'»• 'ill!' '«' J. 'di' Class _(PSi_a^JCl5 Book.. Ai^^AS" Coipght}J". 30^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSrD APRIL DAYS BY LUELLA CLARK Boston: Richard G. Badger The Gorham Press 1904 Copyright 1904 by Luclla Clark All rights reserved \ LIBRARY of OCNQRnSS Two Copies deceiveo WAR 15 1905 •SoDyrigiii tntry Printed at The G or ham Press, Boston, U. S. A. ,^0 • To the Unseen but Unforgotten CONTENTS April Days 9 Up the Hill . . 10 At Bethlehem . 11 Thinking and Working ' \ . 12 Signs of Summer . . 15 Sure . 16 A Bit of Arbutus . . 17 Whence and Whither ? . 18 Welcome 19 On Memorial Day- . 19 Muriel . 21 The End . 22 Coming . 23 Who Knows? . 24 Where ? 25 Beyond . 26 Recompense 29 If You Love Me . 30 Foreshadowings . 31 June 32 With Thee . . 33 Dead . 33 After . 34i The Good Shepherd 35 Resurrection 36 Not for Us . 37 Forgive 40 My Secret 40 Security 42 How Long? 42 August iVfternoon 43 Reward 44 The Fir Tree 44 Fate 45 Intercession . 45 Easter Lilies 46 Lend a Hand To a Bird Only Seven Aspiration In Memory In the Rain A Little While Peace and Good Will On Christmas Day My Dream Be Kind At Sea . Sleep Sewing Jesus Wept Morning At Sunset Sowing and Reaping The Soldier's Grave Risen Washington Hepatica Gratefulness Make Hay While the Sun Shines Grace Emblems Sometime New Thanks Thine Own In Lent Rest A Dead Rose Questionings Thy Work . One May Wait • . Shadows Giving Safe The Empty Nest It Might Have Been Ascension April A Leaf of Laurel In May Near Life A Birdsnest . Snow Drifts The Coming Year No Grave One Easter . One Summer February What Matter? Only This . Acquiescence As You Will Compensation Twilight Not Knowing The Old Year Beulah Good Cheer Life in Death Hasten . Milly and I How Long Content One by One . The Name of Jesus War Sleep On 9S 93 94 95 96 98 99 99 102 103 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 116 117 119 120 121 122 124 124 125 126 127 128 Spring Song . . 129 When Christmas Comes . 129 Only a Day . 131 Too Late . 133 Gathering Primroses . 135 A Picture . 137 In Remembrance , 138 Victory . 139 In the Valley . 140 Good Night . . 142 Success . 144 Thanksgiving . 144 Confidence . 146 After Ascension . 147 Song of Summer . 148 Nutting . 149 Trust . . 150 A Reply . 151 Easter Morning . 152 Once . 153 What? . 154 Reunion . 155 Dreaming . 156 Why? . 157 Christmas Night . 158 A Parting Song . 159 June — To One in Heave n . 160 Every Day . . 161 A Prophecy . . 167 Seedtime and Harvest . . 168 Loss .... . 169 Led .... . 171 Shut Your Eyes . 172 A Valentine . . 174 An Old Friend . 174 Assurance . 175 Going . 177 APRIL DAYS The April days have come; the south winds blow. In homestead trees at morn the robin sings ; Swift through the softened air the swallows go. With warmth upon their wings. O'er all the vales the quickening sunshine gleams. The timid violets' purple leaves unfold. And on the banks of swollen meadow streams The cowslip spreads its gold. With wakeful life the earth's warm pulses stir; Brown buds unroll bright banners on the air. And countless fairy fingers, dripping myrrh. The summer's robes prepare. Impatient soul, weak and complaining still. Are all thy hopes, slow struggling to the light, Less worth than these frail buds no frost could kill, Or winds of winter blight.^ For, though the spring shall come with tardy feet, And snows lock late the germs, we do not fear; Still with unfailing faith our hearts repeat, "The summer days are near." The good we hoped to gain has failed us — well. We do not see the ending — and the boon May wait us down the ages — who can tell? And bless us amply soon. In God's eternal plan, a month, a year. Is but an hour of some slow April day. Holding the germs of what we hope or fear. To blossom far away. 9 And rayless days must come and nights of mist, And, after brooding sunshine, dreary showers; Chill dews delay the buds the south wind kissed, And, late, bloom fairer flowers. We pray for growth and strength; grief's dreaded showers May be in God's wise purpose ripening rain; He only knows how all our highest powers Are perfected in pain. To trusting souls must truest good increase. Loss here shall be uncounted treasure there; So we attain to perfectness of peace, What matter how or where? UP THE HILL On a sunny summer morning. Early as the dew was dry, Up the hill I went a-berrying; Need I tell you, tell you why } Farmer Davis had a daughter. And it happened that I knew On such sunny mornings, Jenny, Up the hill went berrying too. Lonely work is picking berries. So I joined her on the hill; "Jenny dear," said I, "your basket's Quite too large for one to fill." So we staid — we two — to fill it, Jenny talking; I was still; Leading where the way was steepest, Picking berries up the hill. 10 "This is up-hill work/' said Jenny. "So is life," said I, "shall we Climb it each alone, or Jenny, Will you come and climb with me?" Redder than the blushing berries, Jenny's cheek a moment grew. While without delay she answered, "I will come and climb with you." AT BETHLEHEM A babe in the manger, A song in the sky. On earth benediction, Rejoicing on high. A glory for Judah, A wonderful light To lighten the Gentiles In sorrow and night. A Prince and a Savior, Immanuel, King, An unfailing kingdom Of blessing to bring. A kingdom of mercy. Of love and of peace. Whose dominion shall ever And ever increase. Glad day-spring from heaven. Break bright on our night; For mourning bring gladness, For darkness give light. 11 Hail^ Son of the Highest, Redeemer divine; Heaven's hosts are Thy heralds. The star is Thy sign. Prepared is Thy pathway In passion of pain. But eternal Thy glory, Eternal Thy reign. Priest, Prophet and Savior ! Sing, hosts of the sky. Shine, stars, at your brightest; Redemption is nigh. THINKING AND WORKING Oh, let your ceaseless thinking go. Your thoughts are vain; The bright brooks through the meadows flow. Seeking the main. And have no care: the April rains Their green banks fill. And on they go, nor count their gains. Yet warble still. The bees go wandering here and there, They have no lore; If flowers are sweet, what do they care? The fields have store Of blossoming clover, yet this one Sweet daffodil Makes them content, while in the sun They hum on still. 13 The robin, gleaning here a straw And there a thread. Builds her small nest — no thought of law Troubles her head. The bough whereon she builds is green; She sees her mate Go singing through the morning sheen. And loss comes late. The rose-tree gathers rain and light And shapes her flower; She drinks the crystal dew at night And hour by hour She greens and grows, yet knows not why. Nor does she care That you, so thoughtful, passing by. Pronounce her fair. The tender grass beneath your foot Takes not a thought Of how it strikes persistent root, And murmurs not Under your crushing step at morn. But still looks up. Nor grieves that brighter tints adorn The lily's cup. Oh, put your foolish fancies by; It matters not, Be sure, how deep you delve, how high May mount your thought; The stars will shine above your head. The flowers will bloom. The fatal thunder cloud will shed Its bolt of doom 13 The whether you shall think or no; God writes his will Plainly on human hearts that, so, While singing still, We may not leave our work. He gives A subtle sense To every trustful soul that lives : That, working hence. It may not make mistake. What needs The childlike soul To know where all your questioning leads? The wondrous whole Is hidden from your searching ken; But let it be; God tells that to the hearts of men They fail to see. Be still, and listen in your soul Where God shall speak; Above your head the thunders roll, And you are weak; But so are grasses; yet they grow Greener for showers; The end of toil we need not know — The task is ours. Sometimes a hero prostrate lies; Ah, well, what then.^ We only know the spirit dies From sight of men. We know not what there is to do Some otherwhere; What realms to rule, what service new Demands his care. 14 Oh, rest from questions and from doubt. Work as you will; But leave your selfish murmurings out, And listen still To hear the voice that will not cease Forevermore — God's voice within that speaketh peace Beyond all lore. SIGNS OF SUMMER This morning, dropping through the cold March mist, I heard a robin's song, clear, sweet and calm. As if midsummer heavens of sunshine kissed Full-flowering meadows all baptized in balm. Sudden my soul rose, smit with that sweet sound — Sure note of promise — and, in haste to greet Its dawning gladness, scaled its wintry bound To feel the summer's blessed pulses beat. O beaming fields of sunshine! grateful shade Of cool, sweet woodlands, deep lakes sleeping still, Strown with white lilies, great rocks overlaid With breadths of gleaming mosses, songs that fill The summer vales with rapture, winds that range O'er wave and wood, and sweep where moun- tains high, Above all breath of restlessness or change. Lean their scarred brows of bravery 'gainst the sky. "All, all for you," so said the robin's song. And, weary with the winter, so my soul 15 Grew strangely glad seeing it was not long Before its prison gates would outward roll And let it into life. No matter now For all the mockery of the bleak, blanched days ; No matter now what black clouds draped the brow Of boding night, since all pain ends in praise. SURE Trust in the Lord: do good: So, sure shall be thy food And safe thy rest. Whatever shall betide, One walks unseen beside To make thee blest. Who, faitliful, sows the seed. Believing, shall not need; The harvest sown Shall yield a hundred fold. He whose the grain and gold Knows well his own. And well may he forget His fears whose heart is set To do His will Who said, "Your very hairs Are numbered:" cease your cares. Fear not, be still. 16 A BIT OF ARBUTUS Pale pink petals, pure and sweet, Lying close in this folded sheet, Coming safe to my hand today From a vallej'' a thousand miles away, A blessed bit of New England's May. Ah, well I know where this blossom grew. I know how the sunshine shimmered through The shadoM^y wall of the mountain pines To waken and warm the virent vines; What starry skies distilled the dew To ripen and refine the hue That flushed the dainty petals through. I know the brook whose voice so clear Rivaled the bird songs dropping near. What mosses, myriad-leaved and bright Sheltered the buds from early blight. How, slowly down the hillslope clean Young grasses spread their gauze of green. There late the April twilight died. Morn early flushed the fair hillside, Noon wrapped it warm in festal fold, And sunset dropped its shafts of gold. And there in silence, day by day. The green leaves graced the spreading spray, Until, at last, one bright May morn. The beauty of this bloom was born. The mosses gifts of dew-drops gave; The welcoming wood-birds swelled a wave Of gladdest song just overhead; The swaying pines indulgent shed A shower of sunshine on its bed. The friendly south wind, wandering free, Brought greeting from the distant sea. 17 The loving stars looked down at night And left the lustre of their light On its clear petals roseate white, Which here I hold in my hand today From a valley a thousand miles away — A blessed bit of New England's May. WHENCE AND WHITHER The wind blows over the sea; We breathe its sweet odors and say, "The spices are growing, are growing for me, In the fair lands far away." Sometimes in Saharas of pain, The voice of a fountain falls sweet Through our anguish, and lo, on the plain Wait the shadows of palms for our feet! We see the swift flash of the lights In the eye of a friend, and we say, "In the mountain lands of his soul are the heights Where my spirit shall rest some day." O wild wind that comes and that goes! O vision of fountain and vine ! O instinct of kinship unerring, who knows Whence or whither the spirit divine? 18 WELCOME High on the hillsides melt the deep snows. Down to the meadow the glad brook flows. Quick on its green banks the violets spring, And over them all the blithe bluebirds sing. Gone is the winter so sullen and grim. Glad are we all to say good-by to him. Come is the springtide, so bonny to see; And welcome, oh, welcome, thrice welcome is she. ON MEMORIAL DAY Their graves are green; how firm the turf has grown In all these years; the violets here have blown, The birds have sung, and winter's snows have pressed So many times since they were laid to rest. Some, far from home, lie where they, fighting, fell- In alien graves — yet slumber long and well. Others in dear home churchyards sweetly sleep Where loving kindred come to watch and weep. But all alike today we honor here — To-day and always to our memory dear: So great our debt, so little we can bring — Flowers, tender words, the songs they used to sing. The songs that made their wearied pulses beat With new resolve, that nerved their flagging feet, 19 And made them brave swift death with fearless brow To save the dear flag floating o'er us now. O starry flag! to hope, to memory dear, With reverent hands to-day we plant it here; Here, flanked with flowers, upon each silent grave Of those who died its sacred folds to save. How many hearts for them that sorrowed sore Have found with them their rest and grieve no more; The savior and the saved lie side by side Nor note the flowing of spring's flowery tide. And more and more, as swift years come and go, Of those who mourned for these will slumber low; But in far time to come, when all are gone, Will still the memory of our dead live on. Our heroes brave, who died to lead the way To freedom's purer and more perfect day — Still loving hands fresh flowers of May will twine, And lay them on their graves as on a shrine. We fear not for their fame — our country's care — - She will not fail to keep it bright and fair; So long as to the breeze her flag is flung. The deeds of her dead heroes shall be sung. 20 MURIEL "The other children altered imperceptibly, yet so swiftly that from year to year we half forgot their old likeness. But Muriel's never changed. Her image, only a shade, yet often more real than any of these living children, seemed perpetually among us. It crept into the house at dusk: in winter firelight it sat smiling in dim corners; it moved about the garden borders with tiny foot- steps neither seen nor heard. The others grew up — would be men and women shortly; but the one child that was not, remained to us always a child." — John Halifax. Still art thou with us in unchanging childhood. On all our paths thy tiny footsteps fall. Though faint as breath of bird in tangled wild- wood, O sweet, blind Muriel, dearest one of all. Thy gentle presence greets us at our waking. The day's bright hours thy ministries beguile; And ever, on the dusky twilight breaking. We trace the tender radiance of thy smile. Thy spirit beams where unseen hands are strowing With bursting blooms the meadow lands of May, And, through the gray glooms of November glow- ing. Sheds lustre over all the drear decay. Thou still dost linger here where faint and weary. Thy darkling footsteps strayed with ours so long. Lifting our souls above these pathways dreary. Teaching dumb lips to gladden into song. 21 We know thou now canst never fade or falter, O sweet child Muriel, with thy fair, young face; O beauteous form that time can never alter; O sad hearts yearning for one sweet embrace. Thy beauty bends above our earthly sorrow. The ever-radiant promise of our peace. Pledge in our pain of an unmeasured morrow When in still sunshine all earth's storms shall cease. No power thy presence from our souls can sever — No grief or gladness, time or tempest wild — Unseen, unheard, yet ours, and ours forever; Beyond all weeping — doubly still our child. THE END So the long, sad life is ended. Do not weep. Do not grudge the weary eyelids Balm of sleep. Hush ! and do not wish to wake her From her rest. Freer now than you could make her, This is best. Do not fret so at her stillness. I-rOng and rough Was her pathway. Hath she known not Toil enough? Pale lips, hands forever folded; This is all. 32 Vex her soul not with the anguish Of your call. Do not press her brow with kisses. What avail Is to her your lavish loving ? Did you fail In the years when love could cheer her? Do not weep. If you helped thus once to pain her^ Let her sleep. Far beyond now all your loving Or your hate^ Vain to mourn your dearth of kindness. It is late. All your error, all her grieving, Who can tell? Drop the burden of your sorrow. It is well. COMING Shine, shine out your best, O life-giving sun. For the roses and lilies are coming. Blow, south wind, blow warm o'er the meadows dun Where the wild bees will soon be humming. Haste, unroll your leaves ye loitering trees. And tell to the soft airs your story; Maples, fling out ^''our banners so red to the breeze And gladden our eyes with your glory. 23 Come, come, silver rain from the sweet heavens free. Rouse quickly the flowers from their sleeping; Arbutus is waiting to waken for thee, And the pansies their purple are keeping. Hither hie, happy birds: From the east and the west And the southland so sunny, come flying. Speed back to your old haunts and give of your best; Our hearts for your songs are sighing. O sun, wind and rain and birds glad with song. And leaves laughing gayly together, Ye are coming, soon coming; it cannot be long Till we welcome the bright May weather. WHO KNOWS? Scorn not to do the humblest deed. The time for toil is brief; Who knows how soon the angel death Will bring the glad relief.^ Fail not to speak the gentle word. No lost hour cometh back; Who knows how much some soul may need The tenderness you lack? Despise not even the lowliest soul. It feels our Father's care; Who knows, in Christ's attendant train. What glory it shall wear? 24 Lose not thy trust. God loveth all, And guardeth all thy ways; Who knows how soon thy whispered prayer Will blossom into praise? WHERE? We stood just here, the sun had set, You bade me look above, and said, "You see that star; I pray you let It seal my pledge of love — as fed By light and warmth unfailing — see! How clear it shines, how strong, how true; A fitting symbol it shall be Of that true love I proffer you." The hush grew deep; late bird and bee Sank into silence, while the sky Grew thick with rival lights; but we Saw but a single star on high. Fair neath its light the warm earth lay. And all June's roses, richly blown. Poured sweetness on the dying day. While still the star unwavering shone. How many, many times since then Has June her withering roses shed; How many times inconstant men Have pledged a deathless love — long dead. To-night, as then, the sun set fair And left in halo all the hills ; While softly on the slumberous air. The drooping rose her life distills. As then, some bird, late-nested, sings A smothered song in cadence low, 25 While blundering bats on venturous wings Mark swift, blind circles to and fro. Still, high in heaven's unchanging peace. Set steadfast in eternal blue. The star shines forth and will not cease; But where, my friend of friends, are you ? BEYOND "The mellow, dreamy Autumn days have come. I revel in their luxuriance. The flame-colored woods, the dropping nuts and acorns, the ground covered with fallen leaves and the pleasant smell of the earth delight me." "We asked if she would see any of her friends, several having assembled, *Oh no !' she answered wearily, 'only us four.' " "Oh He has come ! He has come ! He holds me by the hand !" — "Nineteen Beautiful Years." O Friend, where art thou who didst watch last year The autumn glory in the forests burn? Who heard the acorns dropping, marked the clear. Gold tints of royal maples, who didst turn The pages of this book I read to-day? Who held in spring blue violets in thy hand, And, wondering at their beauty, who didst say, "There must be violets in that other land." Oh, hast thou found them there? Where didst thou go When on that summer Sabbath morn you "four," Together journeying, sudden met the flow Of Death's dark tide — and one returned no more ? When, on that day of Christ, the sore, sore need That thou must cross came and they led thee slow 26 Down to the brink where He could meet and lead Thee safely over — where, where didst thou go? Art thou so far, dear friend, thou dost not know What wondering looks we lift unto thy sphere ? What visions of transcendent fairness grow About thy likeness, so familiar here? What questioning thoughts of what thy life may be ? What varied tasks thy growing powers employ. What fitnesses of sight and sound agree To crown thy fullness of completed joy? What converse dost thou hold ? What strange, new speech Hast thou been learning in that foreign land? Up what far heights of knowledge dost thou reach. All unfamiliar when we clasped thy hand ? What problems hast thou solved that fret us still? What mysteries whose shadows on us fall? What revelations hast thou of