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OUT OF THE SILENCE. 
 
1909: 
 
 The Monarch Printing Co. 
 
 council bluffs, iowa. 
 
OUT OF THE SILENCE 
 
 A BOOK OF VERSE. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. SCHUYLER LONG 
 
 Enamoured architect of airy ryhme 
 
 Build as thou wilt; heed not ivhat each man says. 
 * * * 
 
 ^ * let art he all in all. 
 
 Build as thou wilt and as thy light is given: 
 
 Then, if at last, thy airy structure fall- 
 Dissolve and vanish — take thyself no shame; 
 They fail, and they alone, who have not striven. 
 
 1909 
 
 Council Bluffs, Iowa 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
JBHARY of GONGHESS 
 Tv/o CoDies Receh/ed 
 
 FEB 5 1909 
 
 Copynfe,iil tntry 
 LASS pj XXc, No. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1909, 
 By 
 
 J. Schuyler Long. 
 
Page 
 
 I Wish That I Could Tell 11 
 
 The Poetry of Motion 13 
 
 The Family Man as a Poet 15 
 
 Work 17 
 
 Where the Waters Run 18 
 
 Do You Mind? 20 
 
 A Wish 22 
 
 A Song of Thanksgiving 23 
 
 In Autumn 24 
 
 The Valley Despair 25 
 
 The Morgue 26 
 
 The Windmill 29 
 
 At Cupid's Altar 31 
 
 Flora 33 
 
 Freedom and Slavery 34 
 
 Say It 35 
 
 A Thanksgiving Song 36 
 
 Compensation 38 
 
 Down the Old Potomac Shores 40 
 
 Then I'll Be Content 42 
 
 In May 43 
 
 A Song of Gratitude 45 
 
 To a Robin 47 
 
 Heart Language 48 
 
 What's the Good? 49 
 
 The Modern Peacemaker 50 
 
viii THE VERSE IN THIS BOOK 
 
 Page 
 
 The Silver Lining 51 
 
 Fickle Fortune 52 
 
 The Meteor 53 
 
 On Gallaudet's Birthday 54 
 
 A Comparison 57 
 
 A Coasting Song 59 
 
 The Spirit of the Wild 61 
 
 To Dorothy 63 
 
 Camping Out 64 
 
 William J. B 67 
 
 What Shall the Harvest Be? 69 
 
 Lines Accompanying a Picture 71 
 
 My Kingdom 72 
 
 At Dear Old Gallaudet 74 
 
 Demodocus 77 
 
 When the Train Goes By 79 
 
 Mother's Cooking 80 
 
 Be Sunny . . . 82 
 
 My Point of View 84 
 
 Vacation Time Dreams 85 
 
 A Thanksgiving Hymn 87 
 
 Before Thanksgiving 89 
 
 Love's Crown 90 
 
 As You Make It 92 
 
 Then and Now 94 
 
 For Eternity's Sleep ^ 96 
 
 The Human Hand 97 
 
 Contraries 98 
 
 The Master Poet 100 
 
 Why Repine? 101 
 
 The Modern Standard 102 
 
 Up and Down the Streets 103 
 
 A Toast 105 
 
THE VERSE IN THIS BOOK ix 
 
 Page 
 
 The Buff and the Blue 107 
 
 The Worker's Recompense 108 
 
 My Recompense 110 
 
 The Gift That Is Ours 112 
 
 To the ras-a-Pas Club 11:', 
 
 RHYMES FROM THE SCHOOL ROOM. 
 
 School Time 117 
 
 Still More Beyond 119 
 
 Does It Pay? 121 
 
 Dedication Ode 123 
 
 Which Valentine? 125 
 
 Not For Self But Others 127 
 
 The School Girl's Complaint 129 
 
 The Path of Duty 131 
 
 School Room Problems 132 
 
 Aim High 134 
 
 Anaxagoras 136 
 
®n M^ Mifr 
 
 WTien first I met ivith you, Love, 
 
 Changed were then the skies ; 
 A brighter hue because of you 
 
 About them seemed to rise; 
 And all the light that made them bright 
 
 Came from your love-lit eyes. 
 
 And since 1 ^ve wed with you, Love, 
 
 Changed is everything; 
 The world is new because of you, 
 
 And all the year is spring. 
 Your love has brought the changes wrought 
 
 And made my heart to sing. 
 
 J. S. L. 
 
Out of the silence they come to me,— 
 The songs that I sometim^es sirig. 
 
 And to my spirit shut out from all sound 
 The solace of music they bring. 
 
 Out of the silence in echoes they come 
 Like sounds in a faraway dream,, 
 
 Bearing my thoughts as it were on the tide 
 Like roses are borne on the stream; 
 
 Bearing them far in melodious strains 
 To the land of the lotus and rose. 
 
 So that my spirit on aerial wings 
 Forgets all the sadness it knows. 
 
 There all alone in that dreamland of soiig 
 
 The music of Nature 1 hear, 
 For, if the hea/rt is with Nature attuned. 
 
 The words of her message are clear. 
 
 Visions of beauty transformed into song, 
 
 The music of motion and light. 
 Make of this dreamland with echoes of sound 
 
 Forever a land of delight. 
 
 So Fm content, tho in silence Fm bound— 
 And hear not the music of strings: 
 
 Ever a voice in that silence I hear 
 And ivrite doivn the so7ig that it sings 
 
I WISH THAT I COULD TELL 
 
 In the sound of song and music 
 
 There's a charm for those who hear, 
 And they look upon me sadly 
 
 When they see me standing near. 
 And they think that I am lonely 
 
 As they reckon what I miss. 
 And they seem to be so sorry 
 
 That I lose this cherished bliss. 
 
 But I wish that I could tell them, 
 
 As I smile and turn away, 
 Of the voices ever singing 
 
 Through the night and through the day, 
 Voices full of sweet reminders 
 
 Of the days of long ago. 
 And I hear again the echo 
 
 Of those songs I used to know. 
 
12 / WISH THAT I COULD TELL 
 
 And I wish that I could tell them 
 
 Of the music that I hear 
 With its vibrant tone resounding 
 
 On my inner conscious ear, — 
 How it thrills and, creeping o'er me, 
 
 Steals away the bitter sense 
 Of the wrong that Nature did me — 
 
 This her gift in recompense. 
 
 And I wish that I could tell them 
 
 Of the music that I see 
 In the buds of spring unfolding, 
 
 And the moving melody 
 In the motion all about us, 
 
 In the birds and in the flowers, 
 In the happy eyes of children 
 
 As they look their love in ours. 
 
 And I wish that I could tell them 
 
 Of the most delightful things 
 That I hear and see in silence 
 
 When my inner fancy sings. 
 And I wish that I could tell them 
 
 Of the music in the hand 
 When in song it moves in rhythm,- 
 
 But they would not understand. 
 
THE POETR Y OF MOTION 13 
 
 THE POETRY OF MOTION. 
 
