 
 That messages I bring to men 
 May be with virtue fraught. 
 
INDEX 
 The Service Flag 
 In Memoriam 
 My Father 
 My Mother 
 Sympathy 
 Reminiscence 
 
 The Lady of the Rose-colored Shawl 
 Atonement 
 
 Ten Little Aeroplanes 
 An April Walk 
 A Walk 
 October 
 
 From the School-room 
 The Lower Bay 
 Charge to the Teacher 
 Esmeralda 
 The Sparrow's Fall 
 The Two Hampers 
 Where Violets Grow 
 To the Future 
 Farther On 
 Gratitude 
 
 A School Teacher's Prayer 
 Retrospect 
 God in All 
 Euphrasia 
 
 The Lilacs of Laurelton 
 The Inner Silence 
 The Lad at the Cross-Roads 
 A Miracle Which May Have Happened 
 Apart on the Mountain 
 The Legend of Offerus 
 Tell Me a Story 
 The Little White Lie 
 The Christmas Camel 
 The Holy Place 
 The Easter Power 
 The Upper Room 
 Discovery of America 
 
THE SERVICE FLA(5^ 
 
 RED for his courage high, 
 
 Eager to go! 
 WHITE for the soul of him, 
 
 Pure as the snow. 
 BLUE for the heart of him, 
 
 Loyal and true; 
 STAR for his faith in God, 
 
 Whose will he knew. 
 
 RED for the blood he shed 
 
 On field of pain; 
 WHITE for the cause he served, 
 
 Victory to gain. 
 GOLD for the soul of him. 
 
 Tried and refined; 
 Into the heart of him 
 
 Heaven hath shined! 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 
 Not his on battle-field to die 
 
 With fallen comrades lying; 
 While lurid war-flames lit the sky 
 
 And starry flags were flying. 
 
 Not his to grapple with the foe 
 
 In zealous self-f orgetting ; 
 Bravely dealing blow for blow 
 
 And giving more than getting! 
 
 Not his the glad, exultant shout 
 
 The startled heavens rending, 
 When Prussian hosts were turned to rout, 
 
 The war's grim harvest ending. 
 
 The plague-fiend, ally of the Hun, 
 Touched him with deadly finger; 
 
 A woman's prayers for warrior-son 
 Around his grave still linger! 
 
 A hero he no less than they, 
 
 Who in the flare and thunder, 
 Kept the Hunnish hordes at bay 
 
 And brake their bands in sunder ! 
 
 With our unnumbered brave he lies. 
 Who could not flinch nor falter ; 
 
 Whose souls like holy incense rise 
 From Liberty's high altar! 
 
MY FATHER 
 
 Away from my home — 'tis the Sabbath eve, 
 Alone and apart, my memory doth weave 
 Sweet thoughts of my father, his kindly face, 
 His clear, hearty voice and his gentle grace. 
 
 I think of my father — his dear, gray head, 
 Think of the times I have thoughtlessly said 
 Words with a sting that were bitter, unkind, 
 Why will they echo tonight in my mind? 
 
 I think of the burdens my father has borne. 
 The sorrows and griefs he has had to mourn; 
 Think of his gentleness, meekness of soul, 
 His love and devotion and great self-control. 
 
 I recall the prime of my father's life. 
 
 Before the years of the storm and strife; 
 
 I recall my father of yesterday 
 
 With his dark hair sparsely sprinkled with gray. 
 
 Thinking of father — his step now is slow, 
 'Tis much he misses our mother, I know; 
 He often looks lonely when all is so bright — 
 Father, dear father, I want you tonight! 
 
MY MOTHER 
 
 Thou art far from me in the shadowy land, 
 
 Mother, dear mother, 
 I would I could touch thee with my hand — 
 
 Mother, my mother; 
 If I could hear thee gently speak. 
 And feel thy kisses on my cheek, 
 'Twould strengthen me when I am weak — 
 
 Mother, mother. 
 
 Nothing about thee can I recall, 
 
 Mother, dear mother, 
 For God called thee when I was so small, 
 
 Mother, my mother; 
 There is an ache that naught can ease. 
 And though I have many things that please, 
 Fiiends and pleasures, yet more than these — 
 
 I want my mother. 
 
 SYMPATHY 
 
 My heart was very heavy. 
 And my very soul was sad, 
 
 When you pressed my hand so gently 
 In that kindly way you had. 
 
 You asked me not the reason 
 Of my seeming dark despair. 
 
 And I never could have told you 
 Half the burden of my care. 
 
 But I felt you comprehended 
 In that pressure of your hand ; 
 
 For such sympathy unspoken 
 
 Comes from those who understand. 
 
And my heart grew light and carefree, 
 While my very soul was glad; 
 
 Just because you tried to comfort 
 In that friendly way you had! 
 
 REMINISCENCE 
 
 There's a quiet little village 
 
 In a state not far away ; 
 Where my thoughts are ever turning, 
 
 Where I fain v/ould be today. 
 
 There's a shady college campus 
 In a quaint New England town ; 
 
 Where the famous old Green Mountains 
 Are forever looking down. 
 
 They are purple-shadowed mountains 
 
 That in awesome grandeur stand ; 
 As Nature's mighty battlement 
 
 Do they garrison the land. 
 Once more on the grassy campus, 
 
 I sit 'neath the age-old trees; 
 And list to the squirrels chatter 
 
 And the whisper of the breeze. 
 
 I watch the sun in his splendor 
 In the western sky decline; 
 
 Whilst the moon in calmer glorj^ 
 In her turn begins to shine. 
 
And I see the gray-stone chapel 
 That stands on the sunny height ; 
 
 The gleam in its lofty tower 
 Dispelling the gloom of night. 
 
 And I hear the bells a-ringing 
 In a sweet and tuneful chime ; 
 
 Like an angel's benediction 
 In the summer evening-time. 
 
 Once again familiar faces 
 Come into memory's view; 
 
 And I miss the well-known places 
 And the things we used to do. 
 
 I tire of the grim old city 
 
 • With its din and ceaseless strife ; 
 And I long for God's own country 
 With its broader, freer life. 
 
 I wish I could stand this evening 
 In old Middlebury town; 
 
 With the friends I love, beside me. 
 And behold the sun go down! 
 
 THE LADY OF THE ROSE-COLORED SHAWL 
 
 So lightly she trippeth into the hall, 
 
 My lady with powdered hair; 
 For she must go to the Old Folks' Ball, 
 
 And her lover, he waits on the stair. 
 
 Her lover, he waits in the long, wide hall, 
 As she trippeth so lightly down; 
 
 Under her arm a rose-colored shawl. 
 Fluffy and all of down. 
 
How merry her laugh and her eye how bright 
 
 As she greets him on the stair; 
 My lady with fair hair powdered white, 
 
 So young and debonair. 
 
 Buckles he wears that sparkle and gleam, 
 
 And a coat of the days of yore ; 
 Methinks they are creatures of a dream 
 
 As they glide through the open door. 
 
 Right gallant is he as the olden day 
 
 As he takes her arm in the hall ; 
 And around her as she trips away 
 
 He throws the rose-colored shawl. 
 
 Ah, happy their hearts, the youth and the maid, 
 As they go to the Old Folks' Ball ; 
 
 I ween he may ne'er from my memory fade, 
 Nor his lady of the rose-colored shawl. 
 
 ATONEMENT 
 
 I sit on the porch at the closing of day, 
 While the frolicsome breezes are having their way, 
 And the sun is trailing along in the west 
 Fair, luminous clouds as he goes to his rest. 
 The leaves are dancing on bush and tree, 
 The ripples are sparkling upon the blue sea, 
 The hush of the twilight beginneth to fall. 
 And the spirit of nature hovers o'er all. 
 Sweet spirit of nature, the breath of the soul, 
 Is the spirit of God, man's ultimate goal; 
 
Thence comes that blest feeling of rest and of 
 
 peace, 
 That brings from the cares of the world our re- 
 lease. 
 A feeling of oneness with all that is good, 
 With God and with Nature, with mountain and 
 
 wood; 
 'Tis then we can feel the throbbings of love 
 In the heart of our Father who reigneth above, 
 And dwelleth below in the bosoms that feel 
 The breath of the unseen, the touch of the real! 
 