that will That moulds our life, and guides and holds us all? What vision hast thou of thy lower life? How dost thou measure now its dear-bought bliss ? What heed hast thou of all its grief and strife ? How doth that life's completeness perfect this? How is it with thee ? Hast thou climbed so high. All memory of thine upward way is lost? Do our rough paths so far below thee lie Thou hast forgotten what thy rare bliss cost? What trace doth now thy ransomed spirit bear Of all earth's wondrous beauty? Amber glow Of autum.n thou didst love, the lustre fair 37 Of moonlight on the waters, banks of snow In distant depths of blue midsummer skies; The daisj'^'s brightness in the meadow grass — When thou, O Friend, to higher realms didst rise Did all the impress of this beauty pass? Wilt thou enshrined in thy perpetual calm, At rest from toil, pure from the stain of tears. In that long summer, crowned with peace and palm, Be growing from us while we count the years That bring us nearer to thy high estate ? Hast thou learned all our narrow lives can teach ? O Friend, who walked and talked with us so late. Art thou so far beyond our spirit's reach? Nay, nay, thou art not far — we hold thee still ; Our souls catch music from thy spirit's tone; Sometimes upon our hearts clear dews distill From wandering airs of that untroubled zone Where thou dost range — thou dost not love us less That we so blindly seek our crown to win. That in our narrow bounds we cannot guess To what great glory thou hast entered in. O gentle spirit, who hast gained so much. Sometimes, we pray thee, when our hearts are sore. Reach pitying down, with healing in thy touch: Inspire the faint, who faintest now no more. Sometimes, when dangers thicken in our way. Send to our shrinking souls a breath of cheer^ That we may feel thee living, day by day, O Friend, who art so far, and yet so near. 28 RECOMPENSE The night may be long, but the morning Will rise on the darkest night; The pilgrimage painful,, but Beulah Waits with its fields of light. O weary and windy winter. How rude and forbidding his reign; But, while we lament glad springtime Comes tripping over the plain. See how the dead earth lies buried. Wrapped close in her shroud of snow; But the germs of her resurrection Lie hidden in safety below. O heart in the night of affliction, O soul in the grasp of pain, The morning will come in brightness. And peace will return again. Disheartened with watching and waiting, And weary with hope deferred. Each promise will find fulfillment, Each passionate prayer be heard. More royal the rays of the rainbow. The deeper the tempest's gloom. And, the darker the clouds of April, The brighter the violets' bloom. And he who sits in the shadow Shall surely the sunshine see; And to all who in patience suffer Sweet, sweet will the recompense be. 29 IF YOU LOVE ME If you love me, tell me not; Let me read it in your thought. Let me feel it in the way That you say me yea and nay. Let me see it in your eye When you greet or pass me by ; Let me hear it in the tone Meant for me and me alone. If you love me there will be Something only I shall see; Meet or miss me, stay or go, If you love me I shall know. Something in your tone will tell, "Dear, I love you, love you well." Something in your eyes will shine Fairer that they look in mine. In your mien some touch of grace. Some swift smile upon your face. While you speak not, will betray What your lips could scarcely say. In your speech some silver word. Tuning into sweet accord All your bluntness, will reveal Unaware, the love you feel. If you love me, then, I pray, Tell me not; but, day by day. Let love silent on me rise, Like the sun in summer skies. 30 FORESHADOWINGS O summer sunshine soft and still, That will not stay; O tender green on vale and hill That soon will fade away; O glad, brown thrush, that in green nook Sings for a day; drooping elm, whose roots it took A hundred years to lay; 1 look and listen — while I think. The years go on; More elms will shade the river's brink When these are gone; And other thrushes here will sing. Their little lay; And fresher, tenderer green may spring Where this shall fade away. But I, who knew these trees and loved The thrush so well. Who, listening to his song, have roved So oft his favorite dell. Shall come no more. The bees will come, As these do now. To cheer the place with homely hum; And on the mountain's brow Far off the purple clouds will pass For other eyes; For other ears from out the grass The singing lark will rise. No more for me the lilies sweet Will spread their snow; When stray lambs on the hillsides bleat I shall no longer know. 31 And of earth's treasures, yearly new And strangely fair, A faithful daisy — one or two — Will be my only share. Nor in this dell — I know it well — Nor all I hope to win, Will be a single trace to tell That I have ever been. JUNE Orchards all in blossom, Fields of growing grain. Clover in the meadows, Violets in the lane, Roses in the gardens, And where'e'er you pass Fresh gold dandelions Glowing in the grass. Song in every tree-top, Joy in every shower. Life in every atom. Bees in every flower; Fair the fields with promise, Blissful all the air, Fragrant all the forests. Sunshine everywhere. How can my slow measures. Or my halting rhyme. Body forth the spirit Of the blessed time? Cease my lips to stammer. Cease my pen to praise; Silence laudeth better These transcendent days. 32 To the blossoming meadows Hie at noon away Where the spotted lilies Spread their petals gay; In the liquid measures Of the bobolink's tune You will find outspoken All the soul of June. WITH THEE When, O Lord, the daylight fades From our pathway, and the night Gathers with its gloomy shades, Thou are still our way, our light. So, though suns make haste to set. And the stars refuse to shed On the dark their radiance, yet We shall be in safety led. Trusting to Thy loving word — "I am with you alway" — we Will not fear, O gracious Lord, Walking evermore with Thee. DEAD He wll not smile or speak, I kiss his cold, cold cheek — Unmoved his face. He heeds not any call; Dull, dull the echoes fall From heartless space. Whither and where? Alas, The boundary to pass I strive in vain. 33 '' How can he see my tears. How can he feel my fears. Nor suffer pain? What rapture can atone For my unceasing moan? How can he bear His being's bliss while I Living long but to die To find him there? Is memory lost? If nay, How can he brook delay Till I shall come? Has he of life such fill That he can lie so still. Eyes, lips, so dumb? O Death ! O Life beyond ! O faithful heart and fond In blest estate ; Mount not too far, lest I Can never climb so high. But wait, ah, wait. AFTER "Yes, when the war is over," so he said. "And shall we wait for all our joys till then?" "Yes," he, and, lightly laughing, bent his head To a fair friend across the room, and when He still kept smiling in his talk, I thought. Might we but saj'^ with just as little pain, "When life is over;" and alas, why not? When, grown impatient of our meagre gain We make complaining of our narrow lot, And ask, "were all our fair ideals meant 34 To mock us only?" and our souls cry, "Nay,^^ We shall prove there the visions of to-day." Why not, hiding our pain, smile so, and say, "When life is over, yes," and rest content? THE GOOD SHEPHERD He is the Shepherd good Who leadeth forth His sheep; He giveth them their food. He doth in safety keep. By name He knows them all; They hear His gracious voice; They answer to his call And in His care rejoice. He leads them where they go. In pastures green doth feed; And living waters flow To meet their daily need. No ravening beast of prey Can rend or make them fear ; The Shepherd guards their way. For He is ever near. No stranger's voice can win His own from Him away; He leads them out and in. They will not from Him stray. Oh, happy, happy fate! To be His very own; Always His leading wait. To hear His voice alone. 35 Of night, or storm, or cold, No fear, no anxious care; Since safe within His fold He doth their rest prepare. Forever thus to be Were blessedness untold. Good Shepherd, take Thou me Into Thy sheltering fold. RESURRECTION The April days are here; the winter's cold Gives place to genial warmth ; the willows bold Put on their gala dress to greet the day. The bluebird sings in just the old, sweet way. Each restless rootlet, freed from frosty night. Builds quick a blade of green to greet the light, And every footfall feels the busy strife Of germs unnumbered struggling into life. The robin, lover of the twilight long. Blesses the budding orchard boughs with song. A trembling gauze of green the woodland holds Wrapped in the mystery of its fragrant folds. The violets, up and down each wayward lane. Answer the summons of the clear-voiced rain — Waking serene from sleep, as children do — The love-light in their eyes tender and true. Learn, O my soul, the lesson o'er and o'er — Life conquers death, now and forevermore; Nay, rather death is not. Whate'er befall, 'Tis life alone, triumphant over all. 36- NOT FOR US "Not for us the times of fulness in that record fair and new ; They who sit where black clouds gather never feel the falling dew. Still for us the fatal valor, still for us the strife and pain; Life is brief; what doth it profit that our loss be sometime gain? Not for us the harvest sunshine and the calm of summer peace; We who sow in blood and anguish shall not reap the rich increase." Speaking thus, I saw beside me how a late rose, frail and fair. Spread in sweet faith all its petals to the chill September air. While one answered, calmly smiling, pointing where the setting sun Lighted still the distant mountains, while the vales where chill and dun, "Here we two sit in the shadow — but the compen- sation's clear — Wait our brothers for the morning only half way round the sphere. Know you not the summer harvest is the growth of buried grain? And that all serenest gladness is the birth of rarest pain? Know you not how many chieftains in each fatal siege must fall 37 Ere at last with shouts the victors scale the frown- ing castle wall? Life is brief, yet how shall mortals bargain what that life shall be? At the best a lost drop seeking still the vast eternal sea? Shall that small drop drip unnoticed down some cavern dark and low? Or, a jewel, shine resplendent in the radiant sum- mer bow ? Duty done with valiant purpose, naught remains for me or you; Knowing that through all confusions God will keep the balance true. Let us be content then ; for, since each is but a part of all. What at last will be the difference whether we shall rise or fall? What does He with vain distinctions of the greater and the less. Who beholds the secret order of our aimless rest- lessness ? What does He who through the ages scans be* ginning, middle, end. With our selfish reservations, hoping payment while we lend? If He robe one race in sackcloth, one shall still in honor shine; If He grind one generation, shall the next not drink the wine ? Though some shining threads of silver through His fateful fabric flow, 38 Figures dipped in dyes of darkness in the shifting pattern grow. In the building of the ages now and then a stone will fall Crushing half a groaning million, but the rest will raise the wall. And how many will remember in the joy of peace- ful years How we laid our block securely with cement of blood and tears. For in all time's contradictions never die the brave and true; He who gives his life a ransom, in the ransomed lives anew. He who falls for fallen freedom, howsoever low he lies, Shall not fail of resurrection in the glory of her rise. See the mountains, still and stately — gray old granite, grim with scars — Through a million fiery ages struggling up to reach the stars; What was all their earthquake passion, all the tumult of their pain To the grandeur of their calmness, to the glory of their gain.^ What are all our selfish strivings, all our common- place contents. All our petty plans of progress in the face of such events ? What need now of worldly wisdom, song of poet, word of sage? 39 Silent do your deeds of daring — God is speaking through the age. FORGIVE Forgive. Wilt thou not say it? Life is brief, And bitter are its sorrows at the best; Oh, let not pride add measure to its grief Since we so soon shall from its rough ways rest. Last night the bells rang in the glad New Year, And all kind greetings gather in its train, While all hearts melt, all voices wake to cheer. Thou still art silent; is it any gain? And so shall all lips wish me well but thine? Amid new j oys must still the old griefs live ? Our hearts are truer than our words, though mine Be proud and wayward — wilt thou not forgive? So blind and weak, I can but stumble — still I keep some faith unblemished — be but kind And I shall walk the surer; heart and will To friendship's firm allegiance thou shall bind. Try me. I can be true; forgive, and say, "I trust thee." I shall grow more worthy so; And teach me to be tender. In the way But gently lead, and where thou wilt, I go. MY SECRET Take my secret, O New Year! Hold it safe and hold it dear. All life's tides that flow and meet Ne'er can bring me aught more sweet. 40 Hold it in your heart of hope Till the buds of springtime ope; Let my story first be told When the crocus spreads her gold. Safe my secret there shall be, Not a soul shall read, but me, All the mystery marvelous sweet In the blossom at my feet. You may hide it, O New Year, In the fountain playing clear In the sunlight; all its glow Only you and I will know. Paint it in the sunset light On the solemn mountain height; It shall seal my glad content. When the summer day is spent. To the rose's heart of flame Tell the story; she shall name. While her leaves of light unfold, Joy too deep for heart to hold. Let the lily's lips of snow Breathe the blessed secret low. Bid the bluebells ring it clear; Not a soul on earth will hear. In the clouds that slumbering lie In the silent summer sky Trace my story — as they float Not an eye but mine shall note That faint glow of roseate light Blossoming on my waiting sight. 41 No rejoicing heart but mine E'er shall read that secret sign. Hearken then, O kind New Year; Hold it safe and hold it dear. In your ear I breathe it low — Deepest joy my life shall know. SECURITY O Rock divine, in rest complete, What thought of fear have I Of winds that blow, or rains that beat, Or waters rising high.^ Builded on Christ, when winds assail, I cast away my care; And when the swelling floods prevail I speak His name in prayer. In storms of wrath the heavens may fall, The mountains may remove; But God will never fail the call Of them who trust His love. High in the raging heavens He rides. And sendeth out His voice. When He the angrj^ tempest guides My soul may well rejoice. HOW LONG "How long," we cry, impatient, "Oh, how long.^" The while the air grows hoarse with battle cries ; But He who seetli all the sin and wrong Gives, so we say, no answer. Yet, all wise, All powerful, pray we still, the right defend. Our vision may not pierce the veiled skies, 42 By faith alone His audience we gain Who through the ages hears the voices rise From dungeons, deserts, martyrdoms of fire. He knoweth all; let that suffice; for higher Than ours His thoughts to whom our prayers ascend. So, though our land be red with battle-stain Can we not patient bide unto the end, And bear the purging of the appointed pain ? AUGUST AFTERNOON Slow through the meadow winds the sluggish stream, Slow wave the wheat fields on the upland slope; Far off one crimsoning maple, all agleam. Paints on the dark green wood a deep, prophetic stain. Slow o'er the mountains, sleeping 'gainst the skies, Alternate waves of shine and shadow pass. While slumberous flocks of bright-hued butterflies Float like a sunset mist above the fragrant grass. Hushed are all sounds of labor and of life; Silent all winds, subdued the water's tone; One garrulous, late-fledged brood, in songful strife, Makes vocal yon dark pine of all the wood alone. O mountain brows, with mists of purple bound! O meadows, rich with ripeness, beaming bliss; O hills with bright, perpetual verdure crowned. What words can fit you such a day as this? 43 REWARD Rest after patient toil. We climb on dizzy cliffs to realms of calm; Only on bleeding wounds is poured the oil, The healing breath of balm. Fair isles wait weary feet. The dreariest tasks have often peacefulest close. After the midday march in dust and heat The white tent of repose. Crowns for the faithful few. No faltering feet shall scale the steeps of stars, But bold-browed warriors resolute and true. With stain of battle scars. Sure are the dews and rains. To harvests sown in tears can come no harms. Who plant with bloody footprints burning plains. Shall reap the rest of palms. Better to work than wait: To carry burdens though one faint and fall. Better e'en though reward should come but late Or never come at all. THE FIR-TREE Hark ! hark : What does the fir-tree say ? Standing still all night, all day — Never a moan from over his way: Green through all the winter's gray; What does the steadfast fir-tree say? Creak! creak! listen, "Be firm, be true. The winter's frost and the summer's dew 44 Are all in God's time, and all for you. Only live your life and your duty do, And be brave and strong and steadfast and true." FATE Sorrow came: I barred my door. "Go/' I cried, "and come no more. I have guests, who, gay and sweet, Cannot bear thy face to meet." But erelong from every room Vanished light and warmth and bloom. Hope and joy and young love went. And, late lingering, sweet content. Then my door I opened wide. "Sorrow, haste to come," I cried. "Welcome, now, no more to roam. Make, henceforth, my heart thy home." INTERCESSION O best beloved, so far, so far away. My spirit scare can reach you through the night, Speak in your prayers my name, that by the might Of your unfaltering faith, God choose to say "Peace," to my troubled soul too long astray From helpful tenderness. My heavenward sight Is dim with too much weeping; up the height Of cloudless calm I cannot climb — the way Is rough and I am weary. Do but pray That, as our faith sees through the April rain The bursting May-blooms, fairer for delay. My soul, in darkness groping, sick with pain. May, trusting see how night is as the day. And learn to reap from loss the larger gain. 46 EASTER LILIES Easter lilies, spotless white. Fashioned fair of snow and light; Out of chill and darkness born On this resurrection morn. What persuasion strong and sweet Led you thus this day to greet? What within your sealed tomb W^rought this miracle of bloom? Not as when the violets wake. Or the passionate roses break Into blossom — fortunate flowers — Nursed in dew and sun and showers. Not as when, so warmly wooed By the sky's most generous mood, Sister lilies late unfold In the fields their cloth of gold. Not as when, in hues that burn From rich Autumn's emptied urn. Blossoms robed in king's array Crowd to greet each royal day. When, in gold and purple clad. Roadside, field and wood grow glad. As if summer came once more , Bringing some forgotten store. Let me, O ye lilies fair. Learn your lesson: Take no care: All will come in God's good time — Summer's warmth and winter's rime. 46 If skies frown or smile above, Still may blossom faith and love, Hope and patience — flowers divine — Why should any choice be mine. How, or in what clime they grow — Fostering sunshine, chilling snow — Dearth or dew, if all forecast Bud and blade and bloom at last? What care I, in this glad light. For the wintry chill and blight. If I may, with offering sweet. Kiss my risen Savior's feet? LEND A HAND If thy way be rough and steep. Closer to thy comrade keep; Mutual help and mutual cheer Bring the longed-for summit near. When thou faintest, sing a song; Some one, sunk in silence long. Hearing thee will also sing — Prophecy of coming spring. When the heavy shadows fall. Listen: If some lost one call. Wandering darkly in the night. Help! and both shall find the light. When grief's swelling torrents rise. Some despairing comrade's eyes Mute appealing, well may make Thy faith potent for his sake. 47 For his sake? Not his alone; Christ, who came to make us one. Counts each deed done for another. Done to Him — our elder Brother. TO A BIRD sweet-throat up in the tree. What do you hear or see To make you so full of glee? While I linger and listen below. Yet, wondering, never can know What you mean by your strange delight ; For your world is all out of sight Of my questioning soul — can I guess What your jubilant tones express So akin to my longings that I, As I listen intently and try To interpret the soul of your song Can almost believe we belong Indeed to no different sphere; And that now, as I linger here, 1 have stolen the silver key To your liquid-sweet language — that we Henceforth in our kinship shall know Of