 In the poetry of motion there is music if one sees, 
 
 In the soaring birds above us there are moving 
 symphonies. 
 
 There is music in the movement of a ship upon 
 the wave 
 
 And the sunbeams dancing o'er it, that the min- 
 strels never gave. 
 
 There is music in the rhythm of the waving field 
 
 of wheat 
 In the swaying leaves on tree-tops, and the skip 
 
 of dancing feet. 
 There are songs of gladness for us in the opening 
 
 buds of spring, 
 And we understand the message that their fuller 
 
 blossoms bring. 
 
14 THE POETRY OF MOTION 
 
 There is music in the motion of the yearly chang- 
 ing scene 
 
 As the seasons move before us, changing brown 
 and white to green. 
 
 There are songs of rapture for us in the colors of 
 the sky, 
 
 In the rainbow and the sunset and in cloud-ships 
 floating by. 
 
 There is music in the mountains — in their grand- 
 eur as they rise 
 
 With their snow-capped summits keeping vigil 
 in the hidden skies. 
 
 There is music in the rainfall, and the snow- 
 flakes coming down 
 
 Giving earth a white-robed mantle and the trees 
 a silver crown. 
 
 Tho' we deaf can hear no music in the touch of 
 
 vibrant strings, 
 In the harmony of motion there are songs that 
 
 Nature sings. 
 And there's music all around us if we have the 
 
 eyes to see, 
 And although we can not hear it we can feel its 
 
 melody. 
 
THE FAMILY MAN AS A POET 15 
 
 THE FAMILY MAN AS A POET. 
 
 My poetic fancy wanders into thoughts of meas- 
 ured rhyme 
 
 And I see my songs go marching downward thru 
 the halls of time. 
 
 In an ecst?cy of vision I sit down and try to 
 write, 
 
 While my thoughts go soaring upward in a frenzy 
 of delight, 
 
 But before I get them marshaled comes a baby's 
 pleading cry, 
 
 "Papa, take me; I'm so sleepy." And I take her 
 with a sigh. 
 
 Presently she's soundly sleeping and I lay her 
 
 gently down; 
 Then I turn to my forsaken paper, forcing back a 
 
 frown, 
 "While I thrust my nervous fingers into my dis- 
 heveled hair, 
 Vainly hoping that I'll find my scattered thoughts 
 2 regathered there. 
 
16 THE FAMILY MAN AS A POET 
 
 When I quiet down to thinking and I turn again to 
 
 write, 
 Comes a childish voice and whispers, "Papa kiss 
 
 me now good night." 
 
 All are sleeping now. The room's deserted and I 
 fondly count 
 
 That I'm now at peace; so truant Pegasus again 
 I mount. 
 
 Now my fancy lingers, coming slowly, then re- 
 turns again, 
 
 And the words begin to muster at the bidding of 
 my pen. 
 
 But before a line is written comes another ner- 
 vous shock, 
 
 And a voice calls sweetly downward, "Don't for- 
 get to wind the clock." 
 
WORK 17 
 
 WORK. 
 
 Work for the joy of working, 
 
 And work for the health it brings; 
 
 Rich the returns of labor 
 
 When heart of the worker sings. 
 
 Work: in the deed you're doing 
 The test of your empire lies; 
 
 Work with the best that's in you 
 And build to the towering skies. 
 
 Work, and the sting of sorrow, 
 The shadow of blighting grief, 
 
 Pain, and the ills of nature 
 Are lost in the soul's relief. 
 
 Work for the joy of working, 
 And work with a zeal intense; 
 
 Gold's not the measure of payment; 
 But peace is its recompense. 
 
18 WHERE THE WATERS RUN 
 
 WHERE THE WATERS RUN. 
 
 Shallow bed of rocks and pebbles, 
 
 Winding down among the hills; 
 Waters singing second trebles, 
 
 Joining voices of the rills; 
 There, in every kind of weather. 
 
 Under cloud or in the sun, 
 Trout and minnows play together — 
 
 Where the rising waters run. 
 
 Flowers and fern in rich profusion 
 
 Mantle banks of mossy green; 
 Light and shadow in confusion 
 
 Dance upon the satin sheen; 
 Giant trees with limbs o'erhanging, 
 
 Meeting, intercept the sun; 
 Cool retreat for summer angling — 
 
 Where the wid'ning waters run. 
 
WHERE THE WATERS RUN 19 
 
 Herds of sheep and cattle grazing 
 
 Here and there about the plain; 
 Wood and meadow interlacing 
 
 With the fields of growing grain; 
 Quail and partridge there in hiding, 
 
 Future victims of the gun, 
 For the hunter there is biding — 
 
 Where the quiet waters run. 
 
 Wide and deep the river's growing, 
 
 Ships at wharves in serried ranks; 
 Spires above the trees are showing — 
 
 Cities, there, along its banks; 
 Nature's beauties all have vanished, 
 
 (Desecrating greed has won). 
 Forest creatures have been banished — 
 
 And to sea the waters run. 
 
20 DO YOU MIND? 
 
 DO YOU MIND? 
 
 Though the winter winds are blowing 
 
 And the cold is in the skies, 
 While at night the stars are glowing 
 
 Where the landscape barren lies, 
 Do you mind so much that summer 
 
 With its fruits and flowers is fled 
 When you're in the "cozy corner" 
 
 And the fire burns bright and red? 
 
 Though the winter hills are whitened 
 
 By the soft and silent snow. 
 And the sombre view unbrightened 
 
 Save when lambent sunsets glow; 
 Do you mind so much that summer 
 
 With its green is far away 
 When, the Dearest One beside you. 
 
 You are gliding in a sleigh? 
 
DO YOU MIND? 21 
 
 Though the winter's cold has banished 
 
 All the merry picnic days, 
 And the summer girl has vanished 
 
 With her captivating ways, 
 Do you mind so much that summer 
 
 With its outing days is past 
 When the mistletoe and holly 
 
 O'er the days their brightness cast? 
 
22 A WISH 
 
 A WISH. 
 
 To Edith when she was a child. 
 
 While I am not inclined to grieve 
 That nature was unkind to me, 
 
 I sometimes long with all my heart 
 To hear the prattler at my knee. 
 
 Her love-lit eyes are raised to mine 
 And I can read the language there; 
 
 But oh that I could only hear 
 
 The words she breathes upon the air! 
 
 She climbs upon my lap, and then, 
 Her arms about my neck entwine, 
 
 And by the kiss she gives to me 
 I know her heart is wholly mine. 
 
 But I would give a world to hear 
 Her baby voice and have her say 
 
 "I love you papa, oh, so much." — 
 Then smiling kiss my cares away. 
 
A SONG OF THANKSGIVING 23 
 
 A SONG OF THANKSGIVING. 
 
 We thank Thee, Lord, that Thou didst send 
 
 The men inspired to guide 
 Our darkened minds unto the light 
 
 That Nature's wrong denied. 
 