 TEN LITTLE AEROPLANES 
 
 Ten little aeroplanes sailing o'er the brine, 
 One tumbled in and then there were nine; 
 Nine little aeroplanes flying up the state, 
 One got to Albany, then there were eight. 
 Eight little aeroplanes steering right for heaven, 
 One got lost on the way, then there were seven; 
 Seven little aeroplanes all perfonning tricks, 
 One broke his steering gear, then there were six. 
 Six little aeroplanes bound to arrive. 
 One ran out of gasolene, then there were five. 
 Five little aeroplanes counting up the score. 
 One scaled the greatest height, then there were 
 
 four. 
 Four little aeroplanes flying near a tree, 
 One in the branches caught, then there were three. 
 Three little aeroplanes almost lost to view. 
 One stayed behind on Mars, then there were two. 
 Two little aeroplanes flying too near the sun? 
 One got his wings aflre, then there was one. 
 One little aeroplane having all the fun. 
 For he got a silver cup when the race was won. 
 
AN APRIL WALK 
 
 I walked along by the Lower Bay 
 In the afternoon of a Sabbath day, 
 On the road that winds by the placid sea 
 Alone, for nobody walked with me. 
 
 *Twas April time and the world was fair. 
 The voices of Nature filled the air; 
 The sparrows chirped in the budding tree. 
 And I longed for a friend to walk with me. 
 
 The fields had put on new suits of green, 
 The flowering quince in rows was seen; 
 T saw the glory of bush and tree 
 Alone, for nobody walked with me. 
 
 The breeze was fragrant with spring-time's balm, 
 Fair Nature smiled in her Sabbath calm; 
 No one was with me the beauty to see, 
 Alas, for nobody walked with me. 
 
 A prayer made I on that April day, 
 As I walked by the side of the rippling bay; 
 "0 God of woodland, mountain and sea — 
 Oh, send me a friend to walk with me ! 
 
 A WALK 
 
 We walked to and fro on the wooden way 
 That leads from the land out into the bay. 
 At sunset time on a sweet May day — 
 
 A friend and I ; 
 The air was cool, the heavens were fair 
 And the hand of Nature with skillful care, 
 Was painting with fairest of colors rare 
 
 Clouds in the sky. 
 
We stood on the pier, the breeze at our back. 
 As we looked at the sail-boats roll and tack. 
 And at many a weather-worn fishing-smack — 
 
 This friend and I ; 
 With boisterous tread came the rising tide, 
 In delight broke the waves on either side, 
 While the fish-hawks flapped o'er the billows wide. 
 
 Dark in the sky. 
 
 We talked of the things to our hearts most dear, 
 With much of laughter, a little of fear , 
 Of the past, the present, the coming year — 
 
 That friend and I: 
 We shall often recall the words we said. 
 With various meanings into them read, 
 When the days of our girlhood, past and dead. 
 
 Behind us lie. 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 On a wondrously fair October day 
 I wandered afar o'er the hills away; 
 The hush of the Sabbath was in the air, 
 A fullness of peace, an absence of care. 
 
 And Nature, the artist, with skillful hand, 
 Was painting rare pictures throughout the land; 
 In her various shades of red and gold. 
 The wealth of the autumn was richly told. 
 
 Oh, where are there colors more rare than these 
 That dye the leaves of the lowliest trees? 
 The bright yellow tints and the crimsons vie 
 To make the heart warm and delight the eye. 
 
I walked till the chill of the evening came 
 With its frosty touch to the ivy's flame; 
 Till the sun in the west was sinking low, 
 And the twilight breezes began to blow. 
 
 A hush came over the beautiful bay 
 In the glow of the sun's departing ray; 
 A violet haze was in all the sky, 
 And the God of Nature seemed very nigh. 
 
 FROM THE SCHOOLROOM 
 
 They look on us with cool disdain. 
 
 These mothers who have given sons 
 To wage the conflict overseas 
 Against the cruel and grasping Huns. 
 
 They say we nothing know of fear, 
 Of apprehension still and dread. 
 
 That tensely grips each mother-heart 
 When reading through the lists of dead. 
 
 We gave no sons — our single state 
 Has spared us from the grief and pain ; 
 
 Deprived us of the boast and pride — 
 We mourn no filial patriots slain! 
 
 But we gave sons ! be Heaven our proof. 
 That tally keeps of thoughts and prayers, 
 
 Which build the background of our dreams, 
 And haunt our daily round of cares. 
 
 We too gave sons ! not one or three, 
 A multitude from out our love; 
 
 Of sailor-lads and soldier-boys, 
 And aeronauts in flights above. 
 
In mental throes we broug"ht them forth 
 To see the light of learning's gleam ; 
 
 As from Jove's brain Minerva sprung, 
 Born of his thought, his mind, his dream ! 
 
 Daily with tender care we watched 
 
 Their power of thought expand and grow ; 
 
 Rejoiced with them in knowledge gained, 
 Their eagerness all to learn and know! 
 
 With patient and untiring zeal 
 
 We sought to implant ideas of worth ; 
 
 And nurture the seeds of wisdom sown — 
 Who says we brought no sons to birth ? 
 
 As year by year our grown-up boys 
 
 Take their place in the marts of trade; 
 
 With modest pride our hearts exclaim: 
 "Behold the men that we have made!" 
 
 And when had dawned the direful day, 
 These lads of ours went forth to fight ; 
 Full proof that we in daily task 
 
 Had taught them loyalty to right! 
 
 We too may fly our service flags, 
 All dotted o'er with deep blue stars ; 
 For we, though mothers not in name, 
 Have yielded tribute unto Mars! 
 
 THE LOWER BAY 
 
 A song I sing of the beautiful bay 
 As it looked this morn at the break of day; 
 When from my window I caught the bright gleam 
 And glint on the waves of the sun's first beam. 
 
The beautiful bay in its wild unrest, 
 Tumultuous heavings within its breast. 
 The hills of Staten stood clearly in view, 
 A steamer the Narrows was passing through ; 
 The Hook seemed nearer than ever before. 
 Distinct with its low-lying, lonesome shore. 
 As I stood at my window and looked away 
 O'er the broad expanse of the beautiful bay, 
 The sun and the sky, the wind and the sod 
 With the sound of the waves were praising God. 
 
 CHARGE TO THE TEACHER 
 
 Smooth out that frown from your forehead, friend, 
 
 Before you go into your class; 
 Why should a teacher look cold and stern 
 
 When she meets the lad and the lass? 
 Then smile with the light upon your face 
 
 That reflects God's love from the soul; 
 And look with kindliness on each child, 
 
 As you call the names from the roll. 
 
 Stifle that word of harshness, my friend. 
 
 Speak a gentler one in its stead; 
 Inspire in your pupils loving trust. 
 
 Not obedience born of dread. 
 
 Seek not the lauds of the rich and great. 
 
 Nor praise of the worldly wise; 
 Work for the love of the boy and girl 
 
 That beams from their trusting eyes. 
 
 With all your teaching, O friend of mine, 
 
 Impart a love of the truth ; 
 Embody your precepts in your life. 
 
 Or you cannot reach the youth; 
 
For the children watch you day by day, 
 And while neither you nor they may see ; 
 
 As they listen to the words you speak, 
 What you are, they grow to be. 
 
 ESMERALDA 
 
 Oh, maiden with the sunlit hair, 
 
 Esma, Esmeralda! 
 Of burnished gold meseems its hue. 
 As yellow sunbeams shimmer through. 
 And flit athwart your face so fair — 
 
 Esmeralda, Esma! 
 