the thoughts and the raptures that grow In our souls at the sight of the dawn. Or the great white clouds sailing on In the deep, solemn calm of the sky. And that you, as you soar so high. And, soaring, still singing so. Can surely but choose to know What I think as I wait below To watch your free flight — But, nay: I know if I listen all day. And wonder as much as I may. That I have no power to explore 48 The depth of your musical lore; That I never can learn any more What you struggle to say when you sing. Is it sorrow or joy that can bring Such a passion of speech? for I know That the uttermost rapture of bliss Is so near to despair that a miss Of a hair's breadth would make it all one Whether straight from beyond the sun Our souls caught the keynote of song Or were buried in anguish — not long, O dear Bird, the distance — the speech Of the soul does not differ for each. So how can I tell what you mean As, longing, I listen and lean To your music? O, strange, How all-separate still is the range Of our spirits. Dear Bird, can you see How we two could ever agree In our notion, we'll say, of this flower — This violet bloom of an hour — In the bright April grass? Could you tell How that green bud could gather and swell And break into bloom ; and, as well Vanish, after a day, out of sight? Oh, when you sing low at night Do you think of the souls of the flowers? Are they nearer to you than ours? Do you know where they go when they fade Out of memory? Know you what made The gold of my crocus grow dim In the dark of the night while I slept? Oh, I wonder if anything wept In the wide world over its death ! Do you know? When the delicate breath 49 Of the lily floats out on the wave And it sinks unmarked to its grave, Where is it? Do you ever go To a land where the soul of its snow Is abloom again? Who can tell? Bird, it were just as well To question the wind as you — The sweet western wind that blew Through the trees this morning — you sing- But for all the answers you bring To my questions, you might be still — For, sing as much as you will You are dumb to my soul — O Bird, 1 have wondered sometimes, when I heard From the tree-top your rapturous trill. If the spirits that walk with us still Can understand better our speech Than I yours; and if each to each — The human and heavenly — are strange; If they are so out of our range That they cannot tell what we say Or know whether we praise or pray. O Bird, it may be — for 'tis true — As little as I know of you — Human souls get no nearer than this To each other, no height of his bliss No depth of his sorrow can one Express for another, or feel. O dear Bird, our woe or our weal Is our own. Sing on your own song And I mine: it will not be long For you or for me till we cease. O Bird, let us be, then, at peace With ourselves and each other — since one 50 Is the hand that hath made us and done For us each what was best. We can see Not so much of God's purpose that we Can afford to stop song to complain. And, Bird, not a song is in vain. Somebody, surely, will hear and know; And, mayhap, your simple song will grow In the life of some loving human heart. Till its tender tones will form a part In its own language of joy or pain; So that some other soul, hearing again. Shall be soothed and softened to sweeter speech. Who can tell how far your song may reach? How long the sweet sound of your voice may be heard ? So, sing on, sing on, O blithesome Bird ! ONLY SEVEN Here's the place and full four-inches depth of snow — He below — And the headstone reads, unpitying — "aged seven.'' Oh, sweet Heaven, Is he there — the boy we loved but could not hold? Hopes untold Centred with him — yet he lies below Neath the snow. Only seven when roses blossomed — when they died Naught beside Had we but a little oblong, snowy mound Of cold ground — Here it is — the pine trees ever green and fair Fill the air 51 With a sympathetic murmur sad and low: While below Near the headstone's base a sweet-fern spray Sways all day To and fro, while chill November's breezes blow. And the snow Covers all his favorite hillsides where it grew In the dew. Sweet fern — hillside heather: well he loved it — so Let is grow On the little mound that marks his lengthened rest. Down the west Sinks the cold November sun in gloomy red — And he — dead. Only seven, you see, and all his duties done And heaven won. All life's cares and hurt and heartache, as a breath. Lost in death. All life's faith and friendship, high endeavor, fame, Noble name. Kindly deeds and high-browed honor buried here. Year by year Other lives will ripen into valorous deeds. And high meeds Will the world award them, but this heavy sleep Him will keep While suns rise and set, and busy lives go on. Fields will don Gay array and lilies laugh and bluebirds sing, Spring by spring; Earnest workers in the world's great field of strife. Full of life. Winning victories, wearing laurels green and fair. Spirits rare, 52 Such as he — who, only seven lies sleeping here. Year by year These will come and go and make life grand and high. God knows why — Alas, not we — ^that out of all this surging tide He stepped aside Into quiet so profound before his time. Not a rhyme Of the lyric, labor, ever shall he sing — Never bring Any hard-won guerdon — rare reward of life — Out of strife. None of these for him who goes to sleep at seven. O kind heaven. Here he lies — we loved him — and we leave him here. Some bright sphere Has made room, we know, to take our wanderer in. He shall win Other-where what God had meant for him — and so. While the snow Beats and blows about his little grave, we'll say, "Far away Safe and strong his life goes on at God's behest: And God knows best." ASPIRATION Soul set in an infinite sphere. Vital and free and strong, Untrammeled by fate or fear. Unhindered by hate or wrong. Soul whom God and the angels know. And guide in patience and love, 53 The familiar, dear earth below, The heaven of the stars above. The light of the spirit unseen — The essence of sun and of star — To be thine with no cloud between Thee and the bright spaces afar. Poor? complaining? O recreant soul. Heaven's riches awaiting thy prayer; What excuse for thy dearth and thy dole? God so good and the earth so fair. No courage to trust in the grace Of the power all-encircling and free? Blind to Christ's all-compassionate face. From whose favor thou canst not flee? What powers undeveloped are thine — Power of loving, of working, of trust. Of serving the Highest! Divine Is thy destiny. Look from the dust To the vision that beckons thy sight. To the joys of immortal scope. To the honor and gladness and light That wait on thy faith and thy hope. Look above! see how all the sky Is aglow with the rising day: To thy faith the sun mounts on high And all darkness flees away. 54 IN MEMORY Flowers for our heroes' graves. Sweet watch the violets keep; And green the grass that waves Above their dreamless sleep. Strew roses red and sweet; Strew lilies pure and white ; With songs their memory greet Who, in our nation's night, Gave youth and strength and life To save us from despair; Pressed bravely through the battle strife To make our morning fair. O blessed, blessed dawn Of peace upon our land ! O brave, strong heroes gone ! O ever sacred band; In what far, peaceful realms Roam their freed souls to-day, The while our gifts we bring Upon their graves to lay? How little worth seems all Our loving thought can do. As we their lives recall. So generous and so true. Speak tender words of praise. Their deeds of valor tell; Above their low mounds raise The flag they loved so well. 55 Plant trees to sing sweet psalms; With showers of bloom be blest The sod where safe from war's alarms Our buried heroes rest. IN THE RAIN O Robin^ singing through the rain^ How welcome is thy clear refrain. The tempest trying all in vain To cheat thee of thy song! What cheerfulness, by pain unspent. What gladness born of calm content. Unto they strain belong. Bright bird, whose glad-returning wing Is herald of the blessed spring, 'Tis meet thou shouldst not only sing Beneath unclouded skies: The usher of so much of cheer, 'Tis well that thou shouldst know no fear When clouds and storms arise. For, not alone when from the west The light airs lull the leaves to rest. But when the rude winds rock thy nest. Thy happy voice is heard: When brightness brims the summer blooms And when the meads are gray with glooms. Thou sing'st as well, rare bird. Let sinking hearts, taught by thy strain. Learn, too, to triumph over pain. And, like thee, singing in the rain A song of hope and cheer, 56 Bear through all dark and dreary days, Over all rough and toilsome ways The trust that knows no fear. A LITTLE WHILE A little while more of the sunshine, A few dashes more of the rain, A few draughts more of sweet pleasure, A little communing with pain. A springtime, perhaps, and a summer, A harvest to sow and to reap, A few more rainbows of promise, A few more tears to weep. A Bethel of rapturous vision, A desert of pain to cross; A little more bliss to beguile us, A little more sorrow and loss. A little more toilsome climbing, A little of restful delight. And we all shall be walking together In the country beyond our sight- And brother shall meet again brother On those far, undiscovered plains: Shall we hate, then, or love each other. The little while that remains .f* 57 PEACE AND GOOD WILL Ye Shepherds watching through the night, What means this tender_, growing light Falling on flock-strown iield and stream;, Unwonted in its heavenly gleam? What means that strangely-straying star. Wandering from unknown space afar. Stooping to shine so softly down On little Bethlehem's sleeping town? What mean those strains so marvelous sweet That flood the air and softly beat On ear of flock and herd, to bless With strange, deep sense of happiness? Wliat mean those voices far, yet near. Singing in tones of wondrous cheer — Heralds of earth's immortal morn — "To you, this day, lo, Christ is born. Fear not! to men peace and good will: His blessed reign the earth shall fill. Glory and praise to God on high ! To you salvation cometh nigh." So long ago ! and yet, to-day I seem to hear the angels say, "Fear not ! news of great joy we bring. In Bethlehem born is Christ your King." So long ago ! yet now and here May doubting souls be quit of fear. To ears that hearken, angels still Whisper the message, "Peace, good will." 58 ON CHRISTMAS DAY When^ as a child, I heard the Christmas story From lips beloved — silent, alas, so long — The wondrous vision of the heavenly glory. The sudden outburst of angelic song, I thought the gladsome scene each year repeated; And always, when the Christmas time came round. And joyful bells my eager listening greeted. Voices of angels mingled with the sound. And while the stars shone peaceful in their places. My thought j'^earned toward them in such rapt attent That ever, from the far, mysterious spaces. Some soft, sweet strain unto my ear was lent. And on one happy night — long, long ago — A swift, bright meteor swept across the sky, And as I, raptured, caught its sudden glow, I knew it led to Bethlehem the way — To Bethlehem ever dear. There, far beyond My bounded vision, I could plainly see The blessed Babe, the beasts, the mother fond. The wondering shepherd folk on bended knee. I saw the wise men journeying from afar. With gold and myrrh and gifts of spices rare — Entrancing sight! — led by a lovely star To lowly bed of Child and mother fair. Within the unwonted heavenly splendor glowed. And still without, on listening vale and hill, 59 The marvelous strains of gladdening music flowed; "Peace, peace on earth; to men good will, good will!" Now silent, fixed, shines out each separate star From distant depths of these chill Northern skies ; No rift of radiance from the spaces far: Empty and cold the Bethlehem manger lies. I cannot catch the angels' joyful cry; Where is the blissful faith of childhood's j'^ears? The snowy mountains rise to meet the sky. But no sweet song descends to bless my ears. O, for the larger faith that daily sees The Christ of Bethlehem in all life, all thought, The wide world's worshipping millions on their knees, And finds no home, no hearth where He is not. That hastes each day His advent new to greet; That feels His touch in every joy and pain; That knows the coming of His blessed feet Alike in lordly palace, lowly lane. That in each hour's event His love can find; That knows Him as a gracious Guard and Guide, Who tempers to the shorn the willful wind, And lifts the stricken to His sheltering side. O stars that sang together long ago ! O angels in high heaven that lent your cheer! Ye well may dwell in sacred silence now. Since every soul must know and feel Him near. 60 MY DREAM TO S. M. M. A waking into a soft spring morn, A sudden vision of gladness born Of a strange, sweet beauty of sound and sight, A rapture of song, a splendor of light; A glimpse of green on a distant slope. Rich with a glowing harvest's hope. Waving wheat-blades bright with dew. Tufts of grass in the furrows new. Sprinkled with violets white and blue. A wide, fair valley stretching away To a forest flush with the bloom of May, And, above, the white clouds that float and fall With the goldenest sunshine over it all. Was it a vision or was it a dream .^ Are things only that which they seem? Was it a glimpse of that which was not. Mocking a moment my wandering thought.^ Was it a phantom of slumber to show Wonders of beauty we never shall know? Ah, who to have guessed at my dream would have said How fair was the vision, how glad was the glow Which transfigured that night of the cold March snow ? Was it only a dream? Ah, who can know? Was it a picture to fade away Under the ruder touch of day? Or was it a hint of the morning land Where we have wandered hand in hand With the near and the dear who are sleeping low Under the heaped up mounds of snow? The morning land that we cannot forget In all the hurry and fever and fret 61 Of these riper years, whose love we keep Buried in spices and lying deep In our heart of hearts — the land that lies Nearest the gate of the purple skies, The whither we yearn. Or was it a sign From the fair land of souls ? Was the light divine The light that was shining on hillslope and shore ? Shall be never behold such radiance more Till we find it beyond the mountains dim. Beyond the horizon's rosy rim. Beyond the cloud-land far and high. Beyond the ever-during sky. Beyond, beyond the steadfast stars That through the midnight's dusky bars Drop blessed light? The dream is gone! But ah, who knows how soon the dawn May break for us, dawn of a day For which we look and sometimes pray? A dream may mean so much — who knows Whether from out the cold March snows It was not meant for you and me To make our souls more glad and free In blessed hope of what may be For us when, mayhap early, we Shall stand beside the crystal sea? BE KIND Be kind ! be kind ! each soul some burden hath. Some shadows lie on every human path. Make blest to age its precious aftermath. Be kind! be kind! who knows another's need? The lips may smile when oft the heart doth bleed. The sad thoughts smiles may hide, thou canst not read. 62 Be kind! be kind! the days are speeding fast: The time for kindly deeds will soon be past. Speak only words thou wilt should be thy last. Be kind! be kind! immortal are thy deeds. Sow not to reap at last but rankling weeds. To blest content the way of kindness leads. Be kind ! be kind — speak not the hasty word. Such depths of bitter sorrow thus are stirred. Let not thy voice in taunt or scorn be heard. Be kind ! be kind ! nor vain regrets invite To haunt the weary watches of the night When those thou lovest have passed beyond thy sight. AT SEA 'Tis blest to feel, when waves run high And leap to meet a scowling sky, The all-encircling Love more nigh Than wind or wave can be: The Hand that heeds the sparrow's fall — A soothing touch, a mighty wall Against a threatening sea. Glad 'tis to feel so safely borne From morn to night, from night to moriij Despite the cruel water's scorn, Straight toward an unseen shore: Danger to see, yet fear no harm: If peril press, feel no alarm. Because of an outstretched arm That reaches on before. 63 Blest 'tis to know God guards the home And keeps the loved ones as His own The while in far, strange lands we roam And, tenderer far than we. No gracious gift of love denies. Each burden bears, each need supplies- Unfailing kind, unerring wise — The truest good to see. Oh Power Supreme! O love divine! Be faith unwavering ever mine — On earth, in heaven, the truest sign Of childlike loyalty — And quitting each unquiet quest Only to trust and leave the rest Unto the will that knoweth best. Now and eternally. SLEEP Sleep, sleep ! the Lord doth keep. His heaven is overhead . No need for thee to wake or weep; His angels guard thy bed. Sleep, sleep. Peace peace ! thy cares release. Thy fears forego. Thy labor and misgiving cease, The loving Lord doth know. Peace, peace. Rest, rest! He knoweth best. Sweet is His will; Each hour's event His wise behest. Oh, restless heart be still. Rest, rest. 64 SEWING Stitch and stitch, my little maid, Dainty apron, comely gown — Neatly let each hem be laid. Firmly fold the edges down. Stitch and stitcli and dream and dream; Push the needle through and through; All along the lengthening seam. Stitch the happy fancies, too. Finely fashion every fold. Deftly plait the pocket in. Weave the loop the hook to hold — Leave no place for envious pin. Crisp and dainty — spotless white — Stiteli the ruffle in its place. While sweet thoughts and fancies bright Come and go upon your face. Stretch the canvas clean and fair; Wind your silks, the task begin. Trace your pretty pattern there. Stitch and stitch and stitch it in. Small and smaller grows the skein. On the canvas blooms the rose. In the ever busy brain Fast an airy castle grows. Braid the border straight and neat — In and out the needle goes — Leaf ?md bud and flower complete. Still the stream of fancy flows. 65 Stitch and stitch ! oh, life is sweet ! Life is sweet and hope is strong. Fancy free and fingers fleet, Days can never be too long. "JESUS WEPT" Oh, record sweet! He wept whose care Makes all our grief His own: What mourner ever more could dare To feel he weeps alone? He wept ! Oh, wondrous tenderness ! A Prince from glory come. Waiting, with gift of life to bless. Beside the sealed tomb. He wept that all henceforth might feel The sacredness of grief: Since He whose slightest touch could heal Grieved while He gave relief. Yes, Jesus wept who is the life. The resurrection power: His tears shall soothe rebellious strife In sorrow's darkest hour. MORNING The morning comes ! Be glad my soul, And greet the rising day ! The envious shadows backward roll And bear the night away. Behold the hills stand clothed with light: The woods, the waves rejoice. Q6 What gladness greets thy waking sight: Add^ O my soul, thy voice. Praise, praise to Him, thy rising sun, Who floods thy life with light: Whose beams through all the darkness run. And there is no more night. Be glad, be glad, my soul, no gloom. No sorrow 'neath His ray: For doubt, for fear, for care no room Where endless shines the day. Be here and now thy heaven begun. Thy heaven of light and love: And when thy heaven of trust is done — A heaven of bliss above. He rules the forces of the state. He maketh wars to cease. And, for the spoils of wrong and hate Gives healing fruits of peace. He guards the sacred doors of home: He strengthens love's sweet thrall: Protects the well-beloved who roam. Holds, guides, cheers, blesses all. Spirit of love, in gracious guise Of blessing boundless, free. Shall not our thanks unceasing rise In glad return to Thee ? 