 No joy or happiness we knew 
 
 Till Thou in mercy sent 
 These messengers of light to us 
 
 And now we are content. 
 
 We thank Thee still for all the joys 
 That from this light have come, 
 
 And that we now have ways to sing 
 Altho our lips are dumb. 
 
 And that, altho for us, 'tis true, 
 
 There is no joy in sound, 
 Our eyes may find the soul's delight 
 
 In beauty all around. 
 
24 IN AUTUMN 
 
 IN AUTUMN. 
 
 Now is the time to go roaming 
 The woods and the bright tinted fields, 
 
 Seeking for beauty and music 
 That Nature so lavishly yields. 
 
 Now may the crown of her glory 
 So full and so perfect be seen; 
 
 Now does the sunlight envelope 
 
 And brighten the whole of each scene. 
 
 'Tis from the sunlight the colors 
 Have come to the leaves on the trees; 
 
 Stolen from heaven the blue in 
 The tints all about us one sees. 
 
 Music around us is surely 
 
 The notes from the music on high 
 Loaned to the singers that over 
 
 Us hover and sing in the sky. 
 
 Why not come out and go roaming 
 In fields and along the still brooks, 
 
 Reading the pages of Nature 
 
 Instead of those musty old books? 
 
THE VALLEY DESPAIR 25 
 
 THE VALLEY DESPAIR. 
 
 Deep in the valley Despair lie 
 
 The hearts that are broken, unknown. 
 
 Drowned in the noise of the traffic 
 For gold, is the sound of their moan. 
 
 Little we know of the heartache, 
 
 (And few are the ones that may care), 
 
 That bars of a prison have hidden 
 
 And hearts they have doomed to despair. 
 
 Under the heel of the law, to 
 
 Be ground in the mill of the goals, 
 
 What to the judge who presides and 
 Condemns, is the tragedy of souls? 
 
 Over the hearts that are saddened 
 By wrongs that some other has done. 
 
 Lord, let Thy pity extend, for 
 The world in its justice has none. 
 
26 THE MORGUE 
 
 THE MORGUE. 
 
 Enter softly; this the morgue; 
 
 Tiptoe lightly, make no sound. 
 Here the dead lie all about thee; 
 
 Lift thine eyes and gaze around. 
 See that youth a step beyond thee 
 
 Who, so peacefully he lies, 
 Seems to be but sleeping, yet the 
 
 Hand of death has closed his eyes. 
 
 Found within the public park, a 
 
 Shining weapon by his side; 
 And one mute and empty chamber 
 
 Told the tale of how he died. 
 He was lured to seek his fortune 
 
 Where the city's glowing lights 
 Called to him and promised pleasure, 
 
 Told of manifold delights. 
 
 But the current swept him downward; 
 
 He grew weary with the strife. 
 And to cover up his stealing 
 
 He has blotted out his life. 
 
THE MORGUE 27 
 
 Look and see the next beyond him 
 
 Is a slender childish form; 
 Picked up frozen from the door step 
 • Where he huddled to keep warm. 
 
 And the next one there; observe it; 
 
 In that bleared and bloated face, 
 And the form so bent and shrunken. 
 
 There is scarcely any trace 
 Of their former power and glory, 
 
 Ere the mark of drink was there. 
 And his soul had been o'ertaken 
 
 By the Demon of Despair. 
 
 Over there beside the window 
 
 Shows a woman's whitened brow; 
 Gone, her soul, to Him who gave it 
 
 Where no scorn can reach her now. 
 She was forced to sell her virtue 
 
 For the price of bread to live 
 For, among a Christian people 
 
 None would pity or forgive. 
 
 Oh, the sorrow and the sadness 
 
 That lie hidden, here revealed, 
 And the secrets of the guilty 
 
 That their death forever sealed. 
 
28 THE MORGUE 
 
 Oh, that here within a country 
 Where a Christian nation dwells 
 
 There should be such things to record 
 As the morgue thus mutely tells. 
 
 Oh, you thoughtless, pampered people, 
 
 You who count your hours of ease, 
 Do you yawn and turn the paper 
 
 When you read such things as these? 
 Did you do but half your duty, 
 
 Take the time to go and see, 
 Then relieve the poor and wretched, 
 
 Things like these would never be. 
 
THE WINDMILL 29 
 
 THE WINDMILL. 
 
 'Round and 'round the windmill goes, 
 Veering this way, that, 
 Like an aerostat, 
 Showing us the wind — 
 How it blows. 
 
 'Round and 'round the great wings turn 
 High above the trees, 
 Lightly in the breeze. 
 Like a ship at sea, 
 Sails astern. 
 
 'Round and 'round the sails rotate 
 Turning wheels below 
 Swiftly as they go; 
 Power from winds above 
 They create. 
 
30 THE WINDMILL 
 
 Turning ever. Cast your eyes 
 Anywhere you will; 
 Dotting vale and hill 
 White-winged sceptres rise 
 To the skies. 
 
 Picturesque and lone they stand, 
 Rising high and bold 
 Like the towers of old 
 Watching on the Rhine 
 For brigand. 
 
 But no threat'ning vigil now; 
 Farmers' signal towers 
 In this land of ours 
 Mark the change of sword 
 For the plow. 
 
AT CUPID'S ALTAR 
 
 AT CUPID'S ALTAR. 
 
 Of all the gods that ever had 
 
 An altar or a shrine, 
 None ever claimed the homage that 
 
 Mankind doth give to thine. 
 'Tis to thine altar there doth come 
 
 A rairgling, motley throng; 
 The higli and low. the rich and poor, 
 
 The weakling and the strong. 
 
 And there to kneel in equal grace 
 
 The prince and pauper come, 
 The master and the slave forget 
 
 The places they are from; 
 And purple there with rags will touch 
 
 As they together bide, 
 And Homliness will bend the knee 
 
 With Beauty by her side. 
 
 The young are there, in haste to be 
 
 Their love-lit eyes aglow; 
 The old come too, — their hearts beat fast 
 
 E'en tho their steps are slow. 
 
32 AT CUPID'S ALTAR 
 
 For Cupid's shaft hits whom it will 
 And none escape the dart, 
 
 And worship of the little god 
 Means sacrifice of heart. 
 
 And all who seek that altar rail 
 
 Brings each his love tale there, 
 And some are full of joy and hope 
 
 And some have griefs to bear. 
 For neither wealth nor age nor time 
 
 Can alter love's behest 
 So each must take the god's decree 
 
 And follow with the rest. 
 
FLORA 33 
 
 FLORA. 
 
 Oh, Flora's face is fair to see 
 And Flora's eyes entrancing, 
 
 And Flora, dainty, drawing nigh. 
 Doth set my heart a-dancing. 
 