 Oh, maiden with the dancing eyes, 
 
 Esma, Esmeralda! 
 With your arch, coquettish look 
 Hid behind your history book, 
 At once so winsome and so wise — 
 
 Esmeralda, Esma! 
 
 Oh, maiden with the laughter sweet, 
 
 Esma, Esmeralda! 
 Sprightly ways and voice so cheery. 
 Though the day be dark and dreary; 
 May we your kind more often meet— 
 
 Esmeralda, Esma! 
 
 THE SPARROW'S FALL 
 
 Felled by the gale and the driving sleet, 
 Frozen and dead in the muddy street. 
 Mangled by heedless passing feet — 
 
 A poor little bird ! 
 I had almost stepped on the tiny thing, 
 Stiff and stark with its broken wing, 
 And the cheery song that it loved to sing- 
 No more to be heard. 
 
But why do I mourn the death of a bird? 
 
 So insignificant, so absurd! 
 
 Have you never read in the Holy Word, 
 
 God cares for all? 
 He saw it perched on the bare tree-limb. 
 Twittering notes of praise to Him, 
 And when the shadows were growing dim, 
 
 He saw it fall. 
 
 The Father in Heaven had heard it sing 
 Its song of joy in the gladsome Spring, 
 The frozen and dead and broken thing 
 
 To Him was known. 
 For He made us all, both man and beast. 
 And who shall say that the last is least. 
 Or that God's interest in them has ceased 
 
 There on His throne? 
 
 His ears receive every creature's call. 
 
 Be it man in His image or insect small. 
 
 With loving interest He watches all 
 
 Up there in the blue; 
 If then He notices birds that fly ; 
 That sing today and tomorrow die, 
 How can you doubt that His watchful eye 
 
 Ever rests on you? 
 
 THE TWO HAMPERS 
 
 (An Old Legend) 
 Two angels came down from the heavenly land. 
 
 On the ladder Jacob saw; 
 In radiant splendor clad, and in his hand 
 
 Each angel a hamper bore. 
 
The order was given them from God on high. 
 To travel throughout the land; 
 And gather petition and prayerful sigh 
 From the saints on every hand. 
 
 Now, the first angel's hamper was large and deep. 
 
 Petition, the angel's name; 
 He in it the prayers of the saints should keep 
 
 That to heaven for succor came. 
 
 But his brother's hamper, alas, 'twas small. 
 
 He, Thankfulness, had the hole; 
 To gather the praises and songs that fall 
 
 From the lips of each blest soul. 
 
 Throughout all the earth they wended their quiet 
 way, 
 
 Now, Petition went before; 
 \VTiile Thankfulness followed him day after day, 
 
 As he knocked at each heart's door. 
 
 Then at last they returned to their Lord on high 
 Whe ntheir journey long was done; 
 
 And a glorious splendor filled the sky, 
 The glow of the setting sun. 
 
 Now, Petition was bending beneath his load. 
 
 And his flight was tired and slow; 
 With the prayers of earth his basket o'erflowed, 
 
 While some scattered lay below. 
 
 But Thankfulness rose on his swift airy wing 
 
 With his hamper to heaven's gate; 
 "The praise of the grateful of earth I bring, 
 
 But light is my hamper's weight. 
 
'Twas only a few of the burdened who wept 
 And whose prayers my brother doth bear, 
 
 Their vow^s of praise and of gratitude kept, 
 When I did in turn appear." 
 
 And the Lord sadly said as he looked within 
 
 The depths of the basket small: 
 "Ah, how little, alas, has the gratitude been — 
 
 I answered the prayers of all." 
 
 WHERE VIOLETS GROW 
 
 I know a place where the violets grow 
 
 As soon as May is here; 
 As soon as the freshening breezes blow 
 
 And sun shines warm and clear. 
 
 They hide away in clumps of dank grass 
 That grow by the old mill creek; 
 
 You can easily miss them as you pass, 
 Unless you have come to seek. 
 
 The musical gush of the waterfall, 
 ' The low gurgle of the stream; 
 
 The cheery notes of the robin's call. 
 The water's bright glint and gleam. 
 
 The blue of the heavens over our head. 
 
 Blue violets at our feet ; 
 And the toad that hops from his mossy bed 
 
 When we startle his reti'eat. 
 
 The rocky hillside just at our back, 
 Where the dogwood blossoms blow ; 
 
 Come, Mary and Helen, Harry and Jack, 
 I know where violets grow. 
 
TO THE FUTURE 
 
 Hail, thou golden, smiling Future — 
 
 How we stay our hopes on thee ! 
 We, with every hidden yearning. 
 Toward thy light are ever turning. 
 For our full felicity. 
 
 O thou time of hope's fulfillment, 
 How our faith goes out to thee! 
 We gaze upon thy fields Elysian, 
 When blurred with tears our present vision 
 In Life's sad despondency. 
 
 O thou spring of consolation, 
 
 Thou blest gift of God to man! 
 We see thy finger onward beckoning. 
 And, weary with the Past's dark reckoning, 
 Hopefully thy promise scan. 
 
 Art thou but a vain delusion, 
 
 Mocking phantom of the air? 
 Mere false mirage for our misleading. 
 While we within our hearts are reading ; 
 
 ''In the future all is fair"? 
 
 False thou may be, golden Future, 
 
 Still our trust in thee is sweet ; 
 Faith is strong and Hope assuring, 
 Nor Past nor Present is enduring. 
 
 Toward the Future tread our feet ! 
 
FARTHER ON 
 
 At this moment all is brightness 
 
 On my road; 
 And I scarce can feel the lightness 
 
 Of my load ; 
 Yet deep within my soul I know 
 Tomorrow, it may not be so — 
 That I may have a deal of woe 
 
 Farther on. 
 
 I may meet with tears and sorrow 
 
 On my way ; 
 Oft may dawn for me a morrow 
 
 Dark and gray; 
 But I grasp God's hand more tightly, 
 And know His sun will shine more brightly. 
 That my heart will beat more lightly 
 
 Farther on. 
 
 Why then mourn when traubles gather 
 
 O'er your head? 
 Do not doubt your Heavenly Father, 
 
 Trust instead ; 
 Clouds will frown but soon comes clearing, 
 Perfect love casts out all fearing. 
 You will find the prospect cheering 
 
 Farther on. 
 
 GRATITUDE 
 
 A True Incident 
 
 (The Gentleman was John Ruskin) 
 
 The old beggar stood on the crowded street. 
 
 With his outstretched homy palm ; 
 But the thoughtless multitudes passed him by, 
 With never a conscience qualm. 
 
His eyes, they were dimmed with teai's of age, 
 His hollow cheeks pinched and wan; 
 
 As there he stood in the cold bitter wind, 
 A homeless, friendless man. 
 
 But a gentleman soon comes down the street 
 A man he has seen somewhere ; 
 'Tis the man who labors for London's poor- 
 Will he see him standing there? 
 
 He soon made his way through the heartless 
 throng, 
 
 He spoke but a word of cheer; ' ^ 
 
 And dropped a coin in the palsied hand 
 
 And smiled in the face so drear. 
 
 But the old beggar, weeping, bent his head. 
 And kissed the gentleman's hand; 
 
 While invoking blessings upon his head 
 From saints in the heavenly land. 
 
 A bright tear flashed in the gentleman's eye, 
 He smiled but he could not speak; 
 
 So he threw his arm round the beggar's neck, 
 And he kissed the withered cheek. 
 
 Then out in the busy cold world he went 
 
 To minister to its needs ; 
 The old beggar's tears he soon forgot 
 
 In the wealth of his kind deeds. 
 
 A fortnight later while passing that way 
 A small urchin touched his hand; 
 
 "Please, are you the gentleman sir, who kissed 
 The beggar-man on the Strand? 
 