07 AT SUNSET O tender, tender evening sky! O clouds of pure, pale gold that lie Low on the horizon's rim, like bloom That drifts above a hero's tomb. With you what blessed quiet dwells; What heavenly peace your stillness tells. Beyond, what seas of silence spread, By never-failing sources fed. Softly shines out one steadfast star: From all this noisy world how far: So high, so strong, so clear, so bright. Fair herald of the silent night. Fade not, O tender sunset glow! Flow, seas of calm, forever flow ! O sleeping clouds of gold delay. Nor sink into the twilight gray. O softly beaming star, shine on. Till all the day's sad strife is gone. Shine strength into my soul, nor cease Till I have come to perfect peace. SOWING AND REAPING We plow the furrows broad and deep. We scatter seed upon the land, Then pray the loving Lord to keep, And trust the harvest to his hand. With sickles we return next day And find the fields still brown and bare: 68 We bind our brows with thorns and say, "We reap not after all our care." Before ye hear the reapers call. Impatient souls, ye know how long The sun must shine, the dews must fall, That ye may sing your harvest song. A thousand years are as a day! A single day a thousand years. When have we any right to say, "We shall not reap for all our tears?" THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE "Died, April 2, 186S, at Falmouth, Va., aged twenty-nine." Here he lies — his grave is green — All that loving hands can do, Is to tend the flowers between These two stones — alas, for you ! You who lay this wreath of white Every evening in the dew. Thinking, "Could he wake tonight. He would find it blossoming new." You who read this name and date Daily through slow-dropping tears. Never knowing well, till late. All the beauty of the years Ere this grave with grass was grown — How love's sunshine gilds them now — Lying just beyond this stone Pressing heavy on his brow. 69 "April second" — so the spade Broke the turf of violets through- Hallowed be the grave they made In the springtime's earliest dew. "Aged twenty-nine" — think not Here his life_, so brief, can cease. He who for his country fought Lives in all her future peace. Not beneath this violet bed Sleeps the spirit brave and true: But where valiant hosts are led To the deeds that heroes do. Waits not here his faithful soul. Where bold warriors battle well, Where the sounds of victory roll. Still he lives, who fought and fell. O ye brave ones, warring yet For the blessed Stripes and Stars, With the dew of valor wet. Sealed to honor by your scars. Let the hosts departed see. And in courts of angels say How, by deeds of daring, ye Prove your right to win today! 70 RISEN Shine your best^ bright morning star. Shed, Oh, shed your beams afar! Life and love victorious are. Christ is risen. Flee, O envious shades of night. Mount, glad sun, and lend your light; Heaven and earth in song unite, Christ is risen. Strong the cerements that bound. Strong the tomb that closed Him round. Sealed from earthly sight and sound. Christ is risen. Sudden through the startled night. Borne on vikings of dazzling light, Swept an angel strong and bright. Christ is risen. Vain the soldiers' trusted steel. Vain the stone, the sacred seal; One swift, heavenly touch they feel; Christ is risen. Vanished now death's dreadful gloom. Empty is the rock-hewn tomb. Unto joy all hearts make room; Christ is risen. Seek Him not among the dead. He is risen, as He said: Death hath He a captive led, Christ is risen. 71 Needs He not your spices sweet, Him among the living greet; Haste, oh, haste, to kiss his feet. Christ is risen. Angel of the tomb, to-day Charm our needless fears away, Bid our griefs their clamor stay: Christ is risen. Risen to live forevermore. Pitiless death's brief victory o'er; Peace, O stricken hearts and sore^ Christ is risen. WASHINGTON As, 'mid the giant peaks that round me rise. One stands supreme to draw the gazer's eyes. With naked brow serenely towering high To rest his shoulders 'gainst the bending sky: Friend of the clouds, unmoved in stress of storm, Whose beauty time nor tempest can deform. The earliest signal of the day begun. The last to hold the beams of setting sun. So he whose name this monarch bears doth stand First, as the savior of his native land. Dear to each loyal heart his honored name, Unshadowed by the lengthening years his fame. Strong in the strength of victory nobly won. Pure patriot, statesman wise — our Washington. 72 HEPATICA Each year I find thee here, O brave, fair flower; The cold thou dost not fear. Thou knowest thy hour; The bitter winds may blow. Gray clouds may shed their snow. But some sweet power Persuades thee; and, clear-eyed. Thou lookest forth Upon the bleak hillside. Wind of the north May greet thy coming, yet Thou dost thy fair face set Sunward; and, lo. The chill frost thee doth spare. The envious snow Doth vex thee not, nor harm. What is the magic charm Thou holdst, O flower. That makes thy frailty strong Against the power That fain would do thee wrong? Dear plant, the warm, strong pulse Of summer beats Within thy heart. What else Could thy small strength sustain And make thee bold. In wind, in frost, in rain, Thy bloom to hold Straight toward the kindly sun Till blooming's done? n Win, O my soul, the dower Of dauntless trust. In strength divine the power To find in dust Of ruined hopes, in cold. In sorrow's blight. The forces for thy growth: The powers that thee enfold Command the light, Thy strength sustain. No wind, no cold, no rain Can do thee wrong. Be glad, be strong. And sing thy happy song Of triumph over pain; And look for growth, not gain. For strength, not ease. Till earthly life shall cease. And heaven, on earth begun, Be fully won. GRATEFULNESS Give thanks, give thanks unto the Lord, Whose goodness is so great; Seasons and suns fulfill His word. And on His pleasure wait. The herds upon a thousand hills All seek their food from Him, He sends the freshening floods and fills The rivers to their brim. His gift the late and early rains: He tempers heat and cold. Until at last the heavy wains Are heaped with harvest gold. 74 Ever outstretched His gracious hand, In bounty full and free. Filling with fruitfulness the land, With teeming life the sea. "MAKE HAY WHILE THE SUN SHINES" "While the sun shines make the hay," Said the farmer to the swains. As with cheerful step they hastened Singing down the dewy lanes To the meadows where the mowers. Whetting well the glittering blade. All June's wealth of waving grasses Prostrate to the sunshine laid. Through the burning hours of noonday Turned and tossed it o'er the plain. Where with all its flowers it withered Till the day began to wane: When the west wind, wandering over. Caught and bore its breath away To the happy, brown-cheeked maidens Coming, too, to make the hay. Wicker baskets heavy-laden With the laborer's homely fare. Brimming pitchers, freshly dripping, To the welcoming swains they bear. Jest and song and merry boasting Animate the rude repast. Bring forgetfulness of labor With repose, until, at last, 75 Startling on their happy laughter, Slowly down the heated lanes Come the loudly-shouting drivers, Bringing meadowward the wains. When, with freshened hearts of courage. Lads and maidens — each and all — Gather for the wains the windrows Ere the hastening; shadows fall. '& "While the sun shines make the hay," Thought young John — the farmer's son- Looking shy at Jennie Carroll's Violet eyes suffused with fun. "Jennie," said he, "twilight shadows Soon will cover all the plain; Summer will not last forever: After sunshine comes the rain. "Life is flecked with falling shadows. Youthful gladness glides away: But true love in true hearts, Jennie, Makes the summer last for aye. Jennie, shall we walk together Through the dark and through the dew? Will you share with me the sunshine. And with me the shadows too?" Just precisely Jennie's answer What were any need to say? Since two happy hearts, believe me. Followed home one load of hay. 76 GRACE O rare, sweet soul, so early passed beyond, What sights are to thy raptured vision given? What fruits supernal of thy hopes so fond Are thine in that far country we call Heaven? How fares it with thee now? 'Tis but a day Since in these earthly ways thou too didst tread. Now, sudden, thou hast gone so far away We cannot reach thee. Whither art thou fled? So late we looked into thine artless eyes And read thy thoughts as in an open book. Who could have dreamed that thou so soon wouldst rise And, joyful, on celestial landscapes look? So sheltered thou ! no wilful wind might blow Rudely upon thee — on thy fair young brow No earthly shadow fell — could we but know What fills thy thought, what fires thy ardor now ! Hast thou forgotten all thou here didst love? The flowers of spring, the thrush's mellow song? Is there no tender, yearning thought above For those whose lives were bound with thine so long ? What kindred souls have found thee, gentle one? On whom dost thou thy wealth of love bestow? Canst thou forget the life so lately done. The friends who held thee in their hearts below? Or art thou so enriched with thy new life. And is thy larger freedom, then, so dear, 77 Thou hast, escaping all our bootless strife. Risen far above earth's joy and hope and fear? O strange, deep mystery; sudden from our sight Thou passest like a shadow — all in vain Our questionings and our grief: for us the night, For thee the day Avhere suns unsetting shine. EMBLEMS Cloudy turrets in the west. Gold and crimson wreathed with snow; Holding all the hues of heaven, Lighting all the lands below. What can mean their gorgeousness ? Whence do such strange splendors flow? Do they picture palaces Garlanded with glory so? Palaces beyond our sight, On the distant bounds of space. Standing stately, still and fair. Decked with undecaying grace? Mansions waiting for our souls In our Father's house on high? Do these pillars point the way O'er the portals of the sky? When the evening star looks down Large and fair from out the West, Glows it not with some faint ray Of the rapture of our rest? Of our rest beyond the stars When our work at last is done. When we drop the stain of scars For the crown so hardly won? 78 What do marvelous mosses mean? Crimson, emerald, garnet, gold? Oh, to know the message sweet Which their magic leaves unfold 'Neath the tread of careless feet! Do they image something there In that other, far-off land. Dainty, delicate and fair. Which we cannot understand? What do meadow lilies gay. Toiling not, nor spinning, say? Glowing in their bright array. Careless of the coming day; Have they meanings strange and rare Which we cannot quite translate, Floating on the subtle air. Vanishing and delicate? Whence is all the music born Of the bird-songs soft and low Breaking on the hush of morn? Who can half the mystery know Of the gladnesses that grow When the daisy's disk so dainty Flecks the valley lands with snow? Whence can come the royal richness Of the purple pansy's bloom, Or the orchid's lonely splendor Lighting up the forest's gloom? Are these all but faint reflections From the land of fadeless light? Varying types and shadows only Of the substance out of sight? 79 SOMETIME If, sometime, when for me the Master calls, And I, in wonder glad, shall answer "Yea;" When on my life the solemn silence falls That ushers in the long, unshadowed day; If I may only feel my work well done. My heart's best treasure all laid up on high, And know the setting of my life's full sun But hastes its rising in a brighter sky. All shall be well; but till that moment come. That I may then not weep, but smile adieu. Let me not meanwhile in His praise be dumb. Who doth each day my life in love renew. ] Let me not fail in His broad vintage land To do some loving service, that at last I may not come ashamed, with empty hand. And all the sunny, summer's harvest past, But, full of joy, at His glad coming lay My garnered sheaves low at His shining feet. And, in a wondering rapture hear Him say, "Well done!" Ah, lingering years, fly fleet! But, nay — not till, in storm and frost and heat, I still have toiled and well my burden borne. How should I hope to walk the golden street Until my feet, with weary marches worn. Have felt the thorns, and in His service sweet Have run on willing errands here and there? O Christ, before Thou comest, make me meet Through Thy completeness in Thy grace to share. 80 For all my labor still must be in vain Till Thou Thyself my homely service bless; And but torn tatters all my fruitless gain Till wrapped in Thy rich robe of righteousness. NEW New greenness in the meadow, New warmth upon the air. New violets by the brookside. New bird-songs everywhere. New tassels on the alders, New bloom the willows wear, New tints in field and forest That promise all things fair. New hopes, new joys, new purpose From winter's grave that spring; Farewell to useless grieving. And with the bluebirds sing. For cold and storm and silence Give way to spring's glad rhyme; So, ever joy and sorrow In God's appointed time. THANKS Thanks to Thee, O Lord of grace. For the shining of Thy face. For Thy bounty large and free Endless thanks and praises be. Thine the world and all therein: All we hold or hope to win. 81 All we love and call our own Is Thy gift and thine alone. Snow and frost and fruitful rain. Sunshine on the growing grain. All the harvest's endless flow To Thy bounteous hand we owe. For Thy loving Providence, Care unfailing, sure defense. Healing for each ill and grief. For each need a swift relief. Will we, grateful evermore. Thee in loyal love adore. Ceaseless bounty crowns our days, Ceaseless be our thankful praise. THINE OWN Is cheer of thine own making? Then make more. Is joy of thine own taking? Take a store. Cheat not thy life of gladness. Spare thy tears. Why cherish thoughts of sadness? Why court fears? So free the sunshine falleth: Take thy share. "Keep heart! keep heart!" hope calleth. Cease thy care. Have cheer of thine own making Day by day, Bliss of thine own free taking, Thine alway. 82 Bliss of unselfish living, Cheaply won; The joy of generous giving, Like the sun. Live in the lives of others. Thine how blest; Bear burdens for thy brothers, So, find rest. Wouldst cure thine own heart-breaking? Heal another. From thine own grief awaking. Cheer thy brother. Ensure a blest to-morrow Thus, to-day. So shall thy selfish sorrow Flee away. So shall fair winds caress thee As they blow; The bending heaven shall bless thee With their glow. The watching stars shall speak thee Strength of heart; And all thy good shall seek thee Where thou art. One thy desire and duty? One with all? Then can but joy and beauty Thee befall. 83 IN LENT In the deep stillness of my grateful heart Let me, O suffering Savior, share my part In sympathetic sorrow. At Thy feet Let me my prayers of penitence repeat. And, mourning for my sins that made Thee bleed, Let me but do for Thee some loving deed Of lowly service: me Thy bearer make Of some small cup of water for Thy sake. For Thy dear sake who didst so much for me. Glad would I give my heart, my life, to Thee. Show me my way, and let me near Thy side In constant love, in filial trust abide. No weary way too toilsome for my feet If I may have companionship so sweet. No homeliest task too hard, if only so I may my love in Thy blest service show. REST What does it matter, one grief more or less. Since we so soon shall sleep .^ The bells will toll, The friends whose gentle wont it was to bless Will drop regretful tears and cease their dole, And all will be so still. The fret and jar Gone from our souls forever: all the stress And strife of living over; very far From that repose the shadow of its pain. No feverish memory of its petty gain Shall haunt us more — no need of sweet console. No call for pity, none for healing balm. O troubled souls, that never can be calm. Nor cease importunate crying to be blest. Be comforted, since we so soon shall rest. 84 A DEAD ROSE Here is a withered rose, pressed close between The leaves of Browning's lyrics; crimson stain — The blood of rose or lyric ? on the page — One brittle, faded leaf upon the stem. Dead, buried here; O long- forgotten flower. Why shouldst thou on this sullen winter day Come to thy resurrection? O pale leaves. How red you grow, how sweet: how sing the birds. How all the splendid passion of that June When first you bloomed comes surging back, the while The wind and snow beat on the frozen pane — Warmth, wealth of blossoms, faces, hearts beloved! Back to thy death, dear rose ! Why shouldst thou live. Since cold the hand that plucked thee, long ago.'' QUESTIONINGS Sometimes I sit in the quiet gray Of the slow departing April day And think what record it bears away — What record of my growth — or lack To seize the hours that come not back. WTiat gain from this day's beauty gone? What from its purple hour of dawn? What from its sunshine soft and still, Sleeping on valley, lake and hill ? Do I know better what can mean These countless brave buds bursting green? Mean for my soul that daily sees Repeated miracles like these? That wakes each morning out of sleep To find how constant all things keep 85 Their settled round — how morn and night But minister some fresh delight? To see how some unhindered Will Commands each power of nature still; Subjects all to some subtle law So disconnecting force from flaw That ever in a fair design Daily unfolds the plan divine. So that the sunshine does not fail To brighten earth's remotest vale. No night comes on without its stars. No blot the summer morning mars. No ocean tides forget to flow. No stormy cloud to strew its snow. Has this day brought me nothing whence My soul has gained a subtler sense To pierce the vail and judge between The earthly and the great unseen.^ Have not these bird-songs sweet and low, The sunset's gold, the mellow glow Of cheerful noontide on the hill Suggested something fairer still? Has not the violet blooming sweet Beneath the tread of careless feet Said something plain as any word From sage or prophet ever heard? Has not the frail and fading flower. That blooms and withers in an hour. No life beyond its passing breath, No message in its painless death? Ah, yes, if this — if this were all. If bird-songs perish where they fall. If sunsets fade, and, fading, die, 'Twere vain to ask or wonder why Of all our lives each fleeting day 86 Hath such a changeful, fair array; But if each symbol hath some germ — Each glowing star, each creeping worm- Some germ of what beyond our ken Hath meaning and delight for men, Then well may all days teach us this : That God's best gifts we often miss By disregard of humble things. Since every bird that, soaring, sings. Each weed beside the wayside path Some hidden, heavenly meaning hath; Some message every stone and fern If reverently we stoop to learn. Meanings which we shall better know When, at the summons sweet we go Beyond the earthly sunsets' glow. And see our life outside its pain. Beyond its losses and its gain. And read its puzzling problems plain. THY WORK Do but thy work and all good powers Agree thy path to bless. Fill but with work and love the hours. Thou needst not ask success. Honor or fame thou needst not seek: Heaven careth for its own; Thy praise attendant angels speak. Heed thou thy task alone. Speak thou thy word, do thou thy deed. And leave to Heaven the rest. God wills thee martyrdom or meed: With either thou art blest. 87 Single thy purpose and thine eye? Single thy hand and heart? Then, rise or fall, then, live or die, God knows; and takes thy part. ONE MAY The orchards were all in blossom. The meads with flowers were gay. The air was full of fragrance. For the time was merry ISIay, There was sunshine on field and forest, Sunshine on mountain and sea ; Sunshine and hope for the saddest. So, sunshine and hope for me. Down the long, green lane by the river. Where the cowslips were bright as gold. Sheltered away from the tumult Of the North-wind stern and bold. There lived in a cottage lowly A maiden with eyes as blue As the clear, deep sky of midsummer, When the storm has swept it new. Brow white as the fragrant lilies That spread the dark river with snow; Lips red as the rose at its reddest In the tropical noontide glow. Voice clear as the silver singing Of the hidden mountain streams ; Hair gold with the gold of the sunshine That shines alone in our dreams. 