 But Flora's heart is cold as stone, 
 And Flora's eyes unheeding; 
 
 And Flora coldly passes by, 
 Altho my heart is bleeding. 
 
 And Flora's form is petit, sweet; 
 
 Her smile is wondrous winnmg, 
 And for her favor I would fight, 
 Or gladly go a-sinning. 
 
 But Flora's smile is not for me — 
 Her favor she's denying, 
 
 And Flora will not hear my plea 
 But leaves me still a-sighlng. 
 
84 FREEDOM AND SLA VER Y 
 
 FREEDOM AND SLAVERY. 
 
 To Live? To wage the battle of mankind; 
 
 To toil and struggle for life's need, and be 
 
 Content; no higher aim than this: To see 
 The image of one's self and leave behind 
 Naught else save earth to earth and kind to kind — 
 
 A slave's existence; soul denied its free 
 
 Development for lack of that which we 
 Call education; thralldom that doth bind 
 
 The soul to passion's sway. Is it the aim 
 Of man, created image of his God? 
 
 Arise! Thy life was meant for higher 
 things. 
 
 With Prometheus's spark our freedom 
 came — 
 The will that lifts the man above the clod; 
 
 Emancipation from the earth, not kings. 
 
ASY IT 85 
 
 SAY IT. 
 
 If another's efforts please you say it; 
 
 Silence does not make it understood. 
 We can make another's work much lighter, 
 We can make the day for others brighter, 
 
 By our approbation, if we would. 
 Say it. 
 
 If, for favors, you are grateful, say it; 
 
 Do not let the loving giver go, 
 Thinking you have no consideration, 
 Thinking that you lack appreciation 
 
 For the gifts his love and thought bestow. 
 Say it. 
 
 If you have a friend, and love him, say it; 
 Do not wait, and praise him when he's 
 dead. 
 Many a loyal heart is weary, waiting. 
 Many a lonely heart is longing, aching, 
 For the word of love we might have said. 
 Say it. 
 
36 A THANKSGIVING SONG 
 
 A THANKSGIVING SONG. 
 
 We thank Thee, Lord, that all our days 
 Our wants Thou hast supplied, 
 
 And that through all our devious ways 
 Thou ever wast our guide. 
 
 No prayer of theirs hath been in vain 
 Who bent the suppliant knee, 
 
 Nor cry for mercy to obtain 
 Gone up unheard by Thee. 
 
 And prospered Thou the seed we sowed 
 
 And sent the sun and rain 
 Till now our bins are overflowed 
 
 With heaps of golden grain. 
 
 Fulfilled is now the hope of spring, 
 
 The promise of the bloom, 
 With autumn's golden offering 
 
 In Nature's altar-room. 
 
A THANKSGIVING SONG 37 
 
 From dreadful flood and awful fire 
 
 And dread disaster's hand, 
 Thou hast preserved our homes entire 
 
 And saved our native land. 
 
 And so we come before Thy throne 
 
 Today on bended knee, 
 In thanks for all Thy mercies shown 
 
 And what we owe to Thee. 
 
 And while our songs now fill the air 
 
 On this Thanksgiving day, 
 For future help and loving care, 
 
 Oh, Lord, we also pray. 
 
38 COMPENSATION 
 
 COMPENSATION. 
 
 For each and every loss we bear 
 
 Some recompense we gain; 
 And when we miss the goals v/e seek, 
 
 Some other heights attain. 
 
 When Nature wills a cross to some 
 
 In mercy then she sends 
 Some compensating gift or strength 
 
 As if to make amends. 
 
 The blind possess a keener ear, 
 
 The deaf a clearer sight 
 And what the one regains from sound, 
 
 The other gets from light. 
 
 The fool in mental prison held 
 That lives to eat and drink, 
 
 Can never know the curse it is 
 To live and not to think. 
 
COMPENSATION 39 
 
 So Nature gives whene'er she takes 
 
 And makes an even trade, 
 And he who loses much, gains more, 
 
 And so the bargain's made. 
 
40 DOWN THE OLD POTOMAC SHORES 
 
 DOWN THE OLD POTOMAC SHORES. 
 
 Far down the old Potomac shores, 
 
 Along the inland hays, 
 We sail in modern boat and muse 
 
 Upon those early days, 
 When midst the savage Indian haunts 
 
 Here dwelt the pioneers — 
 The men inspired by heaven to guide 
 
 Our country's infant years. 
 
 Here lived the men who first conceived 
 
 The nation's grand design; 
 Here fought and won the struggle that 
 
 Preserved that nation's line. 
 Not e'en New England's sacred soil 
 
 Can be to us more dear — 
 While freedom first was planted there 
 
 'Twas saved and fostered here. 
 
DOWN THE OLD POTOMAC SHORES 41 
 
 Then whose the heart that does not feel 
 
 The thrill of rapture keen, 
 As one by one before his sight 
 
 Appears each passing scene? 
 For history adds a double charm 
 
 To beauty of the land 
 Where shores of old Virginia 
 
 Face heights of Maryland. 
 
42 THEN FLL BE CONTENT 
 
 THEN I'LL BE CONTENT. 
 
 If a song of mine will gladden 
 
 Some one's heart with sorrow filled, 
 
 And dispel the thoughts that sadden, 
 Or the care their joy has killed; 
 
 Then I'll sing that song of gladness 
 
 That will drive away some sadness 
 And I'll be content. 
 
 If a word of mine will brighten 
 One upon life's weary road 
 
 If a deed of mine will lighten 
 Some one other's heavy load. 
 
 Then, I'll speak that work to brighten 
 
 And I'll do that deed to lighten. 
 And I'll be content. 
 
IN MAY 43 
 
 IN MAY. 
 
 Fields and trees begin to brighten 
 
 In their shown summer dress, 
 And the dandelions bloom 
 
 In their golden lovliness; 
 All the earth is clothed in verdure 
 
 And the flowers begin to bloom, 
 Casting off the sleep of winter 
 
 With its dread of cold and gloom. 
 
 Everywhere tiie eyes are gladdened 
 
 By the green and growing grass; 
 Everywhere the birds are singing 
 
 Songs of greeting when you pass; 
 All the atmosphere's redolent 
 
 Of the blooming orchard trees. 
 And the droning of the beetle 
 
 Joins the buzzing of the bees. 
 
44 TN MAY 
 
 Then your soul is filled with music 
 
 As of voices low and sweet, 
 And you turn with inward longing 
 
 Where the woods and meadows meet; 
 And you thrill again with pleasure 
 
 As you idly walk and dream, 
 Gazing forward in your vision 
 
 To delights of field and stream. 
 
A SONG OF GRATITUDE 45 
 
 A SONG OF GRATITUDE. 
 
 From the aitar, hearth and woodland 
 Where a grateful people throng, 
 
 Upward from prospered country- 
 Goes a glad thanksgiving song; 
 
 Upward to the Lord, the Giver, 
 For the goodness he hath shown, 
 
 For the marks of sovereign kindness 
 And the mercy we have known. 
 