Day after day I have watched for you sir, 
 
 For the beggar, he is dead; 
 And he bade me, dying, to give you this, 
 
 For you were his friend, he said. 
 
 For he had no friend in the whole wide world 
 
 Till you were so kind to him." 
 The gentleman opened the queer package small 
 
 While his eyes grew strangely dim. 
 
 A small piece of cloth he brought to view 
 'Twas faded and torn and gray; 
 Bewildered, he slowly opened and read 
 The note that within it lay. 
 
 "This is all I have in the world to give" — 
 
 The scrawl on the paper ran ; 
 To let you know what your kindness, sir, meant 
 
 To a poor, old, friendless man. 
 
 'Tis a precious relic, sacred and old, 
 A piece of St. Francis' gown ; 
 I have had it with me throughout the years. 
 For it brought God's blessings down. 
 
 But now I am going where I shall need 
 
 Good St. Francis' aid no more; 
 So to you I bequeath this treasured cloth 
 
 Who were so good to me before. 
 
 It was not the coin you dropped in my hand, 
 
 (For that I was thankful too) 
 'Twas the brotherly love you gave to me, 
 
 That bound my old heart to you. 
 
Tis love, 'tis love that the friendless man craves, 
 
 Not alone money or food; 
 'Twas the touch of your arm that warmed my 
 soul. 
 
 Your kiss claimed my gratitude." 
 
 When the curious ask why he keeps the piece 
 
 Of faded cloth old and gray; 
 The gentleman says it's a talisman 
 
 To keep ill fortune away. 
 
 But to a few friends he will tell the tale 
 
 As he holds it in his hand ; 
 Of the homeless and friendless beggar-man 
 
 Whom he once kissed on the Strand. 
 
 A SCHOOL-TEACHER'S PRAYER 
 
 Father, I come at the closing of day. 
 
 For the boys and the girls in my class to pray; 
 For every young intellect, life, heart and soul, 
 That Thy providence placed under my control ! 
 
 1 pray for the few that thou hast endowed 
 With far keener minds than to most allowed ; 
 Whose comprehension is swift and clear, 
 Who eagerly grasp each new idea. 
 
 Whose eyes are turned ever toward the light. 
 Who find in learning a pure delight; 
 With all of their getting, Lord, of love. 
 May they search for the wisdom from above. 
 Make them humble and earnest I pray — 
 Helpful to those not so clever as they. 
 
 I pray for the many of normal brain, 
 Who merely the passing mark obtain; 
 
Not over-brilliant or stupid are they, 
 Who do averag-e work in an average way. 
 keep them steadfast and faithful and true, 
 Always doing' the best they can do. 
 
 But Lord, there are some behind in the race, 
 Who never can gain a prominent place; 
 Who triple the time that others expend. 
 Each problem and task to comprehend. 
 
 Those who are backward and dull and slow. 
 Who cannot learn what they want to know. 
 God, make them patient, hopeful and brave — 
 Making the most of what Nature gave. 
 
 Lord, I pray for the mischievous lad. 
 Thoughtless, careless, but not ever bad; 
 He tries my love and my patience sore. 
 Yet for his pranks, I love him the more. 
 
 I pray Thee for the mannerless boy, 
 Who robs my teaching of much of its joy; 
 Because of his stubborn, insolent way, 
 
 make him gentle and docile, I pray. 
 
 1 pray for the girl who cheats on the sly. 
 Who looks in her book when I am not by ; 
 And those who indulge in petty untruth. 
 Teach them honesty. Lord, in days of youth. 
 
 The strong- ones and weak ones, the dull and bright, 
 I ask thy blessing upon them tonight. 
 Bless, my Father, each lad and each lass. 
 And strengthen the teacher, O Lord of my class! 
 Amen. 
 
RETROSPECT 
 
 little village by the bay, 
 You now lie in my yesterday, 
 
 Since miles and months have come between; 
 What pleasures I in you have seen! 
 
 1 love yrur bay's expanse of blue, 
 The sandy bar you have in view; 
 The long- pier with its rows of light, 
 Your favorite promenade at night. 
 
 I love your streets of quiet shade 
 And all your charms that God has made ; 
 Your woodland paths and silent nooks 
 A safe retreat for one with books! 
 
 I love the circle at your height, 
 Whence one can view the pleasant sight 
 Of sky and water, bush and tree — 
 Far as Port Monmouth one may see. 
 
 But more than sunset skies aglow. 
 More than the heights and bay below. 
 More than the shady walks and rills, 
 More than your lofty lookout hills. 
 
 I love the boys and the girls I taught. 
 Those days with many memories fraught; 
 The red brick schoolhouse, ivy-twined, 
 A picture graven on my mind. 
 
 Deep in my heart I keep a place, 
 Where with kind Memory's hand I trace 
 Days I sat in the teacher's chair — 
 Oh, would to heaven I now were there! 
 
My boys and girls, I love you still, 
 Remember me, I know you will; 
 God keep you earnest, brave and true. 
 And crown the good I tried to do. 
 
 GOD IN ALL 
 
 Frequent cares your path besetting 
 Fill you with rebellious fretting, 
 All the mercies past forgetting? 
 
 Learn God's will. 
 These are tools that He is holding. 
 He with them your life is moulding, 
 Strength of character unfolding — 
 
 Watch His skill. 
 
 Your best intents all mistaken, 
 Failed the tasks you've undertaken. 
 Confidence in mankind shaken, 
 
 Faith is dim? 
 These are means your Lord is using. 
 So that you, the world refusing. 
 Will at last of your own choosing 
 
 Turn to Him. 
 
 On a bed of sickness lying. 
 
 Days of suffering, nights of sighing. 
 
 Ceaseless pain and weary crying? 
 
 Dismal days! 
 These are threads your Father weaveth 
 In the pattern He perceiveth, 
 When your spirit He receiveth. 
 
 You will praise. 
 
EUPHRASIA 
 
 Justinian, of Rome, the king, 
 
 That men his endless praise might sing, 
 
 And glory to his house acclaim — 
 
 A temple built in Christ's dear name. 
 
 Not for his sins would he atone 
 In that fair pile of rarest stone ; 
 No prayer to rid his soul from blame. 
 No humble worship was his aim. 
 
 And when the steeple towered high 
 Toward the blue Kyzantine sky. 
 On the cornerstone in lines of flame, 
 Engraved they the emperor's august name. 
 
 When came the dedication eve, 
 'Tis thus the legend we receive; 
 An angel clad in robes of light 
 Was seen descending in the night. 
 
 Upno the stone his hand he laid. 
 And a new inscription there he made ; 
 Then swiftly passed from the sight of man, 
 While slept in his palace Justinian. 
 
 Full soon did consternation spread 
 When on the morn the name was read; 
 And wrathful did the emperor cry: 
 "Who did this thing shall surely die!" ; 
 
 "A woman's name in sooth I see. 
 
 Let this Euphrasia come to me." 
 
 A woman stepped from the crowded ring — 
 
 "Euphrasia I, my lord, the king." 
 
A widow she of humble grace, 
 The peace of the saints upon her face; 
 The thronging people with reverent sign 
 Wafted a prayer to the throne divine. 
 
 "Who knows aught of the woman here? 
 Let him in her behalf appear!" 
 Thundered the monarch, and at his call 
 Stepped forth the workmen one and all. 
 
 Those who had reared the temple grand 
 And beside the woman took their stand; 
 "A holy widow, O king, is she, 
 Of prayer and deep humility. 
 
 She in her simple way, king, 
 To our thirsty horses drink did bring; 
 And straw did place beneath their feet. 
 Lest they should slip upon the street. 
 
 While drawing the loads of marble rare 
 For building this cathedral fair." 
 Then spake the king with mild intent: 
 "For my sake is this wonder meant, 
 
 In my vain and haughty pride, 
 I sought to spread my glory wide; 
 And built this church for my own fame, 
 Though in Jehovah's sacred name. 
 