88 A life that was still and peaceful. And a heart content and brave; Hands willing and deft and dainty, And a kindness that made me her slave. What could I say to please her? What could I do to bless? How should I ever win her? Ah, you will never guess. One day I was idly rowing While the morning sky was red, And the breath of blossoming orchards On the dewy air was spread; When, floating past the cottage Where Lucy stood in the door. With my idle oar I beckoned. And steered for the low, green shore. Quickly the maid came tripping Through the rosy morning light, Fair as a star in the setting Of the golden crown of night. "Come !" and she answered my calling With a smile which young day might adorn. When the darkness and damp of midnight Are melting into the morn. "But, wait!" as she lingered, smiling. On the last green inch of shore, "When the young eagle leaves the aerie She never flies back any more. 89 "Long, long is the winding river. And it floweth far on to the sea; You must trust to my oars forever If you enter the boat with me." A moment the maiden waited. Then reached with a smile her hand. And the boat went slowly drifting Away from the pleasant land. Away in the early morning, *Mid the breath and bloom of May; Bright was the world with promise. And with song the air was gay. And still the old boat is drifting, On, on toward the distant sea; 'Tis no longer May or morning, But Lucy is still with me. WAIT Wait: God's plans unravel slow; Through what endless cycles ran This old world of fire and snow Ere its crust was fit for man. Fire and darkness, flood and death. Earthquake rending, arctic swaj'^. Centuries' growth in tropic breath. Centuries more of slow decay. Granite ages numberless. While the old earth's ribs grew strong — Ages more to weave her dress. Deck her beauty, tune her song. 90 Wait! The nations rise and fall; Empires vanish, thrones grow old; God, who waits, and orders all. Sees his great designs unfold. Thirty centuries locked in death Lay the grain in Egypt's hand; Touched at last by Summer's breath, Lo, it decks with green the land. Wait! The words in Freedom's name, Spoken in her darkest day. Caught from martyrs' lips of flame. Live again in Rome to-day. Long old Israel blindly saw Christ in types and shadows move ; Long in thunders of the law Learned God's perfect plan of love. See how now the hour delays Of the gospel's triumph song. For the spreading of its rays Wait the nations, oh, how long! Wait ! How long the germs lie low In the cold and darkness, till, Stronger than the rime and snow They the land with beauty fill. Robed in purple, green and gold. Stainless white, unblemished blue. Fairer than the kings of old In their raiment ever knew. Wait ! The summer of thy hope Shall not fail to come at last. 91 All its blessedness will ope Fairer for thy wintry past. Wait! What matter when or where? Effort is its own reward. Thine alone to do and dare: Leave thy wages to thy Lord. Wait ! He loves a patient soul. Work ! A willing service give. While the ceaseless ages roll Thou shalt work, and, working, live. Time enough thy goal to reach, And each purpose to complete; Wait and learn what time can teach. What thy waiting soul shall meet Further on thou soon wilt know. Cease thy pining discontent. Onward life's full currents flow. And when all its tides are spent Life begins ! Ah, 'tis not long. Though, perchance, the ages slip Ere we sing our triumph song, Or our cup of gladness sip. Sometime, somewhere, we are sure All the buds of hope will bloom. Wait, impatient soul ! Endure Yet, awhile, the wintry gloom. Sometime summer; somewhere sheaves; Somewhere purple, crimson, gold. Pomp of blossom, wealth of leaves; Nothing in God's world grows old. 92 Each plan ripens; each blade thrives. God hath each soul in His care. In His wide, good world it lives, Loves and strives — what matter where? Where or when? Oh, wait and see. All the glory who can know Waiting now for you and me Just beyond these peaks of snow? SHADOWS Peace fills her cup this fair October day. The crickets in the fields chirp full of cheer. Leaves rustle lightly free from any fear Of vexing winds which sleep or idly play. Like lost, untimely snowflakes softly stray The winged thistle seeds through spaces clear Of golden sunshine. Gently on the ear Fall tender bird-notes. All the woods are gay In festive robes and, dying, smile and rest; Though over them the idle clouds move slow In brooding sympathy, and, sore oppressed, Cast darkening shadows of their grief below. So peaceful souls in dying still are blest. Though selfish mourners vex them with their woe. GIVING Give as the clouds give who never send To ask if the grass have need of rain; But, laden with treasures of blessing, bend And pour their bounty o'er hill and plain. Give as the earth gives — blade and flower — And, after, the full-grown corn in the ear, 93 Gracious, beneficent, full of power By the force of her giving year by year. Give as the sun gives — warmth and light — Never waiting to know earth's need, But shining right on eternally bright. Royal, unstinting — a giver indeed. Give as the bird gives — song after song — All unheedful of hearkening ear. How does the hermit thrush know how long The raptured listener waits to hear? Give as the river gives to the sea. Gladdening with greenness each grateful shore. So tranquil, so princely, so strong and so free. That it fills as it flows forevermore. SAFE Thou whose eye is over all. Thou whose ear hears every call. Morn and noon and eventide Thou our guard art and our guide. Strong Thy love is as Thy might, Thou whose dwelling place is light; Who in sorrow givest cheer. Who deliverest them that fear. Thine are all our works and days: Thine the appointing of our ways. Shielded by Thy gracious arm. None can hinder, none can harm. If the sun our sky depart. Thou our sun and solace art. 94 Heat nor tempest make afraid: Thou our shelter art and shade. Nearer than our dearest thought. Thou, our Keeper, slumbering not: Safe are we on sea or shore, Safe with Thee forevermore. THE EMPTY NEST The empty nest, oh, sad to see, Swings silent from the leafless tree. The birds have flown long, long ago. Nor heed their nest heaped high with snow. Far, far away, on happy wing. Still, as of old, they soar and sing. We sit and smile to think them blest. Nor mourn to see the empty nest. O hearts that break with longing fond For loving souls that passed beyond; Who see alone the closed tomb. The vacant chair, the empty room. If but some angel, on swift wing. News from their distant home could bring, Its peace, its joy, its blissful rest — We might forget the empty nest. 95 IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN "It might have been. I hardly dare to think What might have been — forgive^ that I should dare To touch our past, my friend, and brave the brink Of new grief through your scorn: I would not tear Aside the bar you put between us two Who might have known what truth was: bear with me — The world clashed in between us, and — 'tis true — You, too, were proud, and I — well, let it be." So read your letter this day morn, while harsh The mocking rain beat on the bare, dull pane. The blackbirds screaming in the misty marsh That met my low horizon. Did I strain. Think you, eyes dim with tears to mark the flow Of flaming sunshine in the meadow grass. Or lean to hear the music thrilling so That rare June morning, when — but let it pass. I hold your letter, looking through the rain And thinking, not regretful, how God's hand Guides all our steps, as well by paths of pain As over thymy ways, unto the land Of our soul's peace. Would it be well for me To raise remonstrant voice and dare to choose? To claim that I henceforth should wander free.^ Freedom to gain is freedom, too, to lose. "It might have been," we say, strewing fresh flow- ers On grassy graves that cover half our world. And soil with shadows all our gladdest hours. 96 Or when we watch receding waves that hurled Our splintered bark on unrelenting sands: While distant we discern still tents of snow That strew the quiet shores of those fair lands We cannot reach. Can it be better so? "It might have been/' we say, the while we think Of safe escape from sharp griefs we have borne, Or sadly ponder how we touched the brink Of some surpassing joy — but do we mourn Because ungathered June's rich roses fell? They might have plaited wreaths, 'tis true, but, ah, Would not the wreaths have withered, too, as well? So, thanking God, I said it, do not blame. "Our two paths lie apart" — 'tis better so. I would not move my hand to turn the game. Not seeing all the end. I surely know God saw it all. Would He have kept, think you. Our two paths separate made to be but one? And is love baffled so? love strong and true, Such love as God gives when His will is done In binding of two souls forevermore? Two souls that wait His giving and that dare To bide true to their faith — and will not lower Their steady gaze from their ideals fair To worship meaner clay? He gives the right x'\nd He the will to choose; and, for the rest. Our paths lie plainly separate to our sight: We, walking in them, only know 'tis best. 97 ASCENSION "Parted from sight/' within yon rising cloud. Angelic choirs sound all your harps aloud; So long an exile from His father's throne. The Prince of Glory cometh to his own. But ye who heavenward gaze with longing eyes. Oppressed by anxious fears and strange surprise. Remember how He told you, "I ascend. But lo, I still am with you to the end." Blest words ! While now in silent grief ye stand. Below the reach of His compassionate hand, Lost to the speech of loving lip and eye — Uplifting cloud, mount not so swift on high ! But ah ! remember, ye with sorrow dumb, "When I shall go the Comforter will come." The Comforter ! Oh, magical, sweet word, The sweetest sorrowing mortals ever heard. In pain, in toil, in every pressing care. In vigils lonely, each impassioned prayer. Bereavement bitter or foreboding fear, Forevermore the Comforter is near. Then rest, fond gazers, rest your wearied sight; Swift speeds the cloud along its track of light. Far upAvard in the blue it melts away, Lost in the splendor of the deepening day. 98 APRIL Dear April, here once more. With gifts so manifold; The violet's heavenly blue, The cowslip's lavish gold. The song of thrush and wren. The twilights warm and long; In every field and fen The bluebird's breezy song. Consoler kind art thou. For griefs of winter born; Thou here, what care we now For all his cruel scorn? Thy face how fair to see! Thy gentle smiles how dear ! And happier days to be Thou, April, bringest near. A LEAF OF LAUREL Here is a laurel leaf, fmely grained, Daintily tinted, delicate-veined. Rounded and ripened by sunshine and dew — "Just twenty miles out of London it grew." So says the letter that came to-day. The letter that held it and bore it away Out of old England, and over the sea — This one little leaf with its mission to me. And I hold it here in my hand and think How it opened and ripened and tossed on the brink 99 Of some bending bough, all the summer long; How on moonlighted eves it thrilled to the song Of the nightingale; how, at earliest day, The lark rose sudden and soared away. Straight up to the sky with dew on his wings, Fresh with the breath of all flowery things. I ■ think how the primroses pale and fair Dotted the green of the grass over there; How from over the purple moors the breeze Came singing its sweet-scented way to the seas. I think of the leaf that nearest it grew. Fed by the same bright drops of dew. Talking with this in the yellow light Of the long, still noon of the midsummer night, I wonder where is that comrade to-day: This here in my hand — that, far away — Withered and trampled and torn it may be: Over the continent, over the sea. And I wonder why this should have come to me here — Why, one dismalest day in the sere of the year. This liint of the summer should come to my soul. Helping to hallow and make it whole. What had this leaf to do with my life? Why should it come, dropping into the strife Of nw restless thought, with its touch of peace? Why should it give me such quick release From its discontent? Was it sent as a sign Of a Somewhat that cared for me, out of the line Of dull causes and sequences — Somewhat divine? How does it happen that sometimes when vexed With deceit or with falseness, or sorely perplexed With some painfulest problem, straight on to its mark 100 Cleaves some arrow-like thought through the midst of our dark, And lo, all is plain — and in rapture of rest We see that the banefulest still was the best. Why, sometimes, in a weird and windy night Of your soul's life — when to your sicklied sight, All things under the sun most sombre seem — Drops out of the clear heaven a Sabbath dream Of white-blooming forests and fountains fair. With cool breath of lavender lading the air? You waken and say, "Go, sweet dream, if you will. But the bloom and the breath of you linger still." How is it that sometimes a flash falls swift As the winged lightning out of the rift Of a storm-cloud — showing clear as day Some precipice yawning across our way? How, that, as often in days of snow Clear tokens the coming of Springtime show — The violet breath of a blessing near Startles our spirit with sudden cheer? Who tempers the tones of the birds that sing Out of a lilac at morn, to bring Voices that only your spirit can hear More sweet than divinest of songs to your ear? What cares for us when we are careless ? What wakes When our souls are asleep or slothful? What breaks The bands that oppress us which we cannot see? Wliat lifts us and bears us when we cannot flee? What rules and what counsels, what comes and what goes In the strange realm of spirits? Who knows? Who knows? 101 IN MAY When winds were bleak and skies were gray, And fields were heaped with snow. How could we think the breath of May- Would change the sad world so? But now the swallows on the wing Bring summer gladness near; In every lane the thrushes sing And bluebirds pipe their cheer. Each year the miracle we see Of bud and leaf and bloom ; The life renewed of turf and tree From winter's darkened tomb. Take courage, then, O doubting soul. No day so dark and drear But holds amid its dearth and dole Promise of gladness near. The seed thou sowest may slumber long — How long thou canst not know — But some sweet May time, glad with song, The precious germs will grow. And, nursed by summer's warmtli and cheer. And fed by dew and rain. They shall, some autumn, far or near. Yield store of ripened grain. 102 NEAR My hand in thine, dear Lord, So let it rest. Where'er thou leadest me. It must be best. Day after day to know No way but thine. To love Thy sweet will so It shall be mine. Henceforward all my way Thou shalt prepare; Mine but on Thee to lay My every care. Shadows can bring me not One boding fear; My all-sufficient thought — Thou, Lord, art near. LIFE "Life is so glad," you said last night, while I, Who smiled assent because I could not bear To jar upon your joy, did hardly dare, In face thereafter of the solemn sky That brought God's silent majesty so nigh. To speak the great word trembling in my prayer. Life, life ! We wear it lightly while the air Is still from storm — praising its brilliant dye. But let the heavens of thunder stoop in night Upon our joy, and to our being's core The naked bolt of some sharp grief descend. Then how its cheapened colors pall our sight. God help us then; since we can do no more Than keep it clean from dust unto the end. 103 A BIRDSNEST I know a birdsnest on a bare brown bough, Where all day long two songsters come and go; One, hastening homeward, flashes past me now. The other warbles welcome sweet and low. No beauty bourgeons o'er this home of love. No rippling waves of greenness round it flow. No murmurs of sweet music from above. No breath of bahny blossom from below. Yet, year by year, the birds, the summer long, Linger to build and bless their humble home, Making the waste place glad with love and song. Content by only narrow flights to roam. No thought of all the beauty otherwhere; No fear of waste in all this cheer; no hours Of secret longing after fields more fair. Where radiant birds sing, reveling mid the flow- ers. No hidden grief, no vain regret, no fear Of future ill their simple joys prevent; But merry matin, noonday carol clear. On airs unperfumed still are daily spent. Oh, doubting souls, still asking, "Is this best.''" And, "Is there nothing more beyond?" be still. Make glad your narrow sphere, and leave the rest To Him who guides and holds us where He will. No royal roses bloom on desert sands. Well, be content, and sing; beyond your sight. Life's little summer o'er, a radiant land Passing all tropic splendors waits your flight. 104 SNOW-DRIFTS O deep white drifts, that lie unmoved Through weary months of wintry chill, In many a graceful contour grooved, Like sculptured marble cold and still. Bright is the winter sunshine, yet They yield not to its chill caress. With countless sparkling crystals set, They keep no single gem the less. No less for all the blustering winds That boast and battle o'er the plains. The envious frost but faster binds And adds new treasure to their gains. But when the spring's soft sunshine falls. Gentle and tender, soft and warm; When lovingly the south-wind calls. And all the hill-tops, rent with storm, Give tribute glad of running brooks And spreading waves of smiling green; When willows greet with grateful looks The warmth that weaves their silken sheen. Then melt the drifts in genial air; Then all their frozen forces flow In streams beneficent that bear Verdure and life to lands below. O stubborn hearts that hardened lie Silent, unmoved, in guilt and sin. In chill despair and make no cry — No smile without, no warmth within! 105 But when sweet Love shall pass that way — True love, with gentle touch, draw near, And spite of dark and chill shall stay To drop a sympathetic tear. How melts the hardened heart! how thrills The frozen depth of pain and sin ! What warmth of life and vigor fills The long-unfruitful waste within ! What hidden springs of hope may wake. What gladdening streams of love may flow In blessing for another's sake. As thine for his — ah, who may know? THE COMING YEAR I know not what the coming year May bring to me of joy or pain. But this I know: He will be near Whose loving maketh all things plain. I know not what strange shades may fall Upon my pathway; but I know He yet will hear and heed my call And lead me whither I should go. It may be over mountains wild. It may be through the valleys sweet; But He will never leave His child To wander with unguarded feet. I know that still His sun will shine. His rains will fall. His grasses grow. His stars will shed their light divine. His rivers to the ocean flow. 106 I know how fair the days will glide When summer decks the smiling land; Mountains in solemn peace abide^ And all the hills in halo stand. And while He heeds the rains and snows. And sets the stars their watch to keep, Cares for the humblest weed that grows, And wakes it from its winter sleep; While every wind blows by His grace, And rainbows span the steadfast blue. Each flower unfailing finds its place. And knows its time and season too, I will not doubt His constant care. Nor fear His promised love will cease. Who, whether days be dark or fair. Can keep my soul in perfect peace. NO GRAVE Translated fro7n Uhland Make me no grave when I shall die; Let me not under the blossoms lie. But when my soul from the earth shall pass. Bury me deep in the summer grass. In the grass and the flowers, when my life is spent, I shall lie asleep and rest content. While from far the lute shall lend its note, And over my head the white clouds float. 107 ONE EASTER 'Tis Easter day. Soft sound the bells; Sweet on the air their music swells. The smiling spring's prophetic sense Holds all the summer in suspense. The buds are bursting into leaf, They take not any note of grief; They grow, are glad, and know not how In years gone by each self-same bough, In just such green, as fresh, as glad. To greet the Easter dawn was clad. These snow drops and these lilies fair Of all the past have not a care — No single thought but just to be. And make the morning glad. Ah me. Why must I think and think alone Of one glad Easter day long gone.^ Of lilies withered long ago — How sweet their miracle of snow! — Of hearts that gave life's grieving o'er. Of songs from lips that sing no more. Of faces fair whose vanished light Made that blest Easter morn so bright ! Yet ring, sweet bells, ring soft and low. Just as you rang long, long ago. Your joyful message gave them cheer; Mayhap from some strange shore they hear, And in their home — or far, or near — Think still of us and hold us dear. Blame not our tears. Thou who didst weep In grief for one who "fell on sleep." Ring, ring, sweet Easter bells, ring on ! While I live o'er an Easter gone. 108 ONE SUMMER Good night, for the shadows lengthen Over the meadow grass; And the gates of the sunset are open For the dying day to pass. Good night, the mountains are fading. The voices of singing cease, And the twilight, gracious and tender, Is filling the valleys with peace. Good night, for the summer is ended; O Summer, of sunshine and balm ! With its dew of rare refreshment. Its curtains of silence and calm. O friends, whose faces of smiling Have rainbowed its passage with light. Whose hearts, more warm than its pulses. Have been rest and a refuge, good night. Good night, for the summer is ended; O valley of quiet delight, O mountains, forever unweary. Forever unwandering, good night. Good night! Be it bravely spoken. Though song on the lip should cease; For the joy of the vanished summer Shall fill all the winter with peace. 109 FEBRUARY There is no bird in the forest^ There is no flower on the plain. No song in the cold, gray morning, No green of the growing grain. But home hath its song and its sunshine. The heart hath its warmth and its cheer ; To the soul unselfish and hopeful Comes no winter of the year. WHAT MATTER? Despise not thou the flowerless path Thou treadest — who can tell How soon 'twill open on the plains Of heavenly asphodel .^^ What matter, then, though it shall lead Across the desert sands, Through thorny thickets, up the heights Of unillumined lands. Through heats of anguish, chilling floods, Gethsemanes of pain, Through blinding mists, through damps of death, If at the last thou gain The country of continual calm. Where fears and fightings cease — The goal of hope, the end of pain. The dwelling place of peace? 