 For the fullness of the harvest 
 
 That so lavishly has poured 
 From the fields so full and freely 
 
 With the gifts of Nature stored; 
 For the many countless tokens 
 
 Of the Heavenly Father's love, 
 And the blessings that unnumbered 
 
 Shower upon us from above. 
 
 For our homes among the blossoms 
 
 Under His protecting care, 
 For the cheer which they bring round us 
 
 And the children gathered there; 
 
46 A SONG OF GRATITUDE 
 
 For the friends we have to love us, 
 And the chance to love them too; 
 
 For the place our lives may brighten 
 And the good that we can do. 
 
 For the ever-changing beauties 
 
 That on earth around us lie; 
 For the splendor of the sunset 
 
 And the colors in the sky; 
 For the thousand gifts from heaven 
 
 That we all may happy be, — 
 These, O, Lord in us awaken 
 
 Songs of gratitude to Thee. 
 
TO A ROBIN 47 
 
 TO A ROBIN. 
 
 Pretty little robin, 
 
 Singing in the trees, 
 Why are you so happy? 
 Tell me, if you please. 
 
 Scarce has winter vanished 
 When your breast of red 
 
 Brings the tidings to us 
 That the cold has fled. 
 
 And you come back to us 
 Singing all day long, 
 
 Bringing gladness with you 
 In your merry song. 
 
 Tell me, why you never 
 In the livelong day, 
 
 Once are sad, or ever 
 Cease your roundelay. 
 
 But the happy fellow, 
 
 So intent is he 
 In his merry-making, 
 
 Will not answer me. 
 
48 HEAR T LANG UA G E 
 
 HEART LANGUAGE. 
 
 With my heart o'erflowing with its 
 Thoughts of love for thee, 
 
 I sit down to write them, hut the 
 Pen trails uselessly. 
 
 For the words that come but echo. 
 
 Faintly, from afar. 
 Feelings far beyond them as the 
 
 Sun outshines the star. 
 
 Depths the heart alone may fathom, 
 
 Words can not express, 
 And for feelings deep and tender, 
 
 They are meaningless. 
 
 Yet, my dear, I'm sure thou knowest 
 
 All my love for thee — 
 Heart to heart can tell it while the 
 
 Pen trails aimlessly. 
 
WHATS THE GOOD? 49 
 
 WHAT'S THE GOOD? 
 
 What's the good of always whining 
 When the weather goes all wrong? 
 
 Soon you'll see the sun a-shining; 
 Quit your grumbling sing a song. 
 
 What's the good of always pining 
 When misfortune is your lot? 
 
 Soon you'll see the silver lining; 
 Make the best of what you've got. 
 
 What's the good of always sighing 
 When by chance your hopes are killed? 
 
 Nothing ever comes of crying 
 Over milk that has been spilled. 
 
50 THE MODERN PEACEMAKER 
 
 THE MODERN PEACEMAKER. 
 
 In days of old as we are told, 
 The goddess Peace was fair; 
 
 Her dress of gauze was so because 
 They worshiped beauty rare. 
 
 But nowadays we've changed our ways 
 And turned the goddess down; 
 
 Instead of her we now prefer 
 A man in khaki brov/n. 
 
 From head to heel in arms of steel, 
 
 For olive branch, a sword, 
 On foreign soil where v/hite men toil 
 
 He awes a savage horde. 
 
 He sails the seas in pampered ease 
 In ships of twelve-inch mail, 
 
 With many guns of numbered tons, 
 To make the nations quail. 
 
 To keep afar the dogs of war 
 Come plunk youn taxes down; 
 
 We have to feed 'gainst day of need 
 The man in khaki brown. 
 
THE SILVER LINING 51 
 
 THE SILVER LINING. 
 
 Few the buds that bloom in splendor, 
 
 Full fruition may attain; 
 Yet the world has had their fragrance 
 
 And they blossomed not in vain. 
 
 Few the hopes we fondly cherish 
 
 Their fulfilment ever reach, 
 Yet the heart hath grown the stronger 
 
 With the lesson that they teach. 
 
 Few the ones our love hath singled 
 Live to greet us at the end, 
 
 Yet our lives have known the sweetness 
 That it means to have a friend. 
 
 Never all the year is summer, 
 Never all the days are fair; 
 
 Never life without a shadow, 
 Never heart without a care. 
 
 Yet as in the depths of midnight 
 Gleams a star of silver light, 
 
 Thru the darkest disappointment 
 Hope is shining clear and bright. 
 
52 FICKLE FORTUNE 
 
 FICKLE FORTUNE. 
 
 We shuffle the cards and deal them out 
 And chance their fate controls; 
 
 And some get the trumps and win the 
 game 
 Then smile at the luckless souls. 
 
 And often I think in the game of life, 
 Allotted our gifts like these; 
 
 And some drink wine from golden cups 
 And some get only the lees. 
 
 For Fortune will smile as Caprice com- 
 mands, 
 And justice is blind you know; 
 And come good or ill to the sons of 
 men 
 As shows on the dice we throw. 
 
THE METEOR 53 
 
 THE METEOR. 
 
 A-sudden comes a flash of light, 
 A meteor through the sky — 
 
 A spark from out the inky night 
 That none knows whence or why. 
 
 Is it a spark from Vulcan's forge 
 From off his anvil thrown? 
 
 Or from some far off starry gorge 
 That belches molten stone? 
 
 Whate'er it is we may not know, 
 
 But this the tale it tells: 
 Far in the depths where starlights glow 
 
 A power above us dwells. 
 
54 ON GALL A UDET'S BIRTHDA Y 
 
 ON GALLAUDET'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Each country has its cherished name 
 
 Of patriot or sage; 
 Each war of freedom gives to fame 
 
 A name for heritage. 
 
 But victories of peace exceed 
 
 The victories of war; 
 And greater than the man or deed; 
 
 The cause he battled for. 
 
 And he who wears his life away 
 In some great cause of right, 
 
 Deserves the wreath as much as they 
 Who perish in the fight. 
 
 While stone may mark a soldier's mound, 
 
 Perpetuate a name — 
 'Tis in the hearts of men is found 
 
 The truest test of fame. 
 
ON GALL A UDET'S BIRTHDA Y 55 
 
 Now, while we meet in honor of 
 
 Our benefactor's birth, 
 We'll join our word's of praise and love 
 
 With feasting, song and mirth. 
 
 Emancipator of the mind 
 
 By deafness held in thrall; 
 Of lives, by nature, doomed to find 
 
 The bitterness and gall. 
 
 He helped us apprehend the stars; 
 
 He showed us to the light; 
 He broke for us the prison bars 
 
 That held us in the night. 
 
 Forsaken of the church and law, 
 
 He spoke and bade us rise; 
 The beauty of the earth we saw 
 
 And hope beyond the skies. 
 