 But lo, this woman meek in heart, 
 Essayed to share a humble part 
 In this temple for the Lord ; 
 And her He honors by His word. 
 
'Tis she has built this temple fair, 
 Not I with all my jewels rare! 
 Ere God could call this house divine, 
 He carved Euphrasia's name for mine." 
 
 THE LILACS OF LAURELTON 
 
 At Laurelton, at Laurelton, 
 
 The lilac-bushes grow; 
 Beside the railroad station 
 
 They are planted in a row. 
 
 They are planted in a garden 
 All hedged about with green; 
 
 And flanked by little cedars 
 The fragrant rows between. 
 
 The gay purple blossoms nodding, 
 Do flaunt their beauty rare; 
 
 The white ones gently swaying 
 In their shyness seem more fair. 
 
 The sunlight darts and ripples 
 
 Athwart the leafy sheen; 
 And coyly hides and nestles 
 
 Neath the boughs of evergreen. 
 
 The train is leaving Laurelton, 
 Deaf -hearted to my pleas; 
 
 As the heavyheaded blossoms 
 Sway gently in the breeze. 
 
 A strain of Maytime music 
 
 Is borne upon the wind; 
 As the train swift onward speeding, 
 
 Leaves Laurelton behind. 
 
'Tis the wind among the cedars 
 A song the spruces sing; 
 
 The Maytime zephyrs breathing 
 A sonnet to the spring! 
 
 A breath of Maytime sweetness 
 Still lingers in the train, 
 
 A glimpse of leafy greenness, 
 Then furrowed fields again. 
 
 At Laurelton, at Laurelton, 
 
 The lilac-bushes grow; 
 A garden-spot along the way 
 
 The tired commuters go! 
 
 THE INNER SILENCE^ 
 
 I love to go by myself apart, 
 And list to the Voice within my heart, 
 Away from the world's distracting din, 
 And with the Spirit that dwells within. 
 Commune in the silence. 
 
 My post of duty I need not leave, 
 This heavenly comfort to receive; 
 I need but to close my eyes and ears. 
 And breathe out my doubts, my sins and fears 
 To God in the silence. 
 
 Sweet is the comfort that there I find, 
 Courage and cheer and peace of mind; 
 I seem in heaven's own atmosphere 
 With God Himself as the Presence near, 
 In the inner silence. 
 
There I find strength for the daily task, 
 A Father's promise for all I ask, 
 And go with hope that is born of love. 
 Of faith and trust in the Lord above, 
 Out from the silence. 
 
 THE LAD AT THE CROSS-ROADS 
 
 Deal with him wisely, teacher-friend, 
 
 The lad at the turn of the road ; 
 Where paths of childhood suddenly end, 
 
 Where the youth shoulders manhood's load. 
 Use not coercion, but love's kind rein, 
 
 Guide and direct by unseen hand; 
 With strange new powers he strives amain. 
 
 On the borders of manhood's land. 
 
 Deal with him firmly, teacher-friend. 
 
 With the lad of the untamed will; 
 Try not to break, but lovingly bend. 
 
 And encourage to grow, not kill. 
 Release not your grasp at the helm. 
 
 Though fearless he be to steer; 
 Lest the waves and winds overwhelm. 
 
 When the skies of a sudden are drear. 
 
 Deal with him patiently, teacher-friend. 
 
 For he is neither child nor man; 
 His self-assurance and pride will mend. 
 
 His conceit is in Nature's plan. 
 Deal with him lovingly and with prayer. 
 
 Give to passing mistakes small heed; 
 The traits that are manly tend with care, 
 
 His soul's garden daily weed. 
 
Deal with him reverently, teacher-friend, 
 
 He is the man of the coming days ; 
 Future deeds that a world may bend, 
 
 Are but dim now in childhood's haze. 
 Account for that lad you must one day. 
 
 Before the great Teacher of men; 
 Then teach him with trembling, that you may 
 
 Receive His commendation then! 
 
 A MIRACLE WHICH MAY HAVE HAPPENED 
 
 The City of David was wrapt in sleep, the stars 
 
 kept watch in the heavens, 
 The disciples and women lamented sore, while 
 
 Pilate tossed in his slumbers. 
 The moonbeams shone with their silvery light 
 
 upon a hill bare and stony 
 Outside the walls of the city, a hill with crosses 
 
 encircled ; 
 The moon, in awe at the sight, into a cloud her 
 
 bright face withdrawing. 
 Silently stole from view and veiled herself like 
 
 a maiden. 
 Up a lonely hillside path a weary traveler was 
 
 plodding. 
 Brown and roughened his face, his dark hair long 
 
 and entangled, 
 Hi& garments such as the peasants wear who 
 
 dwell in the towns near Jerusalem. 
 His countenance troubled and sad as if he were 
 
 burdened with sorrow. 
 Toward a light that gleamed in the darkness he 
 
 turned his faltering footsteps. 
 Toward the little mountain home where he dwelt 
 
 alone with his daughter, 
 
With Rachel, the blind, gentle girl, who since 
 
 morn had awaited his coming. 
 How could he tell her the news that would plunge 
 
 her young heart in sorrow? 
 Scarce had he entered the door ere she eagerly 
 
 ran to embrace him, 
 Stormed his ears with her questions, entreating, 
 
 imploring for answers. 
 "Thou comest alone from thy journey? Did not 
 
 the Prophet come with thee? 
 Would He not deign to come? Make haste O 
 
 father and tell me." 
 "Alas," said the herdsman in trembling tones, I 
 
 thought ere now thou wouldst see me — 
 Opened thy long-closed eyes, restored by the touch 
 
 of the Healer. 
 For Him I have journeyed far, aye beyond the 
 
 sea and the city; 
 I sought in the temple for Him among the doctors 
 
 and elders, 
 But they laughed when I spoke of Him and asked 
 
 if I were a disciple. 
 The people wept in the streets, methought they 
 
 said: "They have killed Him." 
 Then with misgiving heart I turned away from 
 
 the tumult. 
 And passed through the city gate, where, without 
 
 the walls of Jerusalem 
 Rises the sloping hill where the Romans slay the 
 
 wrong-doers. 
 There hung the Healer, Rachel, who to-night thine 
 
 eyes might have opened. 
 Crucified like a thief and condemned it was said 
 
 by our people. 
 Some said because of His claim to be the Messiah 
 long-promised, 
 
Some said for treason He died, for claiming the 
 
 power of Caesar. 
 Whatever the cause, He is dead, the Prophet be- 
 loved of the peasants. 
 Tender and fair was His face. His voice was kind 
 
 and forgiving. 
 He was asking a friend, it seemed, to care for 
 
 His mother a widow. 
 But I turned away from the scene, for it saddened 
 
 and sickened my spirit, 
 And I left with a man from the throng, one 
 
 Matthew, I think they called him; 
 Who professed to belong the Twelve who always 
 
 accompanied the Healer. 
 He told me the man's strange life and also much 
 
 of His doctrine. 
 How He foretold His death and even predicted 
 
 His rising 
 The third mom after His death — such was His 
 
 faith in Jehovah. 
 Poor youth, mistaken of course, yet how gentle 
 
 and kind was His teaching! 
 They would lay Him, he said, in the garden of 
 
 Joseph, a secret disciple. 
 In the new-made tomb he had hewn, with spices 
 
 worthy His burial. 
 Ah, heavy the curse of heaven will fall upon our 
 
 nation and kindred. 
 For a just man and holy is slain, one sent by God 
 
 for our leading." 
 Sad was the face of the girl as she prayed that 
 
 night by her bedside. 
 Sadly she whispered, "They've killed Him, and 
 
 He my eyes might have opened." 
 Dark and gray broke the morn, the sun did not 
 
 shine in the heavens, , 
 
The Sabbath no gladness brought to the home of 
 
 Reuben the Herdsman, 
 For He who could bring them light was afar in 
 
 a sepulchre buried. 
 Yet hope was not dead in the blind girl's heart 
 
 for she thought of the Healer's promise. 
 And soon to her father she spoke, who sat reading 
 