110 ONLY THIS Jesus, Lord, I ask but this: Heavenly gain for earthly loss. All the meaner things I miss I will count indeed but dross If Thou wilt but dwell within. Then how blest this heart of mine. All its poverty and sin Changed to riches so divine. Lost in peace my discontent. Gloomy doubt in sunny trust; Then, my selfish sorrow spent, Flowers shall spring from lifeless dust. With Thy jDresence all is gain — Thou wilt heal each hurt and wrong, Change to patience all my pain. Grief to gladness, sighs to song. Come, then, Jesus, quickly come: Come and in my heart abide; For all else my lips are dumb, I forego all good beside. Thou my paradise shalt be, In Thee all my hopes shall rest. If Thou do but dwell with me, I shall be supremely blest. Ill ACQUIESCENCE Here it is, your cup of sorrow. Do not think By refusal to escape it. Take and drink. Never mind if it be bitter To your taste. Of such drinks there's very rarely Any waste. Do not look for any sparkle On the brim. Grief in any guise, believe me, Will be grim. Here it is and you must drink it. All the pain. All the poison, and there's never Any gain In delaying. Take and drain it With a smile; INIayhap lookers-on will wonder. All the while. What strange drops of costly sweetness Heaven decrees For the rare gift of your drinking — Times like these. Better thus than stain your honor Weeping loud. Be not weak — 'tis better even To be proud. 112 Do not wait to wonder vainly, "Is it best?" If it were, would that assurance Dull the zest Of the pain that now must pierce you? Let it go. Take your cup and, silent, drink it. Better so. Slowly onward to the eternal All things flow. If the ages have a cordial. You will know. AS YOU WILL Do you wish for kindness? Be kind. Do you ask for truth? Be true. What you give of yourself, you And: Your world is a reflex of you. For life is a mirror. You smile. And a smile is your sure return; Bear hate in your heart, and ere while All your world with hatred will burn. Set love against love: Every deed Shall, armed as a fate, recoil. You shall gather your fruit from the seed That you cast yourself in the soil. Like answers to like: no power Can stay the blind force of the law That fashions the perfect flower From the definite germ. No flaw 113 In the mould but will reappear In the finished cast, to your shame. Each kindling of anger or fear Will warp your best deed with its flame. Each act is a separate link In the chain of your weal or your woe. Cups you offer another to drink^ The taste of their dregs you shall know. Look without: What you are — doubt it not — You will see, you will feel in another. Be your charity stainless of blot, And how loving the heart of your brother ! COMPENSATION Out of the black night bloomed a flower Clear as a star and fair as the day ; In the sorrowful soil of one desolate hour The germ of unspeakable gladness lay. Out of the furnace the spotless gold. Royalest roses from dead, dry dust; Vitalest verdure on ruins old, And out of our weakness a measureless trust. Out of our loss an infinite gain : Out of our grief an assurance of bliss ; The white flower of patience from deserts of pain, And the sweet gift of peace from the joys that we miss. Out of our labor, life and strength; Born of our need the prayers we speak ; And out of our earthly life, at length, Shall blossom in beautj'' the heaven we seek. 114 TWILIGHT Sometimes when shines the evening star Low in the yellow west, I think, of all the day, by far, I like the twilight best. No more of work, no more of play, No more of news and noise; Into this sabbath hour of day Fit only quiet joj^s. Glad is the early day, but sweet, When all its hours are spent. The time when come with weary feet They who at morning went. Then hope, now peace; then toil, now rest; Then eager, forward tread; Now sobered gladness at the best. And drooping, thoughtful head. The busy winds are laid to rest. So is our busy care; As shines serene the tinted west. So all our life seems fair. Fair, flushed with hopes that tint the gray And give to calm a zest; And so I like, of all the day. The twilight hour the best. So when at last our weary feet Shall near life's twilight bound, Serene, in expectation sweet. May still our souls be found. 115 NOT KNOWING I know not what to-morrow's sun May bring of ease or pain; I only know whatever's done I shall not dare complain. Since every day my Father's hand Doth lead me where He will. And, when I cannot understand, I wait, and trust Him still. From dangers that I cannot know He guards my sheltered way. And wheresoe'er He bids me go I dare not say Him nay; And if He gives me joy or grief. His love in both I see. Since all my pain has this relief: It is His will for me. THE OLD YEAR Good-bye, old year, I owe thee naught but love! Good-bye ! The midnight hour is striking slow. The changeless stars are shining bright above, The changeless earth lies snowy white below. Good-bye! I see the ghost of springtime pass, And hear the bluebird bless the frosty air. The sparrow chirping in the fresh, green grass. The bustling robin at her household care. Good-bye! The summer days glide, one by one, Upon my sleepless vision — long, bright days, 116 Bathed in sweet dew and glad with shower and sun — And pass in splendor down their shining ways. Good-bye ! The mournful autumn winds I hear. Sounding a requiem in the steadfast pines. Dead are the flowers, the silent fields lie drear; Cold falls the snow upon the leafless vines. Good-bye, old year, the measured strokes are done ; Ended is all thy ministry of cheer; Thy changeful course of joy and blessing run. Forever, now, good-bye, O vanished year! BEULAH After this I beheld they were come into the land of Beulah, where the sun shineth night and day. Here, because they were weary, they betook them- selves awhile to rest. And because this country was common for pilgrims, and because the orchards and vineyards that were here belonged to the King of the Celestial Country therefore they were licensed to make bold with any of his things. But a little while soon refreshed them here; for the bells did so ring, and the trumpets continually sounded so melodiously that they could not sleep, and yet they received as much refreshment as if they slept their sleep ever so soundly. — John Bunyan. In this fair land, O pilgrims, long aweary. Tarry and take your rest; forego your care; Regret no more the journey long and dreary. Glad is the present — all the future fair. 117 Here day and night the sun unclouded shineth^ Here are the orchards of your heavenly King, And in their boughs the vigorous vine entwineth, Heavy with fruit — and yours is everything. Wait here and take your rest. The bells are ring- ing- Melodious bells of sweetly sounding chime — And from beyond the river marvelous singing — While silver trumpets swell the rapturous rhyme. Here grow the trees of frankincense so fragrant, With all sweet spices — aloes, spikenard, myrrh — • Tall camphor trees and fresh vines climbing vag- rant. Whose perfumed leaves celestial breezes stir. Here balsams bend their spicy boughs consoling, Here bloom unfading flowers of heavenly birth; Here, just beyond the river, gently rolling. Open entrancing visions not of earth. No sorrow here — no saddening thought or feeling, All hearts at peace — grief lost in blissful calm; Sweet sights, sweet sounds on all the senses stealing ; All earth is smiling — all the air is balm. Here come the "shining ones" from heaven's own blisses To lead worn pilgrims through the golden gates; No faithful one the breaking glory misses. Nor ever is forgotten one who waits. No burden more — no grief, no chill derision; Soon, soon the angel comes to break the cord 118 Of mortal life ; here wait the heavenly vision And then depart — forever with your Lord. The earthly shadows flee, oh fast and faster. And all the distance openeth shining bright. O blessed promise of our Lord and Master — "At evening time it surely shall be light." O perfect rest! O peace beyond expressing! O fruits of love ! O gifts of heavenly grace ! Bring, Lord, our souls to Beulah, land of blessing- Till, robed in white, we see Thee face to face. GOOD CHEER That day is long that brings not some kind word, In which no note of cheerful song is heard; That night is dark in which shines forth no star. And dull the task where no true comrades are. Blest is the ear that lists for kindly speech. Which every cheerful sound is sure to reach, Which in all discord finds the hidden key That turns the harshness into harmony. Blest eye that, when the heavy clouds stretch far. Turns to the one clear space where shines a star ; Which ever in dank swamp or woodland's gloom Finds that lone nook where lovely orchids bloom. Blest is the soul that in the swelling tide Of fierce affliction still can safe abide As seeing One, on boisterous deep upstayed. Who whispers, "It is I, be not afrad." 119 Blest is the faith that, when the closing tomb Hides every earthly hope, can through the gloom Undaunted look into the darkening skies And see afar the Eternal City rise. A faith that sees all seeming ill may hold A germ of good, as husks the seed enfold. Knowing that all things work together still To serve the purpose of a loving will. LIFE IN DEATH When all the hill tops silent lie In morning's frosty light. When earth and air and cloudy sky Alike are cold and white, I think with joy what pulses warm Beneath the snowdrifts beat. How earth's dear children, safe from harm. Lie wrapped in slumber sweet; Or, busy with their shuttles fleet. Their faithful forces ply To weave their garments green to greet A sometime smiling sky. I think how, while the wild winds blow. And revel, king with king. Arbutus paints her bloom of snow And waits, and dreams of spring. How, too, despite the cruel cold. The fresh, green grasses grow, And pansies spin their cloth of gold Just underneath the snow. 120 How now the brave marsh marigold And rushes lithe and strong, Ready to pierce the yielding mold, Wait but the signal song Of bluebird in the alders brown, Piping his call so clear, Not all the jealous winds can drown His voice of ringing cheer. Bind fast your chains relentless cold. Clouds, shed your treasured snow; No matter now how fierce and cold May be the blasts that blow. For soon in sweet spring's softening breath Will cease this stormy strife. See, O my soul, how surely death Is swallowed up of life. HASTEN Hasten on, O year of freedom. Year of God, That shall see the final breaking Of the rod. Year whose gift of peace shall gladden All our bounds — That shall bring the blessed healing Of our wounds. Dawn, O year of resurrection — Pierce the gloom Of our sin and strife and sorrow. From their tomb 121 Lead at last the waiting millions Glad and strong; In the hearts long sealed in sorrow Put a song. Speed, O j^ear of hope, thy coming — Year of God; Spread the sunshine of thy freedom All abroad. O Refiner of the nations, By the heat Of this furnace of our suffering Make us meet ■> For a form of fairer molding At the last. When the trial of our purging Shall be past. Newly molded, O Refiner, Give new grace — Crowned with fair, reflected likeness Of Thy face. MILLY AND I Down at Beverly beach last summer. The same house held Milly and me — A great house with broad bay windows, And balcony facing the sea. Milly's home was the smiling Southland, And 'mong the gray mountains was mine; She talked of the sunshine and summer, And I of the land of the pine. 123 We walked on the beach together And watched for the tardy tide, And sat in the cool veranda When the rest had gone for a ride. We went sailing sometimes of a morning, When the sea was quiet and blue, And oft down the beach went strolling When the rim of the cresent was new. One night when the music was merry, And the great rooms were giddy with glee, I stood by the side of fair Milly On the balcony facing the sea. And we watched the bright waves come flowing, Flowing up on the welcoming shore — And talked of the sea and the Southland, And then of the mountains once more. Milly thought she should like the mountains, I thought she would like them too; So I offered to take her to see them — Indeed, what else could I do.^ Well, this is the story of Milly — A story not new or strange — She came from the pleasant Southland To live in a mountain grange. 123 HOW LONG "How long," we plead impatient, "Oh, how long?" The while the air grows hoarse with battle cries ; But He who sees and judges all the wrong "Gives," so we say, "no answer," yet, "All-wise, All-powerful," pray we still, "the right defend." Our vision may not pierce the veiled skies. By faith alone His audience we gain Who through the ages hears the voices rise From dungeons, deserts, martyrdoms of fire. He knoweth all; let this suffice — far higher Than ours His thoughts to whom our prayers ascend. So, though our land be red with battle stain. Can we not patient bide unto the end And bear the purging of the appointed pain? CONTENT I would not know if I could. What my Father is keeping in store; What He willeth for me I would. And I ask of Him nothing more. He maketh the lilies to grow. He hears the young ravens' cry; They toil not, they strive not, but, lo. They trust Him, and why should not I ? So great is His love and so free. That, as oft as I voice my desire. So large is His bounty to me My soul is too glad to inquire. 124 If no sparrow unnoticed can fall, Or escape from His loving eye. Will He hear not His children's call. When unto their Father they cry? What He made is His own ; if He take At His will, shall I, therefore, complain? Love takes, I am sure, for love's sake; Shall I peevishly pet my pain? Nay, I would not be shown, if I might. What He keepeth in store for me; Never out of His loving sight, What matter that I do not see? ONE BY ONE One by one the days go by; Dark or fair, they do not stay; One by one they dawn, they die. Bearing all their gifts away. Days of joy and days of grief. Each with offerings all its own — Opening roses, falling leaf — Each related, each alone. Something each to do or bear — Each its task, and each its rest. Each the burden of its care — Care that gives to joy its zest. Never when surpassing fair Will they linger when we plead; 125 Never hasten for our prayer When in grief we bid them speed. One by one, they come, they go, Fleeing onward, fateful, stern. Like the river's ceaseless flow. Onward never to return. THE NAME OF JESUS O name of Jesus, blessed name ! Highest in earth or heaven; Foundation of our faith, for which No other name is given. Name sung by saints and angel host In all the realms above; Prevailing plea of sinners lost. Blest synonym of love! Solace of every sorrowing soul. Our refuge from despair, Sure anchor when strong billows roll And pledge of answered prayer. Through it the sinful, lame and blind Found pardon, strength and sight; So we, by faith like theirs, may find Daj'^ for our darkest night. Unending praise to Him who came To save from guilt and fear; O Jesus, let no other name Be to our hearts so dear. 126 WAR War? War? Do we hear aright, Or is it the treacherous air? Couldst thou stoop with a foe to fight, O Columbia, so proud and so fair? War? War? In the conquering light Of this almost millennial hour? In this age of right over might, O country of freedom and power? Launch thy stately, thy beautiful ships In war's deadly service, and so To belie the grace of thy lips. Fair Columbia? No, ah, no. O thou, so supremely free. Standing strong in thy garments of peace. To whose refuge the nations flee. Be it thine to bid wars to cease. Be it thine to uplift and to save; Be it thine to be noble as strong; In thy greatness as generous as brave; Thine to key the millennial song Of victory and glory and might To Him who in patience still. Throned high in celestial light. Rules dominions and thrones at His will. 127 SLEEP ON— MAY 30 Sleep on, O well-beloved and brave; Sleep long and well, Who, self forgetful, fought to save. And, fighting, fell. Again the faithful springtime yields Her wealth of bloom; For flowers the turf in all the fields Makes joyful room. And glad we bring to deck your graves The roses sweet; For you they blossomed, gallant braves. To you repeat Our love, our gratitude, our grief; To you who rose And brought, through blood and death, relief From direst woes. Your memory still in martial song We celebrate; Your valorous victory over wrong And deadly hate. Sleep on ! For Freedom's blessed sake So low you lie. Sleep on ! Immortally to wake To glory high. AVho loseth here his life, to save. His life shall find; Who makes in sacrifice his grave. Death cannot bind. 128 Deeds, noble deeds, are ne'er forgot. But last for aye; Sleep on! But sacred in our thought You live to-day. SPRING SONG O the apple blossoms, O the roses sweet; O the songs of gladness Where the thrushes meet! O the swaying grasses Where the bob-o-links swing; O the yellow twilights When the robins sing! O the light and laughter Of the woods and ways ! All things glad and gracious Crown the long May days. WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES When Christmas comes, the shepherds say. The stars more brightly glow. And restless meteors shoot away And seek the earth below. And at the midnight hour — ^they tell Such tales, I know not why — They still can hear, if listening well. Sweet singing in the sky. 129 And in the holy hush the}^ hear — Their white flocks lying still — The blessed words drop sweet and clear: "Good-will, peace and good will." It may be but a fancy sweet. It may be they but dream. Yet say not nay — so closely meet The things that are and seem. For w^ell we know at Christmas time. When bells ring glad and clear. The old refrain falls through the chime. So plain that all may hear, "Good-will, good will ! peace and good-will !" On earth, in heaven the same. What wonder should the angels still Join in the blest acclaim .^ And in the sacred noon of night, When moon and stars shine clear, 'Twere easy to mistake their light For angel faces near. Faces of friends who ne'er forget. But love us to the end. And come on heavenly errands yet. To strengthen or defend. To guide our stumbling feet aright, Each vain regret to still. To part the veils that dim our sight. To fix our wavering will. 130 Dear messengers of grace between Our need and heavenly powers. Linking the unseen to the seen, Their blissful life to ours. At Christmas time, it well may be. They nearer to us press. And in our stronger yearning see Their greater power to bless. And so we wonder not that heaven More near and open seems. And to our sense some glimpse is given In answer to our dreams. ONLY A DAY All in the early morning. The morning cool and gray, I went to the dewy meadows — Went to make the hay. And I swung my scj^the with the mowers. Swung it with a will — While slowly the yellow sunshine Came creeping down the hill. Creeping down till the grasses All in its brightness lay, And the lark in haste rose singing. Singing into the day. 