 He spent his life in work and thought 
 
 To better human kind; 
 The battles of the weak he fought 
 
 In knighthood of the mind. 
 
56 ON GALLAUDETS BIRTHDAY 
 
 We'll ne'er forget our debt to thee, 
 
 Nor let thy fame decline; 
 Our patron saint thou'lt ever be, 
 
 As Hartford is our shrine. 
 
 And by our words and deeds we'll prove 
 
 Some hearts are loyal yet, 
 And beat with gratitude and love 
 
 For you, dear Gallaudet. 
 
A COMPARISON 57 
 
 A COMPARISON. 
 
 The miner delves beneath the rocks 
 
 For hidden gra'ns of gold, 
 And scant his store of counted wealth 
 
 With all his labors told. 
 
 The farmer delves in surface soil 
 And plants his grains of gold, 
 
 Then waits till Nature gives them back 
 Increased a thousand fold. 
 
 The miner delves in caverns deep 
 
 Beyond the reach of sun, 
 The joy of day denied to him 
 
 And soon his race is run. 
 
 The farmer delves in open air 
 
 Among the fragrant fields, 
 And Nature all her lavish store 
 
 Of song and blossom yields. 
 
58 A COMPARISON 
 
 The miner delves in peril of 
 
 His life on every hand 
 And all he gets in recompense 
 
 Are grains of golden sand. 
 
 The farmer delves among delights 
 
 In comfort and in ease, 
 And his rewards: the joy of health 
 
 And all the earth's increase. 
 
 Now who would delve beneath the rocks 
 
 For grains of golden sand 
 When Nature gives in golden ears 
 
 Her wealth upon the land? 
 
A COASTING SONG 59 
 
 A COASTING SONG 
 
 Merry lads and lassies gather 
 
 On the winter-whitened hills, 
 Bringing with them love and laughter 
 
 And the merriment that fills 
 All the air with joyous singing 
 
 As on sleds they speed along, 
 With their youthful voices ringing 
 
 With this merry coasting song: 
 
 The stars are bright, 
 
 Our hearts are light 
 And merrily we sing, 
 And speed we by 
 
 As thru the sky 
 A bird upon the wing. 
 
 Away with care 
 
 Let no one dare 
 To think of her tonight; 
 
 With mirth and song 
 
 We'll speed along 
 Beneath the moon so bright. 
 
60 A COASTING SONG 
 
 Oh what care we 
 
 How cold it be 
 With youth and love together? 
 
 We'll sport the while 
 
 And time beguile 
 And laugh at wind and weather. 
 
THE SPIRIT OF THE WILD 61 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE WILD. 
 
 Here a virgin kingdom lies 
 
 Fresh from the Creator's hands 
 
 Where the giant white pines rise 
 
 Far into the northern skies, 
 
 From the damp and sunless sands. 
 
 And beneath the arch o'erhead 
 
 Never reaches sunlight there; 
 Gloom and silence of the dead, 
 Where the offspring wild are bred. 
 In the nest or in the lair. 
 
 O'er this kingdom, undefiled 
 
 By the touch of human hand, 
 Rules the Spirit of the Wild- 
 Spirit that time once beguiled 
 From the far-off desert land. 
 
62 THE SPIRIT OF TEE WILD 
 
 There enthroned among the trees; 
 
 Tangled vines and thorny bow'ers 
 Making Nature's canopies, 
 Clinging moss her tapestries; 
 
 Courtiers are the ferns and flow'rs. 
 
 Dressed in gauze the spider weaves — 
 
 Gorgeous trains of rainbow hues; 
 Hair the sunlight bound in sheaves, • 
 Glist'ning there among the leaves, 
 Diamond crov/ned with crystal dews. 
 
 Pan for her his reed pipe plays, 
 
 Nymphs and dryads come at call. 
 Song birds sing their roundelays. 
 And the scepter that she sways 
 
 Holds the wood sprites there in thrall. 
 
 Wrapt in gloomy solitude, 
 
 There she sits in courts of green; 
 Bird and beast and reptile brood 
 Wait upon her changing mood. 
 Servile to their haughty queen.' 
 
TO DOROTHY 63 
 
 TO DOROTHY. 
 
 On Her Fifth Birthday, March 23, 1905. 
 
 Dear little eyes, that lift to mine, 
 With light of love o'erflowing, 
 
 And mirrored in whose depths I see 
 Unclouded trust there showing: 
 
 May they be quick to see the good, 
 The beautiful in knowing. 
 
 Dear little heart that beats so warm, 
 
 So little known to sadness, 
 That knows naught yet of griefs to come 
 
 Nor what there is of badness: 
 That I could keep thee free from sin 
 
 And will thee only gladness. 
 
 Dear little arms that softly twine 
 
 Around my neck caressing, 
 Dear rosebud lips, so lovingly 
 
 Against my own now pressing; 
 How rich in happiness am I, 
 
 The right to you possessing. 
 
64 CAMPING OUT 
 
 CAMPING OUT. 
 
 The happiest of summers 
 
 Is by the water-side 
 Or camping in the mountains 
 
 With living simplified; 
 
 A-tramping through the meadows 
 Or wading in the brooks, 
 
 Zigzagging through the forest 
 In quest of shady nooks. 
 
 A fragrant bed of cedar, 
 
 A canopy of white, 
 Are better than all tonic 
 
 To set a man aright. 
 
 The costliest of dinners 
 
 Is not to be compared 
 To speckled trout and bacon. 
 
 When 'round a camp-fire shared. 
 
CAMPING OUT 65 
 
 The pelDbly brook goes rippling, 
 
 The trout a moment shine, 
 Enticing me to follow 
 
 With creel and rod and line. 
 
 The trees are full of incense, 
 The winds are full of song, 
 
 And Nature's voices everywhere 
 A. 3 calling me along 
 
 To join the merry campers, 
 Beside the lakes and brooks 
 
 To leave my weary labors 
 And cast aside my books; 
 
 To share again the pleasures 
 Of Nature's open hand; 
 
 To lie among the flowers. 
 Or sunning in the sand — 
 
 The world outside forgotten. 
 My mind and soul at ease. 
 
 And Nature's music makers 
 Above me in the trees. 
 
CAMPING OUT 
 
 The woods are summer playgrounds 
 For Nature's worshippers, 
 
 And all her secrets open 
 To her interpreters. 
 
 The freedom of the forest 
 Brings freedom of the mind, 
 
 The vanity of fashion 
 
 And pride, are left behind. 
 
 The beauty all around me 
 
 Brings thoughts of higher things, 
 And, to my ear attuned, 
 
 The soul of Nature sings. 
 
WILLIAM J. B. 67 
 
 WILLIAM J. B. 
 
 He stood on the platform, did William 
 J. B., 
 Arrayed in a ten dollar suit; 
 'Twas crimped in the back and 'twas 
 bagged at the knee, 
 And minus three buttons to boot. 
 