 the pages of the scripture; 
 Isaiah and Moses he read, the Psalms and the 
 
 words of the Prophets. 
 "He said, did he not, my father, the stranger you 
 
 met in the city, 
 That the Healer said He wold rise, that death 
 
 should not hold Him forever? 
 If so, my father, even yet, these eyes may see and 
 
 behold thee! 
 If God hath sent Him indeed, if He is the Messiah 
 
 appointed, 
 He must be highly-favored of God and kept from 
 
 the hand of destruction." 
 "Be still, my daughter, and hear," thus solemnly 
 
 answered the herdsman, 
 When the promised Messiah shall come. He shall 
 
 make us free from the Romans; 
 This man was humble and poor, of Nazareth 
 
 parents the offspring. 
 Of sinners made he his friends and bade them 
 
 pay tribute to Caesar. 
 His work is done, he is dead, and Pilate will guard 
 
 the tomb closely, 
 Will make its entrance fast and sure with the seal 
 
 of the ring of the Caesars. 
 He will live but in memory now, in the hearts of 
 
 the people he cherised 
 For all the good he has done — but rise from the 
 
 dead — he cannot!" 
 
"Who hath believed our report " he read in the 
 
 prophet Isaiah, 
 And "we hid as it were, our faces," thus read he 
 
 the sacred pages. 
 That night while her father slept in the silence 
 
 deep of the midnight, 
 Rachel the blind girl arose and noiselessly crept 
 
 to the doorway, 
 "It is far to the city," she sighed, as she thought 
 
 of the journey before her; 
 Perhaps a beast will attack me or perhaps in the 
 
 way I may stumble, 
 But in God will I put my trust, he will bring me 
 
 safe to the city! 
 For this, the third day. He will rise, and I must 
 
 be there at the dawning," 
 Still was the night toward the dawn and the city 
 
 in dreams lay sleeping. 
 Not a sound save the sighing of the wind and and 
 
 the far-away bleating in sheep-cotes. 
 Gradually came the dawn and pencilled the eas- 
 tern horizon 
 With shafts of golden light that seemed like the 
 
 lightnings of heaven. 
 Calm in the garden it was, and the heavy cypress- 
 es waving. 
 Betokened a place of graves, of tombs, where the 
 
 dead are buried. 
 Open, a new-made tomb, and a great stone rolled 
 
 away from it. 
 And a light never seen on earth came streaming 
 
 out from its portals. 
 Methinks on the morning breeze were borne the 
 
 strains of sweet music 
 Like to an angel chair, proclaiming the glad 
 
 resurrection ! 
 
Almost within the gate stood Rachel the blind 
 
 patient maiden, 
 Her countenance hopeful and bright as she quietly 
 
 waited and listened, 
 Till the sound of footsteps drew near on the quiet 
 
 street of Jerusalem. 
 "0 sir,' she began, with struggling tears, as she 
 
 heard a stranger approaching, 
 "Far have I come and am faint because of the 
 
 journey I've taken ; 
 The garden of Joseph to find where the Healer 
 
 was yesterday buried. 
 He said He would rise this mom and I thought 
 
 I should be here to meet Him; 
 Perchance thou knowest, alas, if too late I have 
 
 come for the meeting. 
 O direct me, I pray, kind sir, where I most surely 
 
 will find Him." 
 "Thy faith hath saved thee," said a voice that 
 
 thrilled through her inmost being, 
 "In peace depart and be not dismayed, for I am 
 
 He whom thou seekest." 
 Sweet was the morning air as the gentle voice 
 
 died into silence. 
 And Rachel the maiden arose and lifted her eyes 
 
 to the heavens. 
 Eyes that their beauty saw and the greenness and 
 
 freshness of Nature. 
 An expression of rapture and joy, of hope, long- 
 deferred and now granted 
 Spread o'er her pale, tired face as she wept aloud 
 
 in her gladness. 
 "But where is the Healer ?" she cried as she sought 
 
 here and there vainly for Him, 
 
But alas, He indeed was gone, and the maiden 
 
 lingering, listened 
 To words that were spoken nearby, beyond the 
 
 hedge of the garden. 
 "Lo, He is not here," said a voice, in answer it 
 
 seemed to her question, 
 "As He said, He is risen indeed, and to Galilee 
 
 goeth before you." 
 
 APART ON THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 Apart on the mountain with Jesus, 
 Apart from my burden and care; 
 
 Apart from my sin and temptation. 
 Alone with my Master in prayer. 
 
 Apart on the mountain with Jesus, 
 Apart from the curious crowd; 
 
 Beneath the blue dome of the heavens, 
 O'ershadowed of God in a cloud. 
 
 Apart on the mountain with Jesus, 
 Apart from my weakness and pride; 
 
 No thought of selfish ambition 
 
 With Jesus, the Christ at my side. 
 
 Apart on the mountain with Jesus, 
 
 holy the vision I see; 
 The form of my Master transfigured, 
 
 privilege granted to me! 
 
 Apart on the mountain with Jesus, 
 solitude blessed and sweet; 
 
 Apart from wordly encumbrance, 
 Like Mary I sit at his feet. 
 
Apart on the mountain with Jesus, 
 Like Peter of old would I stay ; 
 
 Would build for him here a temple, 
 But the Savior answers me: "Nay." 
 
 And lo, from the foot of the mountain 
 
 The cry of the people I hear; 
 They long for the touch of the Master, 
 
 They long for his message of cheer. 
 
 And down from the mountain of privilege 
 The Savior now motions my feet; 
 
 "The mountain-top was intended 
 To make thee for ministry meet." 
 
 THE LEGEND OF OFFERUS 
 
 Listen my child, to the tale of Offerus, great and 
 
 kind hearted, 
 As to children 'twas told of old by devout and 
 
 credulous peasants. 
 
 Offerus, proud of his giant strength, searched all 
 
 his life for a stronger, 
 To whom he might offer his life and whom he 
 
 might serve as a master. 
 At length a great king he found to whom he 
 
 offered his service. 
 For none seemed greater than he, the people 
 
 bowed down before him; 
 Mightly in war and in peace, in all that he did, 
 
 victorious. 
 But once he was seen to pale and tremble in great 
 
 agitation, 
 
At the sound of a certain name thoughtlessly 
 
 spoke in his presence; 
 The name of Satan it was and death was the word 
 
 mentioned with him. 
 Offerus the name enquired and withdrew his oath 
 
 of allegiance, 
 That he might serve the lord before whom the 
 
 great monarch trembled. 
 
 Thus Offerus sold his strength to Satan the ruler 
 
 of darkness, 
 That mighty master of men, before whom the 
 
 nations fall prostrate. 
 And Offerus greatly rejoiced because of the Evil 
 
 One's power, 
 And gladly obeyed he his will and won therefore 
 
 rich compensation ; 
 Surely no greater than he ere established his 
 
 throne o'er the nations! 
 No army of king was as strong, no monarch had 
 
 minions so faithful. 
 Thus Offerus mused in his heart as he followed 
 
 his master in battle. 
 But once as they passed a hill whereon a cross 
 
 was uplifted, 
 Satan trembled with fear and Offerus noticed his 
 
 terror. 
 "Aha," cried Offerus then — "What meaneth this, 
 
 strange master? 
 Is there one greater than thou? Methinks the 
 
 man that is bound here 
 Crucified like a thief, must have been greater 
 
 than thou art. 
 If so, his spirit still lives, and from henceforth 
 
 he is my master. 
 I will the greatest serve, no longer thee will I 
 
 follow." 
 