'Till the mowers grew gay with laughter. And noisy with song and jest; But I swung my scythe in silence. Yet swung it with the rest. 131 And so till the full-eyed noonday Stared down on the meadows low^ While the brook ran clear as silver And the lilies were white as snow. While we stirred the new-mown grasses. And tossed them to the sun, And under the willows waited When the mowing all was done. And we ate from our wicker baskets. And drank from the running stream, And I ate and drank with the mowers. But it seemed to me all a dream; While the scent of the withering grasses Rose sweet on the summer air. And the blue sky bent above us And smiled serenely fair. And the bobolinks sang on my silence. Till their rakes the mowers took. Till the willows lengthened their shadows Over the silver brook. All while the sun sank slowly Down in the crimsoning west. We worked with a will at the windrows. And in silence I raked wth the rest. Till over the green, sweet meadows The daylight began to wane. And in haste the merry drivers Came shouting down the lane; Till the heavy wains were loaded. And the bobolinks all were still; And we saw the full moon rising Over the eastern hill. 132 Then out of the cool, green meadows, In the glow of the crimson west, We all walked slowly homeward, And in silence I walked with the rest; And the cloudless summer evening — The evening hallowed and still — Dropped the hush of its benediction On meadow and hamlet and hill. Under the vine-crowned gateway. Under the star-lit sky, I stood silent — one other beside me — And the mowers were not nigh. Just over our heads, in the shadow. The dewy vine leaves stirred, And a sweet trill dropped from among them. From the dream of a sleeping bird. And here — once for all — I had spoken; Spoken straight from my heart — And here — once for all — she had answered. For the maiden had no art. And so now we both stood silent. For love has not much to say — And thus ended that day of summer When I made in the meadows the hay. TOO LATE We did not know how soon the gate Would open to her feet — Her weary feet that trod so late This dingy, dusty street. We did not know how near her life Verged to the eternal day; 133 Nor on its long unaided strife What benediction lay. How near to her — forgive our blame — Christ's heart of pity yearned; How oft the blessed angels came To comfort her we spurned. Her sinking spirit to sustain When hope and joy were spent; Perfecting patience in her pain And in her toil, content. Alas, had we but felt her need, And smoothed her pathway too; Had we but lent our hand to lead Her fainting footsteps through! Our gifts we now would fain bestow, But all too late — for she. Whose grave is heaped to-night with snow. Is richer far than we. O Father, lead us day by day. And perfect us in love That we the faith for which we pray By works of love may prove. Teach us the erring still to bless. And more and more. Oh make Us, yearning Heart of tenderness. Be tender for Thy sake! 134 GATHERING PRIMROSES Jessie^ when the sweet May-blossoms Flecked the valley lands with snow^ With her basket went^ one morning. Where the pale primroses grow — Why she went, ah, who shall know? Robins cheered her from the lilacs, And the sunshine, warm and bright, Dropped its benediction on her And her heart was bounding light — Happy Jessie ! W^ell it might. All along her pathway, violets Lifted up their starry eyes. Smiling on her, and she wondered How they came to be so wise — And her heart made sweet replies. All the hedge with dew drops glittered. All the grass beneath her feet; And the larks down in the meadow Sang a welcome low and sweet — Welcome for the maiden meet. One clear brook ran through the meadow. And it gave a gladdening gleam When fair Jessie tripped across it. But the maid was in a dream — And it lost its laugh — kind stream. But at last the sweet primroses. Bathed in sunlight, strewed the ground, Pretty blossoms ! Pretty maiden — Pretty dew-besprinkled mound! Were the blossoms all she found .'* 135 Everybody likes primroses — So, 'twas nothing strange, you know, That Abijah Hill should happen Just that bright May morn to go Where the pale primroses grow. And 'twas nothing strange that Jessie, Lifting up her deep blue eyes To the radiant face beside her. Veiled her joy with sweet surprise — Little Jessie May was wise. "Now," the youth said, "I will help you." Jessie answered, "You are kind. And for your reward I'll give you Fairest flower that you shall find." "Thanks; but I shall choose it, mind." So they plucked the pale primroses — Plucked them slowly, one by one. Talking much and laughing gayly Till the pleasant task was done. While above the wooded hilltops High and higher climbed the sun. "Now I wish you were a primrose," Said Abijah with a sigh, "Oh, how queer," said gentle Jessie, Opening wide each violet eye, "Wish / were a primrose! Why.^" "Just because," Abijah answered, "Mine's the fairest flower you know, And I cannot choose among them Where so many fair ones grow. 136 But were you a primrose, Jessie, Which was fairest I should know." "Ah, I wish I were a primrose," Jessie said, with blushing brow; "But," the simple maiden added, "What if you should choose me now?" So 'twas settled, well enow. A PICTURE A cot by many summers browned, A long, low porch with grape-vines crowned. Sweet jasmine by the wall; With bright birds flitting in and out. And dropping dainty songs about To cheer and gladden all. A mimic mound of daisy stars, A ladder mounting lattice bars Where blossoming woodbines climb; A flock of white-winged butterflies That in a snowy cloudlet rise From off a bed of thyme. A rosebush bending with its bloom. Sweet briers reaching out for room Across the casement low; A humming bird with wavering wings And breast begirt with rainbow rings Swift flashing to and fro. A verdant lawn sloping away To fragrant fields of new-mown hay; A clear stream straying wide. Weaving its thread of silver sheen 137 Among the meadows broad and green That spread their sheets of bloom between The hills on either side. The great hills strown with shadows brown, And white flocks wandering up and down With plumy pines plaiting a crown Upon their foreheads high; And, spanning all, serene and bright, And glorifying all with light. The cloudless summer sky. IN REMEMBRANCE — E. G. D. Rare soul, so late from earthly bondage freed, What glad fruition answers now thy need? What wondrous scenes upon thy vision ope? What splendors crown thy ever-ardent hope ? Dear one, so loath were we to let thee go; What deep, unshadowed peace doth round thee flow? What blessed knowledge, past our highest thought, Dost thou possess, so lately knowing not? So lately through the veil seeing but dim How all life's loneliest ways must lead to Him — To Him who "bore our sorrows" — blessed word! The very sweetest human lips e'er heard. Dost thou remember now life's grief and loss. Since to such bliss has changed thy heavy cross ? Hast learned the mystery, dear, in time so brief. Why deepest love must end in sharpest grief? 138 Now in what heavenly rapture dost thou move. Joined hand in hand with those thou here didst love; In full content, in joy supreme, and wise In all the sweetest lore of Paradise ! Welcome wert thou, we know, to choirs above. Endeared by all thy ministries of love; So gentle thou, so tender, true and strong — Thy earthly life one long, sweet Sabbath song. Farewell to thee, so hard it is to say ; But harder were it, dear, to bid thee stay. Thy welcome upward call how could we hear. Nor bid thee speed, whom we had held so dear? So, speed; we leave our bitter tears unshed; Swift to the light thy ministering angels led; Safe to thine own in realms serene and fair; Peace and farewell until we meet thee there. VICTORY The Lord is risen to-day; While tireless ages roll. Death shall have no more sway. Be glad, O sorrowing soul. Wide swings the sealed door; Joy now instead of tears; No hopeless mourning more. No dread, no shrinking fears. Each sacred form we lay Within the hallowed earth Shall wake at break of day Unto a heavenlier birth. 139 Each blighted earthly hope Shall into gladness bloom; Each life find infinite scope. For this one vacant tomb. Henceforth each breaking dawn Shall fairer, holier be, Because of this transcendent morn When life from death rose free. IN THE VALLEY All day in the valley; The clover is red. The silver-white birches Bend over my head. There's breath of sweet-brier, There's humming of bees. The warble of water. The talk of the trees. There are birds in the birches That sing, out of sight. Through the low-drooping branches Drop arrows of light. And I love the sweet valley — Its coolness and calm; I grow glad in its riches Of beauty and balm. Above me the mountains Tower stately and clear; The voice of their fountains Is greeting me here. 140 I look to the summits Where suns always shine. To the haunts that are higher And grander than mine. And I think, as I look. Of the rapture and rhyme Of a life on the hights Where I never can climb. Where the air's freshest currents Eternally flow, And landscapes and oceans Lie spreading below. I think of the pathways So breezy and free. Leading off to the lands That I never shall see. What glory of vision. Unclouded and high! So far from the valley. So near to the sky! So I look to the mountains. But linger not long; I am low in the valley Of shadow and song. The brown bees are humming. The clover is bright; Through the green leaves are falling The arrows of light. 141 Sitting thus in the shelter — The birds singing near — I grow glad in the beauty That blesses me here. I look toward the summits Where bright bows are bent; But I stay in the valley With more than content. GOOD-NIGHT Good-night! Life is not long, And brief is pain; Good-night, good-night for aye. Our souls are twain. The morning light of faith Has darkened soon; Not every rosy dawn Heralds clear noon. So sundered are our souls^ Since faith is o'er. No boundless ocean breadths Could part us more. Our daily paths may meet. But nevermore Our hearts' calm-flowing waves Will touch the shore Of passionate speech — no breath From quiet isles 142 Of our souls' tropic seas — No swift, glad smiles Shall blossom o'er our words — Our words so cold — No hand of magic power Can ever mold To one sweet law our souls — And so, good-night ! It need not make us sad, God's ways are right. He never placed the badge Upon our souls Of kinship — Be content. An ocean rolls Between us two — what then? Life is not long — Will death not strike the key To some new song? Who knows ? But we'll not weep. The cause is light. We have no faith to keep — And so good-night! 143 SUCCESS It does not come by wishing, It does not come by prayer; But in the doing of thy task Thy fate pursues thee fair. Luck grants no blindfold favor — No dreaming drone he crowns; But slow and sure persistence He always greets and owns. Success is not a blunder — A blessing by mistake — Complain not if you miss it. It comes not for your sake? Well, do 5^our work and rest not. Give, asking not again; The universe will widen Unto your narrow ken. Give love and life and labor. And seek not but to bless. Defeat and loss will teach you Far more than mere success. THANKSGIVING Thanks, thanks ! Let all lips be vocal. All hearts be tuned to praise; Burdened are basket and storehouse; Glad, glad are the Autumn days. Praise, praise to the bountiful Giver; He toucheth valley and hill, 144 They are covered with living verdure. They bloom and bear fruit at His will. "He watereth the hills from his chambers," The brooks through the valleys run; The grain springs green in the furrow. The young leaves dance in the sun. He calls, and on wings of the morning Swift homeward the swallows fly; The robins sing in the orchards, The sajj in the trees mounts high. He breathes on the hillside and meadow; The fields and the woodland bowers. All shrubs and herbs and grasses Are clothed in a robe of flowers. Thanks, thanks for the warmth of springtime. For its forces sweet and strong; For its swelling tides of gladness. Its wealth of bloom and song. Thanks, thanks for the glowing summer. For the seas of ripening grain — The wheat that laughed in the sunshine. The corn that burdened the plain. Thanks, thanks for the Autumn glory; For the wondrous light that lies On mountain and hill and valley All stained with a thousand dyes. Thanks, thanks for the cloudless sunshine. The peerless splendor of noon. 145 The heavenly hues of the sunset. The peace of the harvest moon. O year of bounty and blessing! O days of sweetness and balm ! O mornings of multiplied mercy ! O evenings of beauty and balm! Thanks for all to the bounteous Giver! Pay tribute of love and praise To Him who is ever gracious In all His works and ways. CONFIDENCE. Psalm XXIII The Lord my Shepherd is and I Shall know no want nor ill. In pastures green He makes me lie And leads by waters still. In love He doth my soul restore From guilt and sin's distress, And for His name's sake, leads once more In paths of righteousness. Yea, though death's shadows compass me I yet will fear no ill. For there thy rod and staff shall be My stay and comfort still. Thou dost with oil anoint my head: My cup with joy o'erflows. For me Thou dost a table spread In presence of my foes. 146 Goodness and mercy all my days My grateful lips shall tell, And, joyful in Thy house of praise I shall forever dwell. AFTER ASCENSION O Savior, ascended on high. Forget not our want and our woe. Who only our need can supply, Who only our sorrow can know. High noAv on the throne of Thy power. Whom seraph and cherubim praise. Forget not Gethsemane's hour When cries of contrition we raise. Forget not the cross and the thorn. Exalted in glory above. When prayers, of our suffering born. Ascend to the throne of Thy love. Dear Jesus, Thy life here below — Its hunger, its tears and its pain. Have taught us Thy kinship in woe. Oh, crown us with joy in Thy reign. "Acquainted with grief" — blessed word! Oh, kindly our sorrow relieve. And, after our cross, gracious Lord, Us into Thy glory receive. 147 SONG OF SUMMER Shine and shower: shower and shine: Here comes a bumblebee ready to dine. Where have you been, you gold-belted rover? Now take your fill from the sweet white clover. Sing and fly; fly and sing: Black and white bobolinks on the wing! While round and rounds now high, now low. On airy journeys the swallows go. Red and sweet; sweet and red: Roses on every garden bed: Roses and robins, blossom and song: Long are the days, and glad as long. Hum and dart: dart and hum: Here is the sprite of summer come! Wandering, winged, from nook to nook, Rainbowed humming bird ! listen ! look ! Gold and green, green and gold. Dandelions thick as the turf can hold; While the laughing leaves each other greet, And vie with the birds in concert sweet. Light and warmth; warmth and light: And the big, kind moon to bless the night. The earth at her best in dress and tune — Perfection of summer — joyous June. 148 NUTTING Away in the distant woodland, On the southern slope of the hill That bounded the vision of boyhood , The old beeches are standing still. You can see them — the same old beeches- Through memory's purple haze. And over you falls the sunshine Of the old October days. And there are your merry comrades, And happy groups of girls — There are violet eyes of brightness, And a shine of golden curls. The smooth brown nuts are lying Thick on the leaf-strown ground. And jesting and joyous laughter Echo merrily round. One by one, from the spaces of sunshine. The loosening leaves float down — Slow through the still air sailing — Crimson and gold and brown. Now and then a lingering wood-bird. From the bending boughs overhead. Drops a jubilant ripple of singing — A note from the May that is dead. O blessed October sunshine ! O haze on the old home hill! O blue eyes that brightened your boyhood. And beam on your memory still ! 149 The sun shines to-day on the hillslope. The old beeches are bending low^ But you drifted away from their shelter Full many a year ago. When your feet are weary with marching, When sorrows and cares increase. Go back and sit in their shadow: They will give you quiet and peace. The hope and the faith that are wasted Will return with the visions of yore. And the child-heart, trustful and tender. Come back to your breast once more. TRUST gracious Lord, how can I doubt Thy ever-watchful care? My coming in, my going out Thou dost in love prepare. No moment of the changing day That can escape Thy view. How soon soe'er it pass away It finds Thy mercy new. Thy gifts of providence and grace The hastening dawn outrun. 1 see the shining of Thy face Before the rising sun. And when at length in twilight pales The light of changeful day. Thy grateful presence never fails To guide my shadowed way. 150 For, loving Lord, Thou dost not bless With plenteous gifts alone; In pain and loss and lack no less Is Thy great goodness shown. So I will praise Thee in the light, When I Thy blessings see; Nor cease to trust in darkest night, Since darkness hides not Thee. A REPLY You have no "gift of speech," you say, and surely that is true; For many and many a man I know has smoother words than you: Has smoother words and phrases fitter for gentle ears, Yet well I know your rougher tone is tenderer than appears. And often when you speak my eyes are filled with happy tears. You have "no wealth or honored name:" ah, well! that little gold Can furnish gilding for your gifts I need not have been told; For surely you're not overwise, as worldly maxims go. And the feet of fickle fortune will come to meet you slow — Yet I, in loving you to-day, am richer than you know. You never heard me vainly speak of your gentle birth, you know, 151 For yours is not a noble name, I knew it long ago. None will ever see it graven on proud memorial stone, And I shall not often hear it from lips besides my own; But can it be less dear to me that 'tis dear to me alone. The while I think our souls are one in sight of God's white throne? It may be names mean less up there, and souls mean more than here; That many pass uncrowned below that to our Lord are dear. It may be in our social creeds some hidden error lies. That what we here most loved and praised will wear far different guise When we shall view our earthly life with unbe- clouded eves. EASTER MORNING Break, O day, in beauty break ! Spread your tints of rarest rose — Morn on which our Lord doth wake, Victor over all his foes. Haste, O sun, thv light to shed: Let thy beams the garden bless Where He riseth from the dead — Greater sun of righteousness. Nay, too late thy splendors shine. Empty is the sacred tomb. 152 EarljT^ risen, his light divine Bids immortal hopes to bloom. Rise, my soul, in gladness rise; Christ, thy life, from death appears. He who, loving, in Him dies. Dying, lives through endless years. Nevermore shall death's dread might Rule, since Chirst forever lives; He, the Lord of life and light. Victory gaining, victory gives. Praise, my soul, break forth in praise; Praises sing, all that hath breath. Heaven and earth, your voices raise — Life hath triuinphed over death. ONCE You gave me some violets one spring day; You do not remember, I know. The woodlands were gay with the banners of May, And the hawthorn was white as snow. You smiled as you gave them, and only said, "I gathered them down by the shore." But the banks where they grew have a greenness since That never had graced them before. There was naught in the smile or the words you said, And foolish 'twas not to forget; But my heart held the smile when the flowers were dead. And your tone is haunting me yet. 153 And here are the flowers, all withered, j^ou see; But the broken lute brings back the song — And these faded leaves ray out with the smile That has haunted my heart so long. Now the woodlands are gay with the banners of May, And the violets down by the shore Are brightening the banks that border the bay, But you do not smile any more. WHAT? Here lies a dead leaf on the April grass — The growing grass; a year ago to-day It graced with life this budding bough — alas ! How brief a time to ripen and decay. It had its little life of gala green, Its noonday sunshine, evening's freshening dew^ The rapture of the rainbowed showers between, The transient glory of its autumn hue. And then a gust came: all was over. Well, Here on the new spring grass it lies — sad sign Of death in life. Poor leaf! I cannot tell What God meant in your making — or in mine. 154 REUNION Once in the pleasant May, All in the sunny weather ;, When woods and fields were gay. We spent a day together — A little day that passed away Without an hour for sorrow. Which smiling rose, whose smiling close Was pledge of fair to-morrow. We meet again to-night: The spring melts into summer; The June sky bendeth bright To bless each homeward comer. For, year by year, still gathering here. We come with happy greeting; Though paths stray far, one shining star Will guide them to a meeting. Glad let our meeting be. And cheerful be our singing; Suns set. May mornings flee. But joy-bells still are ringing. Flowers fade, we know, but, fast or slow, New wreaths are always twining; And somewhere still, on vale or hill, The blessed sun is shining. 155 DREAMING Last evening, Mary, from my boat I saw, close by the shore, A little cottage leaf-embowered. And, through the open door, I saw the light upon the hearth. And often on the wall. As to and fro the inmates passed, I saw the shadows fall. Without, the stars serene and fair Came peopling all the sky; And like a princess proud the moon Looked calmly from on high. The sound of voices soft and low Fell through the balmy air. And, though I could not see the smiles, I knew the smiles were there. My oars lay still: the slumbering waves Had hushed their quiet song, And toward the cottage on the shore I looked and listened long. I could not plainly see a face — I know that one was fair — But by the tones of tenderness I knew that love was there. "O happy, happy group," I thought; "From care and turmoil free." "Ah, yes," quoth Mary, "true enough; How happy they must be !" "Mary, I saw it all in sleep: 'Twas only I and you; But, if you think them happy, why Not make my dreaming true.''" 156 WHY? A bird survives the man of genius^ and I know not what strange despair seizes the heart when one has lost what one loves, and still sees the breath of life animate an insect that creeps upon the earth from which the most noble object has disappeared. — Madame de Stael. Here she lies and will not wake: Naught can e'er the silence break Now that holds her: Love's warm breath Hath no power o'er pitiless Death. Springing with the dawn's faint red. Fresh the breeze blows o'er her bed; Only yesterday, and she Felt its greeting light and free; « Only yesterday that star. Glowing on the horizon far, Shone for her; while, from his bough. Sang the wren — is singing now; But to-day, nor star, nor song Cheers her on her journey long. Then the roses red and white Blossomed bravely in her sight; All unconscious blossom still. And her room with sweetness fill. While the brown bees come and go On sweet errands to and fro. And the frail, blit]ie butterflies Float about in gaudy dyes On the morning air and sip Honej^ from each lily's lip. Naught is changed. The brightening skies Wait the sun; each shadow flies. 