 But six penny nails held his trousers in 
 place 
 And gave him a grang-er-like air; 
 A red dyed bandanna mopped sweat from 
 his face 
 And head where 'twas minus the hair. 
 
 And William he talked and he talked and 
 he talked 
 And pounded the table and swore 
 The poor man was being continually 
 balked 
 In his efforts to add to his store 
 
WILLIAM J. B. 
 
 By plutocrats' lust and monopoly's greed 
 The government allowed to exist; 
 
 He numbered their wrongs and he told 
 of their need 
 And made out a two column list. 
 
 He talked of the tariff, insurance, re- 
 bates; 
 Of bribery, railroads and graft, 
 And when he got through with the ship 
 of our states 
 You'd think it a derelict raft. 
 
 He talked of corruption beyond our be- 
 lief, 
 
 And everything under the sun, 
 And everyone drew a deep sigh of relief 
 
 When William was ended and done. 
 
"WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE?" 69 
 
 "WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE?' 
 
 On July h 
 
 Hurry, mother, bring a bandage, 
 And we'll tie up Willie's thumb; 
 
 Held a cracker; it exploded; 
 Now his hand is out of plumb. 
 
 Bring the cotton and some plaster, 
 And we'll wrap up Tommy's eye; 
 
 When the rocket wouldn't fizzle 
 Tommy sought the reason why. 
 
 Sister, go and call the doctor; 
 
 He'll graft skin on Freddie's face; 
 Freddie lit a can of powder 
 
 And it blew him into space. 
 
 Father, order up a coffin 
 
 And we'll bury Sammy Stout; 
 
 "Didn't know the gun was loaded," 
 When he went and brought it out. 
 
70 "WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE?" 
 
 Call the ambulance to gather 
 
 Human fragments here and there, 
 
 That are scattered o'er the pavement 
 Or are falling from the air. 
 
 Thus we kill and maim with powder 
 
 In this patriotic way 
 While for nurses and for doctors 
 
 'Tis a glorious harvest day. 
 
LINES ACCOMPANYING A PICTURE 71 
 
 LINES ACCOMPANYING A PICTURE. 
 
 Pray, dear old Prex, accept this card, 
 
 As though it were a valentine, 
 That from the past this message brings 
 
 With love to yon from me and mine; 
 
 Though outward grace old time may change 
 And turn the hair from gold to gray, 
 
 It can not make old friends forget, 
 Nor steal their love, once won, away. 
 
72 MY KINGDOM 
 
 MY KINGDOM. 
 
 O, what care I for power or gold, 
 When round about my knee, 
 
 My children prattle o'er their toys 
 Or turn their eyes to me. 
 
 The glow of health is in their cheeks 
 While joy lights up the eye 
 
 And never king surveys domain 
 With prouder heart than 1. 
 
 In sweet content and perfect bliss 
 
 I sit my arm-chair throne, 
 And gaze in rapture o'er the scene — 
 
 A kingdom all my own. 
 
 And love rules o'er this court of mine 
 That has but four plain walls, 
 
 But I would not exchange it for 
 The gilded palace halls. 
 
MY KINGDOM 73 
 
 And there I sit in thankfulness 
 
 For my two little girls, 
 My wealth and happiness bound up 
 
 Within their tangled curls. 
 
 And we, the mother queen and I, 
 Watch where our kingdom lies, 
 
 Our sun and moon and stars and all 
 Shine from their four blue eyes. 
 
AT DEAR OLD OALLAUDET 
 
 AT DEAR OLD GALLAUDET. 
 
 Tho years have come and years have gone 
 
 There's ever with us yet 
 The memory of our college days 
 
 At dear old Gallaudet. 
 
 'Tis sweet that now those days are past 
 
 And college joys are o'er, 
 To muse upon "the good old times" 
 
 Of days that are no more. 
 
 The old familiar scenes I knew 
 
 Come crowding to my brain 
 As pleasures of those golden days 
 
 I oft live o'er again. 
 
 The dear old walls, all ivyclad. 
 
 The clock up in the tower — 
 How many, many happy days 
 
 Thy tongue hath struck the hour! 
 
AT DEAR OLD GALLAUDET 75 
 
 The "garlic grounds" beyond the hedge — 
 
 What triumphs they recall! 
 What victories the Buff and Blue 
 
 There won with bat and ball! 
 
 The "gym," the pool, the tennis courts. 
 
 The coasting on the hills — 
 The mention of whose memories now 
 
 My heart with longing fills. 
 
 The "reading room," the lyceum, 
 
 The grim old chapel hall; 
 The hid retreat, the "bums' resort," 
 
 (You see I know them all.) 
 
 The faculty that awed our youth, 
 
 In stature smaller grown, 
 But more and more in reverence held 
 
 As we their service own. 
 
 And dear old "prex," how little then 
 
 His love we really knew, 
 Or how our careless thoughtless ways 
 
 So often pierced him thru. 
 
76 AT DEAR OLD OALLAUDET 
 
 But now we see with clearer eyes 
 
 And come our debt to pay, 
 And at his feet in penitence 
 
 A loving tribute lay. 
 
 Forgotten now the foes we fought, 
 
 We see thru older eyes; 
 The friends we loved — the true and tried 
 
 We now more highly prize. 
 
 Tho years may come and years may go 
 
 We never can forget 
 The glories of those college days 
 
 At dear old Gallaudet. 
 
DEMODOCUii 77 
 
 DEMODOCUS. 
 
 The ancients were discerning men, and held 
 
 this doctrine true, 
 That when the gods would take away, they 
 
 left some gift in lieu. 
 And you may read the tale I tell, in books of 
 
 ancient lore, 
 To prove the law of recompense was known 
 
 so long before. 
 
 The gods to blind Demodocus denied the joy 
 
 of light, 
 And so, in lieu thereof the muses gave him 
 
 inward sight, 
 And skill above all other men to play the 
 
 harp and sing. 
 The chosen bard was he of good Alcinous, 
 
 the king. 
 
 And at his court the Greeks had made for 
 
 him a silver chair. 
 And when the king his feasting had, the bard 
 
 was seated there. 
 
78 DEMODOCUS 
 
 And never yet had mortal heard, and never 
 
 mortal since, 
 Such music as this minstrel made, to whom 
 
 the gods gave recompense. 
 
 So runs the tale, as Homer in his Iliad has 
 told. 
 
 It was the Grecian bard himself, who wan- 
 dered blind and old; 
 
 And while he sings another's praise, he mod- 
 estly reveals 
 
 The gratitude he owes the gods and for their 
 solace feels. 
 
WHEN THE TRAIX GOE^ BY 79 
 
 WHEN THE TRAIN GOES BY. 
 
 I stop to watch the train go by 
 
 With fascinated eyes, 
 And turning ask myself wherein 
 
 This fascination lies. 
 