Then fled the Bad One away and Offerus prayed 
 
 in submission 
 Before the cross on the hill, and a deep peace 
 
 entered his being; 
 And just then a tender child appeared in the road- 
 way before him, 
 And besought him with prayers and tears to carry 
 
 him over the river. 
 Then straightway Offerus knelt and lifted the 
 
 child on his shoulder 
 And bore him over the stream, though once or 
 
 twice he did stumble, 
 Because of the weight of the child which increased 
 
 as he kept struggling onward; 
 Till on the opposite bank he set down his strange, 
 
 heavy burden. 
 When a Shining One stood by his side and said in 
 
 heavenly accents: 
 "Offerus, I am He, to whom thou has just offered 
 
 service — 
 Henceforth my messenger be — Christopher called 
 
 — Christ-bearer." 
 
 TELL ME A STORY 
 
 "Tell me a story, "the baby said. 
 As she climbed upon my knee ; 
 
 "A story of fairies, cousin dear, 
 Do tell a story to me!" 
 
 Then I told her the old, old legends, 
 Of fairies and knights and kings ; 
 
 Sleeping Beauty and the handsome prince. 
 And elves with the gauzy wings. 
 
The wonderful power that fairies gave 
 Of touching things into gold; 
 
 And how they wielded their magic wands 
 To rejuvenate the old. 
 
 And her eyes grew big with wonder, 
 And her cheek with interest flushed, 
 
 As I told how the mighty hero 
 The horrible monster crushed. 
 
 Her merry laughter rippled sweet, 
 While her breath came short and fast ; 
 
 As she clamored for yet another tale 
 More exciting than the last! 
 
 Till she fell asleep on my shoulder 
 
 To dream of the witches three ; 
 And a sudden longing came o'er me 
 
 For a tale to be told to me. 
 
 Oh, sweetly real to the children 
 These stories and legends seem; 
 
 With all of the magical trappings 
 That furnish the elfish dream! 
 
 I pity the mortals that sneering say 
 
 It is all a sin or joke, 
 And naught but the stern bare facts of truth 
 
 Should be told the little folk. 
 
 For who shall define the true and false? 
 
 Perchance naught that seems is real; 
 While the seeming truth of the fairy-lore 
 
 Approaches our heart's ideal. 
 
A fragment perhaps of heaven's self 
 Is breathed in a fairy song; 
 
 What love of childhood dares to say- 
 That its simple faith is wrong? 
 
 Tell me a story of elfish times, 
 
 Of old-time fanciful things; 
 When animals talked and pigmies lived 
 
 In realms of the fairy kings! 
 
 Tell me a story — the things that are real 
 
 Grow tedious day after day ; 
 But, touched by the wand in a fairy hand, 
 
 Are changed in a wonderful way. 
 
 Tell me a story of music and song, 
 Like the murmur of purling streams ; 
 
 With the silvery chime of the fairy bells 
 That stole through our childish dreams. 
 
 Tell me a story of venturesome love. 
 
 Of heroes and daring deeds; 
 A legend of tryst and devotion true 
 
 And stamping of armored steeds. 
 
 Tell me a story of knightly days. 
 Of the reign of sword and song ; 
 Of the ladies fair and gentle squires, 
 Of tourneys and shouting throng. 
 
 Tell me a story — I wait to hear 
 The fancied lore of the past; 
 
 The real old world monotonous grows. 
 And naught that we love doth last. 
 
So, tell me a story, friend of mine, 
 Of fairies and giants and kings; 
 
 Sleeping Beauty and the handsome prince, 
 And other marvellous things! 
 
 THE LITTLE WHITE LIE 
 
 It was only a little white lie,my dear, 
 
 But I heard it and so did you ; 
 It slipped out so easily, so unafraid, 
 
 Almost before anyone knew! 
 
 That little white lie was naughty, my dear, 
 That's the reason you hung your head ; 
 
 And your guilty cheek flushed when I questioned 
 why. 
 And I heard not the words you said. 
 
 The little white lie brought trouble, my dear, 
 For how heavy it made your heart! 
 
 And it robbed your laugh of its music sweet, 
 And with tears made your blue eyes smart. 
 
 It was only a little white lie, my child, 
 
 That almost no one had heard; 
 Except you and me and the angels, my dear, 
 
 And the pussy-cat near, who purred. 
 
 But the little white lie by your pillow stood, 
 
 When you lay in your little bed; 
 And it looked quite terrible there in the dark. 
 
 And bigger than when it was said. 
 
 It ran away, quickly that little white lie. 
 And your heart was rid of its stain; 
 
When you sobbed out the truth on your mother's 
 knee, 
 And promised to be good again! 
 
 Let the little white lies alone, my child, 
 The big, black ones come in their wake ; 
 
 And let nothing but truth, dear, your red lips 
 speak, 
 For God and for pure conscience' sake. 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS CAMEL 
 
 There's a quaint old Arab legend 
 I have read or heard somewhere; 
 
 I tell it now, my friend, to you, 
 For its meaning sweet and fair. 
 
 A tale by Eastern Christians treasured. 
 And by Moslem Bedouins told; 
 
 On the blessed eve of Christmas 
 To the children of the fold. 
 
 How on that first Christmas morning 
 The Three Wise Men journyed far; 
 
 On their camels o'er the desert 
 Following the wondrous star. 
 
 The Third from a far-off country 
 Came on his quest for the King; 
 
 And his beast was heavy laden 
 
 With the gifts he fain would bring. 
 
 Late was he to reach the stable 
 Where the humble family dwelt; 
 
 And with them about the manger 
 In adoring silence knelt. 
 
Now this Wise Man's patient camel 
 Followed to the stable door; 
 
 Knelt upon its knees and worshipped 
 When the Wondrous Child it saw. 
 
 And the little Christ Child saw it, 
 Raised its hands above its head, 
 
 While in accents sweet and holy 
 To the kneeling beast it said : 
 
 "Thou has come from far, Camel, 
 Gifts to lay before my feet ; 
 
 Henceforth shall no burden touch thee 
 Save fair gifts for chidhood meet. 
 
 Nevermore shall man command thee, 
 
 Go in peace to thy far home ; 
 Till once more the star appeareth, 
 Till once more my birthday come. 
 
 Then set upon thy journey 
 
 To the homes where children be; 
 
 Bestowing gifts that God shall send 
 On each child that trusts in me." 
 
 When the Christmas sun arising 
 Sheds upon the East his ray, 
 
 It awakes the sleeping camel — 
 Forth he journeys on his way. 
 
 Burdened is his back with presents 
 By God's hand upon him laid; 
 
 Christian home or Moslem visits 
 Where the legend sweet is said. 
 
Thus on every eve of Christmas 
 
 Arab children wake to hear 
 Footsteps of the Christmas Camel 
 
 On the sandy desert drear. 
 
 And outside the tent or door-way 
 Ere they lay them down to rest. 
 
 They place a little dish of water 
 
 And some wheat cakes for the guest. 
 
 In their childish dreams they see him, 
 Laden with the gifts he brings: 
 
 For all children good and trusting 
 As their Arab mother sings. 
 
 Sweet the tale we tell our children 
 Of Santa and the Christmas tree; 
 
 Of the sleigh and prancing reindeer — 
 Yet sweeter far this tale to me. 
 
 Of the patient Christmas Camel 
 
 Blest of old by the Christ Child's hand; 
 Laden with the gifts of Allah 
 
 Journeying o'er the desert sand! 
 
 THE HOLY PLACE 
 
 From the far-off Levant country, 
 Land of mosque and minaret; 
 
 Comes this story full of beauty. 
 Whose fragrant meaning haunts me yet. 
 
 In the solepin rno'^'^"'^ o^' Omar, 
 Built on Mount Moriah's side; 
 
 Mount where stood the Hebrew temple, 
 To pilgrims sacred far and wide — 
 
They have hewn an altar holy, 
 
 From the mountain rock eternal; 
 
 A shrine to all believers sacred, 
 Filled with radiance supernal. 
 