157 Glad with song, in bright array, Comes the full midsummer day. Life goes on: but here she lies. Waking not. Ah, what far skies Bend above her now? Our tears Vex her not; our cares, our fears All forgotten. Glad of heart, Nature takes not any part In our sorrow. Birds and flowers Dearer treasures are than ours. Strange, sad mystery ! She away. They survive to greet the day. CHRISTMAS NIGHT AT HOME Come, pile the blazing fagots higher, And bid the bright flame rise; While brighter than the glowing fire Shines light of loving eyes. The world is wide, the world is gay. And pleasant 'tis to roam; But never comes so glad a day As when we gather home. Full many gentle tones we hear ^Vhile far and near we stray ; But never voices half so dear As those that speak to-day. Full many, many eyes are bright. But none so fair e'er shone As these whose light beams here to-night Around the hearth at home. 158 Then chase^ to-night^ all care away, And bring your best of cheer; For never comes so glad a day As when we gather here. A PARTING SONG Come, sing a song together; This is our parting day — All in the glad June weather — We may no longer stay. Swift, swift the hours are fleeting To bring our farewell greeting; For 'tis our parting day: We must away. « Spring ripens into summer. Whose joys too soon are past; And each most welcome comer Bids farewell at the last. Short, short song's sweetest measures. And transient all life's pleasures; But memory holds them all At ready call. When, care and labor pressing. Our heart and hope shall chill. The dew of peace and blessing Shall fall upon us still; For sweet the thoughts we'll carry Of days that would not tarry That now are ending here — Days of good cheer. 159 Then, one more song together, Since 'tis our parting day — All in the bright June weather — For we must be away. 'Mid summer splendors straying, We'll not forget our Maying, For love can never die: And so, good-by. JUNE To One in Heaven June? Is it June? I cannot make it true. The bloom, the brightness here — but where are you? So full of life, of song, of grace, each day — Earth at her best — and you so far away. No more for you blossoms the rich, red rose. Or swelling tide of greenness overflows. The unfolding dawn, the robin's homely cheer Are naught to you, yet once to you how dear ! No more for you doth hill or fragrant field The tender solace of its beauty yield. Noon's shimmering haze, the sunset's crimson glow, The still lake whitened with the lily's snow. O Life so sweet ! So strange ! O bright Beyond ! Unfold the mystery of your secret bond. Near, near, or far, O dear but vanished one. What love, what cheer, when earthly life is done? What suns, what stars, what hopes, what visions fair, 160 What blissful tasks demand your loving care? Oh, send some sign. In what bright realms to-day Roams- your freed spirit on its starward way? EVERY DAY Every day a dowry brings; seize it while you may. Very little matters it, if j^ou go or stay. Certain as that rosy dawning tells the day begun, Cheerful souls will find a blessing ere the day is done. Seeing eyes will find forever wonders new and old. Hidden treasures for the seeker richer far than gold. Souls sincere, at one with Nature and with Na- ture's God, Thrive on common things, as grasses on their na- tive sod. In the glad spring's myriad voices hearing ears will hear. Blending in harmonious concord, messages of cheer. In the bluebird's glad evangel on a frosty April morn. Read the prophecy of summer with her waves of rustling corn; And the robin's first wild chirping in the leafless orchard trees, What a sweet and gracious meaning hath it unto souls like these ! Who in calm content stand waiting — listening, looking, asking why. While the fair world's panorama, ever-shifting, passes by. When the willows spread their catkins yellow on their boughs so red, 161 And the alders fling their tassels forth from branches bare and dead; When the sweet relenting maples yield their life blood at our will, And the crystal drops of nectar trickle in the woodlands still; When the cheerful crows are cawing, ^ying slow from hill to hill. And at early morn the thrushes all the fields with music fill; When the wild geese, northward hasting, stretch their noisy, dusky line. And we hear the eager lowing of the long-impris- oned kine; When in sheltered, mossy hollows wakes the May- flower from her sleep. And in sky-blue hoods the violets 'mid the spring- ing grasses peep; When the genial southwind, blowing softly from the distant seas. With the rain's sweet-tongued persuasion into greenness wins the trees ; When the bobolink's liquid laughter flows above the fresh, green clover. And the brave, bright dandelions star the grassy meadows over; When the cowslip — flower beloved — strews the brookside with her gold, And, O wondrous revelation ! When the apple buds unfold In a pink and pearly splendor which no words could e'er portray. Marvelous miracle of beautj'^ — clear as starlight, fair as day; AVhen the swiftly-flying swallows through the sun- lit spaces skim, 162 And the frogs' wild diapason swells upon the twi- light dim. Who would sigh for tropic splendors, orange groves of snow and gold. Who would even seek Damascus with her beauty all untold? Who would change our hill-crowned valleys with their sights and sounds so sweet, For the Switzer's far-famed homeland lying lowly at the feet Of the snowy Alps that guard it? Have we not as bright a sun. Skies as blue and bold-browed summits clustered round our Washington? Can we dream of fairer pictures, brighter color, sweeter tune. Than our loved New England showeth on a per- fect day in June? Could you ever feel a keener sense of quiet and of home Than when from the fragrant pastures home the cows at nightfall come? And from all the dusky hillsides falls the bleating of the lambs. Seeking from their wayward wanderings shelter of the sober dams. When the thrush sings in the distance and from out the woodland still In the slowly-gathering darkness calls the mourn- ful whip-poor-w^ill. Can there be a fairer vision under burning tropic suns Than our wheat fields when across them like a sprite the west wind runs? Were there any greener forests ever fabled, ever sung, 163 Than our own where nests the rabbit and the part- ridge leads her young? Does the sea make grander music when the swell- ing tide sweeps high, Than the east wind's sounding trumpets 'mong the hills that round us lie? Have you ever in your roaming over countries strange and wide Found displayed such royal splendors in October's magic tide? And for fabled golden apples who would ever vainly sigh While, far-strown, the ripening pumpkins in Sep- tember's sunshine lie? And when, too, in all the orchards, crimson, russet, dropping slow. Falls the burden of the branches to the warm, green turf below? And when — autumn's glory faded — all the bare trees, standing still. Waiting for their snowy crowning, when from hill to hazy hill Restless crows fly, calling, calling, and the squir- rels chatter loud. When the west wind drives before it every truant, loitering cloud; When slow through the brooding sunshine float the tliistle seeds like ghosts. And in sheltered corners gather swallows bound for warmer coasts, Even then — when flocking homeward from the dis- tant pasture lands Long estranged, the barn-yard tenants come in lowing, bleating bands — 164 Then in silent expectation Nature waits, and with her we — Till the crowning of her patience in a vision fair we see — Till, some keen and frosty morning, all in snowy silence lie Hill and valley, field and forest, underneath the soft, gray sky. So the varied year is ended — so the swift years come and go — Rising from a flowery cradle, sinking to a tomb of snow; Wliile forever and forever, painted on the sky above. On the fruitful fields beneath it still we read the name of Love. Set to music in the breezes, in the voice of brook and bird. Bringing trust and glad contentment, still we hear the blessed word. Even when sharp-toothed disappointment nips our pleasures in the bud, When affliction's raging billows cover us as with a flood. Doth not still the bow of promise arch with heav- enly light the gloom — Token bright of covenant favor — love divine in fadeless bloom? Let us take the good gifts offered by our fast re- ceding days. Knowing well a loving Father guides our feet, appoints our ways; Giving now unto our seeking more than even we hoped to gain — 165 Then a redbreast's simple singing, mayhap in the gathering rain. But who knows, to souls that listen when God's voice is plainest heard, In the thunder of the whirlwind, or the singing of a bird? To confound the high and mighty still He chooses weapons weak. Yet in still, small voice He speaketh — only listen — He will speak. Still in seeking souls and humble, as of old. He makes His home. Only love the things He loveth — only wait, and He will come. Still by simple means He worketh; rain and sun- shine, air and dew; Make them, too, your faithful helpers: to your homely tasks be true. He who once loved fair Judea — land of hills and flocks and brooks — With a tender eye and watchful on our sunny hill- sides looks. Let us read His loving gospel in the revelations sweet Of the bending sky above us, of the earth beneath our feet. And, in all our rest or labor — every day in glad content — Let us take the gifts it brings us ere its shining hours be spent. 160 A PROPHECY The bluebird sings: his trill of hope Comes ringing down yon snowy slope. Saying, "Cheer up; cheer up: 'tis Spring! I bear her message on my wing." Good-bye to winter dark and cold; Good-bye to sorrows new and old. Welcome to hope and warmth and cheer, The bluebird sings and Spring is here. How soon each frost-bound field and wood Will hear this prophecy of good; Now buds may swell, now sap may flow. And happy brooks may seaward go. A thousand, thousand sleeping things Waken when first the bluebird sings; And 'neath the sheltering turf begin With joy their festal robes to spin. What hear I in this clear refrain? The gladdening sound of April rain, The flow of waves, the hum of bees. The gossip of the woodland trees. A prophet's voice so sweet, so strong; Though waits the glad fulfillment long, Hope, ever trustful, trusts anew And holds the blessed promise true. The sun is hid, the clouds hang low With sullen threats of drifting snow. And in the leafless boughs I hear The North Wind sound his bugle clear. 167 But since I've heard the bluebird sing, No matter what the days may bring. The envious winds may wake or sleep, My heart with Spring her tryst will keep. SEEDTIME AND HARVEST 'Twas in a chill and cheerless time. Such as all toilers know. When forth into the yielding rime The sowers went to sow. Patient they labored, long and well, And up and down the mead. Into the deep, damp furrows fell The widely scattered seed. But sadly when the task was done, Weary of heart and hand, They looked in vain to see the sun Shine on the darkened land. No promise on the chill, gray wold. In cloudy sky no cheer; Hid are the shining grains of gold. When will the blades appear.^ •Sf -x- * * * -x- To-day the sun's resplendent glow Floods all the fertile plain; And early forth the reapers go To reap the ripened grain. Home, when the harvest time is past. With shouts the sheaves are brought, And each receives reward at last For all his hands have wrought. 108 O toilers in unfruitful fields, Who still unhoping moil. The busy springtime never yields Respite from earnest toil. Work on ! Sometime, somewhere, the seed You cast into the mold Shall recompense 3'our broadest need With fruit a hundred fold. LOSS So your pretty rose is fading; Let it go. Would you keep it till the falling Of the snow.^ Seeing thus the blight upon it. Do not try Still to hold it from decaying. Let it die. Did you watch its fair unfolding In the sun.^ Now to-day its leaves are dropping, One by one. Did you praise it in the freshness Of the morn.^ Now, alas, you dare not press it, For its thorn. Did you breathe with joy its fragrance At high noon? After noon comes night, and beauty Fadeth soon. 1G9 Nay, nay, do not waste upon it Dew of tears; You will still have other sorrows In the years That are coming. This sweet blossom Is not all. Be at peace, for soon another Frost will fall. Does it matter that you loved it? Anywhere Is it written, ''What man loveth Death shall spare .^" What we mortals say God giveth Is but lent. Yet, does that bring any healing Of the rent Of our souls when o'er their blossoms Chill blight blows And we feel the fatal falling Of the snows? Nay, but elsewhere comes the healing — For we know There shall be a resurrection After snow. In the summer of that country Far away. Shall we heed the blighting autumn Of to-day? When our souls have reaped the harvests Of our tears 170 Shall we feel the lack and losses Of these years? Will our spirits be the poorer In the hour Of our triumph for the losing Of some flower That we compassed with our loving? Will our song Be the sadder for the memory Of some wrong Over which we grieved upon this Hither shore? Shall we think the burdens heavy That we bore? LED Lord of Life, Thy tender care Doth in love our way prepare; 'Neath Thy ever watchful eye All our separate pathways lie. When we wander Thou dost know, And restoring grace bestow, Leading by a gentle hand To a large and pleasant land. Suffering long our idle tears. Patient with our foolish fears. Patient though we grieve Thee long; Lord, forgive, and make us strong. 171 SHUT YOUR EYES Shut 3'our eyes some summer day In a meadow sweet with new-mown hay ; While on the scented grass you lie. Shut your ej^es and look at the sky. Did ever the great world seem so nigh? All things come to you waiting so; Close by your side the lilies grow. Plain to your hearing the waters flow; Never did white clouds stoop so low. Soft falls the murmur of mountain pine. The wonderful show of shadow and shine On the great green hills is plain to your sight. The butterflies float in the purple light. The bob-o-link swings on the bending grass. Swift over your head the swallows pass On through the haze to the homestead eaves. You feel the faint stir of the heated leaves. And all the wide landscape's life and light Lives anew on your inner sight. Shut your eyes in a clear, calm night; Banish the moon and stars from sight; Banish the earth with its gossip and glare. With all its cumber and all its care; Cleanse your spirit of strife and stain. Soothe its restlessness, quiet its pain. So, safe in the silence, shut your eyes. And lo ! a new realm on your vision will rise. Fragrances sweet on your senses will glide From your soul's Eden over the tide. Distinct as you listen there fall on your ears Sounds of the morning from higher spheres. There are pillars of cloud and a crystal sea. The spreading leaves of the life-giving tree Drop soft dews of healing; through opal bars 172 Streams a lustre softer than light of stars. Ah, what are the rags of your earthly hope When thus the gates of your vision ope? O, then, when blinded by earth's cheap glare, See how a firmament broad and fair. Firmament fairer than earthly skies. Curtains your spirit — shut your eyes. Shut your eyes when weary with care. Weary with seeking the good and the fair. Weary of labor without reward. Weary of seeking in vain the Lord Of life and of light — from your seeking cease. Wait! and He cometh who giveth peace. Cease from your fever and your fear; All the good of your world is near. Rest in the valley green and low. All things come to you waiting so. Never a word that was spoken for you. Never a fact essential and true To your own true being but, now or then. It shall surely be yours — what matter when.'* There is not a gift in God's right hand — Friendship or fame, or houses or land. Losses or crosses, penalty, pain. Bounty or blessing, grief or gain — But it shall come to you where you are; Here is your work and your Master not far. Cease from your seeking — shut your eyes. And your joy will come as a sweet surprise. Cease from your praying — do not call. Nothing can miss you, for God knows all. All things to cheer you shall bid you hail, All yours shall bless you, and never can fail A single sweet syllable out of the rhyme. One faintest note of the perfect chime Of your being's completeness — bide your time. 173 A VALENTINE I send this rose my love to greet — A winter rose — but not less sweet Than if its petals were a part Of sultry summer's fiery heart. I send it on the dearest quest — This glowing rose my lips have pressed; ]\Iy heart goes with it on its way To seek thine own; oh^ say not nay! AN OLD FRIEND April is here — the same glad smile and voice of ringing cheer; I know her by a hundred ways, and all her ways are dear. She has her pretty, tricksy moods, but always heart of grace; And if in smiles, or if in tears, how passing fair her face ! The brooks are singing glad and loud, I know just what they say, I've heard them singing just the same, how many an April day! The green beside each water course is spreading fast and far; And oh, how tender is the turf where the sweet white violets are. Hepatica spreads brave her bloom on sheltered hillside slope. Nor will she for the frost forego one jot of heart or hope. 174 In homestead trees the robin sings^ the bhiebird pipes his cheer; How true his blithesome message rings: "The summer days are near." In nooks her lovers only know^ among the last year's leaves^ Arbutus out of tinted snow her fragrant blossom weaves. Alders their tassels brown unfold, the idle winds to please; The willows wear their wealth of gold, the spoil of brigand bees. The frogs make vocal every fen, and cheer the twi- lights long ; Gay redwings swing among the reeds and chant their strident song. O Life! O joy! in earth, in air, O long and glad- some days ! Welcome to April, blithe and fair, with all her winsome ways ! ASSURANCE O thou so sore distressed. Dismiss thy fear. What evil can betide Since One is near Who knows each hurt and pain. Each secret thought. And wisely still appoints Thy earthly lot? 175 Who never, never fails Thy faintest call; Who feels thy griefs, since He Hath borne them all; Who tempers to shorn lambs His hurtful winds; Who clothes the toilless iiowers- Who knows and minds All birds — who will not break The bruised reed — Will He not then regard His children's need? Be still! Thou needst not fear The deadliest harms; For through the deepest dark Reach loving arms — Arms ever strong to save — And, listening long, Thou wilt not miss the voice Sweeter than song, "Let not your heart be troubled. For, since ye Believe in God, believe Also in me." O listen, and believe That in thy heart One speaks who nevermore Will from thee part. 176 Be sure a kindly hand Portions all pain How knowest thou whether this Be loss or gain ? GOING To the far-ofF, invisible shore He is goings returning no more; For the toll, Startling out from the steeples of brass. Proclaims the illustrious pass Of the dead year's soul. Stern Autumn, the purple-robed priest, His sublime incantation hath ceased; And, instead. Wails the white weaver. Winter, aloud. As he fashions the folds of the shroud To apparel the dead. On the spell of the solemnized night Steals the chant of the burial rite; Through the gloom. Bearing tapers of scintillant spars. Troops the endless procession of stars To illumine the tomb. Peace, peace to the Old Year ! peace ! Let in mourning all murmuring cease, And forget All the jubilant hopes that he crushed, All the voices of song he hath hushed; Lose in love thy regret, 177 And remember the bright blades of bloom That he gathered thee out of the gloom; The white waves Of great peace that flowed over the wrecks Of the bright-omened, joy-freighted decks That went down to their graves. With the dearth, O remember the dew. And the hopes that he wakened anew In thy breast; The blest balm that he brought, and the oil To gladden thy moments of toil And sweeten thy rest. And each blessing the New Year shall bring. Each new joy and new hope that shall spring In thy heart. And each grief with thanksgiving receive. And well-doing, so shalt thou not grieve When he, too, shall depart. 178 :AR 15 !£05 .ygAg OF CONGRESS 015 906 330 6 Sa