 The crypt is strewn with myrrh and balsam, 
 And boughs of fragrant evergreen; 
 
 Sweet-smelling spices, hemlock branches. 
 There prays the pious Turk unseen. 
 
 And when from out the mosque of Omar, 
 Forth he journeys on his way; 
 
 Full sweet the fragrance that he scatters 
 Throughout the hours of the day. 
 
 And the pious Moslems murmur, 
 Though they may not see his face; 
 
 "He hath prayed on Mount Moriah, 
 He cometh from the holy place." 
 
 When we kneel in humble worship, 
 
 Praying at our Saviour's feet; 
 O may we sweet fragrance carry 
 
 As we leave the mercy-seat. 
 
 May the people as they pass us. 
 
 In our walk from day to day ; 
 Feel the power of His presence 
 
 In the lives of us who pray. 
 
 May they see who daily meet us, 
 
 Jesus in our shining face ; 
 May they say : "He hath been praying, 
 
 He cometh from the holy place." 
 
THE EASTER POWER 
 
 Methought on Calvary's mount I stood, 
 Where all was veiled in tears and blood, 
 
 And Death the field did claim ; 
 I knelt by Joseph's garden-grave, 
 And read the power of Christ to save. 
 
 That through His rising came. 
 
 I stumbled oft in doubting's mire, 
 And felt temptation's scathing fire, 
 
 And found my strength was naught; 
 But in each faint and faltering hour, 
 I claimed and felt the Unseen Power 
 
 That Christ at Easter wrought. 
 
 Power of our risen Lord, 
 
 sweet fulfillment of His word, 
 
 In thy dear strength I trust! 
 The cross was not the end, thank God, 
 The Power hath burst the rendering sod, 
 
 That vivifies our dust. 
 
 THE UPPER ROOM 
 
 Why dwell in the dungeon of doubt and despair, 
 Why pine in the basement of worry and care? 
 Come away, my friend, from your toil and strife 
 To the Upper Room of the Higher Life! 
 
 There taste of the comfort that souls cannot know, 
 Contented to crouch in the shadows below; 
 Here findeth its way no vestige of gloom, 
 'Tis brightness and cheer in the Upper Room. 
 
There open your windows toward God and His 
 
 heaven, 
 And think of the gifts that the Father hath given ; 
 There learn the Truth that will work your release, 
 In the Upper Room of power and peace. 
 
 "My peace I leave with you," the Master did say — 
 Is His peace abiding within you to-day? 
 'Tis yours for the taking, 'twill outlast the tomb — 
 Do you know the peace of the Upper Room ? 
 
 DISCOVERY OF AMERICA 
 
 986 A. D. 
 Upon tne deck of nis good ship 
 
 Stood Bjarne Herjulfson, 
 His fair hair streaming in the wind. 
 
 Shone in the morning sun, 
 
 Upon tne shore his comrades stood. 
 
 Brave sons of Vikings all; 
 No wind-swept sea, no hostile flood 
 
 Could their stout hearts appall. 
 
 "The sea wind calls and I must go" 
 
 Quoth Bjarne Herjulfson, 
 For I must see my father's face 
 
 Before many moons are done. 
 
 I go to Greenland's far-off shore 
 
 Through the waves of the unknown sea, 
 If ye are Vikings stout and true. 
 
 Come, make the voyage with me." 
 
Then spake the sage Thorwaldsen, 
 
 A scald of Norway, he ; 
 "Tempt not, I pray you, Herjulfson, 
 
 The dread and darksome sea! 
 
 There demons lurk and spirits dread, 
 The merman and the whale; 
 
 Death doth reign o'er the ocean vast, 
 And woe on its every gale. 
 
 Westward is Greenland's fabled shore, 
 
 And every scald will tell 
 The setting sun is fiery red 
 
 Because it looketh down on hell! 
 
 'Tis now a year since Herjulf sailed 
 To that same unknown shore; 
 
 Methinks a voice on the night wind says 
 We shall see his face no more." 
 
 Herjulfson laughed a merry laugh, 
 His laugh rang glad and free; 
 
 "My father's son. brave Thorwaldsen, 
 Is a Viking true!" quoth he. 
 
 "We'll follow thee," his comrades cried ; 
 
 "Afar o'er the darkening wave; 
 For be it known, a Norseman bold 
 
 Fears not a watery grave!" 
 
 And so they sailed from the Norway shore 
 When the billows high were piled; 
 
 And drank in foaming nut brown ale, 
 "Skoal" to the Northland wild. 
 
Westward the good ship's prow they turned, 
 Westward they turned their gaze; 
 
 And soon the JNorthern sun went down 
 In threatening glare and haze. 
 
 Wild tossed the billows of the deep, 
 
 The angry thunders roared ; 
 The flapping sails were wet and torn, 
 
 And creaked each mast and board. 
 
 Three days the sun forgot to rise. 
 Three nights no stars appeared; 
 
 Nor friendly sail upon the sea 
 The Norsemen's courage cheered. 
 
 In the prow of his battered ship 
 
 Herjulfson stood and prayed; 
 Great Thor besought and Balder fair, 
 
 His voyage might safe be made. 
 
 The fourth morn calmer grew the sea, 
 
 The hopeful sun arose ; 
 And land, yes, land before them lay, 
 
 Unwhitened by the snows. 
 
 A land whose bare and rocky coast 
 
 Betokened not their goal; 
 Despair and strange alarming fears 
 
 Assailed Herjulfson's soul. 
 
 Then northward turned he his good ship, 
 And prayed for Norway's shore ; 
 
 But skirted wooded islands strange, 
 Unseen by man before. 
 
They lightly sprang from their good ship 
 
 Upon the grassy strand, 
 And found fresh springs of water clear 
 
 And grapes on every hand. 
 
 And marks they found of man's abode, 
 
 Arrows of flint and stone; 
 But sign of hut or living thing. 
 
 On all that shore was none. 
 
 Then on they sailed those dauntless youths 
 
 And reached the open sea; 
 Thorwaldsen's words rang in their ears 
 
 With harsh, cruel mockery. 
 
 But with the morrow's rising sun. 
 
 Again land came in signt; 
 Whose mountains towered toward the sky. 
 
 Green in the morning light. 
 
 Soon huts they saw upon the strand 
 
 And fishing raits afloat; 
 The Viking ship was soon espied 
 
 While shouts rang from each throat. 
 
 Upon the deck of his good ship 
 
 Stood Bjarne Herjulfson; 
 His fair hair streaming in the wind, 
 
 Shone in the morning sun. 
 
 And Herjulf stood upon the shore, 
 
 "Welcome, my son," cried he; 
 "And all ye Norsemen stout and true 
 
 Who dared the unknown sea! 
 
But why from southward is your course? 
 
 Westward ye must have sailed; 
 Far to the southward have I gone, 
 
 But land was never hailed." 
 
 As they leaped on the long-sought shore. 
 
 Each Norseman told the tale 
 Of the dread voyage upon the deep 
 
 Midst thunder, dark and gale. 
 
 Told of the strange discovered land 
 
 Of the wooded islands fair; 
 Far to the south of Greenland's shore, 
 
 And realms of the Northern Bear. 
 
 Told of the springs of water clear. 
 
 And luscious grapes to eat, 
 Of arrow heads of flint and stone, 
 
 And prints of savage feet. 
 
 Then Herjulf and his comrades said: 
 "Tis a tale most strange and new; 
 
 But further voyages shall prove 
 If Bjarne's words are true." 
 
 Soon back to Norway's shore they sailed, 
 
 But no scald there could say 
 What was the new land they had found 
 
 To the southward far away. 
 
 Five hundred years went slowly by 
 
 Ere again that tale was new; 
 While America our land is proof 
 
 That Bjarne's words were true!