 A common sight it is, and yet 
 
 I gaze in awe to see 
 This moving thing of iron and steel 
 
 So wrapt in mystery. 
 
 It moves along the guiding rails 
 
 With majesty and ease; 
 And carries countless messages 
 
 And human destinies. 
 
 But why should I, when loud and clear 
 
 Its whistle cleaves the air, 
 Drop ev'rything and idly stand 
 
 And full of wonder stare? 
 
 In human awe for power, I think, 
 
 The explanation lies, 
 And I but homage pay to that 
 
 Which it exemplifies. 
 
go MOTHER'S COOKING 
 
 MOTHER'S COOKING. 
 
 How the pies that mother made 
 Put all others in the shade ! 
 Apple, custard, pumpkin, too, — 
 Her's the best I ever knew. 
 She knew how to cook all these 
 With the other things that please. 
 How my heart with longing turns 
 Backward to those days and yearns 
 Just to be a boy again 
 So's to eat as I did then! 
 
 May be time has wrought a change 
 Can't tell why, 'tis very strange — 
 May be mother's getting old 
 And of skill is losing hold — 
 But, somehow, it seems to me 
 Now, a man, I go to see 
 Mother, and take dinner there 
 That her cooking don't compare 
 With the skill she used to show 
 In my youth so long ago. 
 
MOTHER'S COOKING 81 
 
 And I wonder sometimes, when 
 
 All these boys of ours are men, 
 
 Will they boast as we do now 
 
 Of their mothers and tell how 
 
 "Mother used to cook," and grieve 
 
 Wives of theirs, and make believe 
 
 Nothing in their later day 
 
 Holds a candle to the way 
 
 Things were done when they were boys 
 
 And the earth was full of joys. 
 
82 BE 8UXXY 
 
 BE SUNNY. 
 
 If We go about our business 
 
 With a bright and smiling face 
 We will find it mirrored 'round us 
 
 Filling every busy place. 
 It will lighten all the labor 
 
 Of a dreary, rainy day, 
 Not alone for us but others 
 
 And I tell you it will pay. 
 
 If we take our task and do it, 
 
 Shirking nothing we should do, 
 It will seem so much the lighter 
 
 When the weary work is thru. 
 And we'll feel the better for it 
 
 When an inner voice can say: 
 "Something else is now accomplished; 
 
 It has been a useful day." 
 
BE .SUNNY 83 
 
 If we love our work and do it 
 
 With a quick and willing hand, 
 We will reap a richer harvest 
 
 And we'll better understand 
 How to make our work a pleasure 
 
 And to quickly do away 
 With the drudgery of labor 
 
 And I tell you it will pay. 
 
84 MY POINT OF VIEW 
 
 MY POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 I know my ears are closed to sound 
 And lose the charm that music brings; 
 
 I know that I can never hear 
 The voice, (they say,) so sweetly sings; 
 
 The sound of song — it must be sweet; 
 
 (My friends w^ho hear have told me so;) 
 But what is that to me since fate 
 
 Decrees that I shall never know? 
 
 What knows the bird of buoyant air 
 'Till it has spread its wings and flown? 
 
 Then why should I be thought to miss 
 The things I never yet have known? 
 
 For sound — the thing you tell me of — 
 
 Is meaningless to me; 
 And what to you comes thru the ears, 
 
 In other forms I feel and see. 
 
VACATION TIME DREAMS 85 
 
 VACATION TIME DREAMS. 
 
 Out of the streets and the alleys 
 
 Into the forests of pine, 
 Over the hills and the valleys 
 
 Crossing the settlement line; 
 Leaving the toil of the strivers, 
 
 Seeking the freedom of Pan, 
 Far from the call of the drivers, 
 
 Where there is rest for a man. 
 
 Camping with Nature, the Giver, 
 
 Eating the "fat of the land," 
 Tramping the banks of the river. 
 
 Tackle and gun in your hand; 
 Stalking the deer in the thicket, 
 
 List'ning to calls of the wild, 
 Then for the paths to the wicket. 
 
 There where the trophies are piled. 
 
VAC AT I ox TIME DREA3IS 
 
 Starting the partridge from cover, 
 
 Whistling for sight of a quail, 
 And where the frightened birds hover 
 
 Trying for a shot at a rail; 
 Watching the flight of the singers. 
 
 Fishing for trout in the streams. 
 Longing for chance at the wingers — 
 
 These are vacation time dreams. 
 
A THANKSGIVIXG HYMX 87 
 
 A THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
 
 The rays of the sun are now smiling 
 On hills and the valleys fruit filled; 
 
 The harvests are stored for the winter 
 From fields that so lately were tilled; 
 
 And never before have they yielded 
 Such fullness as comes from them now, 
 
 And never before have thus prospered 
 The footsteps that follow the plow. 
 
 And far from the city is echoed 
 The tale of prosperity there, 
 
 And good that has come to the country 
 The toilers in factories share. 
 
 And nothing of need is there lacking, 
 And nothing of good is denied; 
 
 The wants of the world in His goodness 
 The hand of the Lord hath supplied. 
 
88 A THANKSGIVING HYMN 
 
 So music is everywhere pealing 
 In strains of a glorious hymn, 
 
 And songs of the world now go upward 
 In praise and thanksgiving to Him; 
 
 To Him who hath prospered the sowing; 
 
 To Him who in infinits love 
 Hath showered the world with the blessings 
 
 That come from the kingdom above. 
 
BEFORE THANKSGIVING 89 
 
 BEFORE THANKSGIVING. 
 
 The turkey struts the barnyard now, 
 
 Unmindful of the time 
 When he will grace the festive board 
 
 Of Uncle Ezra Kime. 
 
 He little knows that every eye 
 
 Is watching how he grows, 
 And extra feed he gets just to 
 
 Increase his adipose. 
 
 And that within a few short weeks 
 
 He'll lie upon a plate 
 All trussed and roasted nice and brown, 
 
 And garnished up in state, 
 
 When Uncle Ezra's city friends 
 
 In good old fashioned way, 
 Come out to share his dinner there 
 
 On next Thanksgiving Day. 
 
90 LOVE'S CROWN 
 
 LOVE'S CROWN. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. H. W. R. on their i5th Wedding Anniversary. 
 
 Another milestone in your lives 
 
 Is counted with the last, 
 Another added to the years 
 
 Which you've together passed; 
 With hearts attuned in one great thought 
 
 That bound your souls as one, 
 Love crowned your lives with happiness 
 
 That few on earth have won. 
 
 And to those years so filled with gifts 
 
 And blessings few may share, 
 Look back and count the fruitful fields 
 
 Your love hath planted there; 
 The friends you made, the deeds your love 
 
 Inspired your hearts to. do; 
 Now comes the harvest, and love bears 
 
 The garnered sheaves to you. 
 
LOVE'S CROWN 91 
 
 And we, a few of those dear friends 
 
 Would share your joy tonight, 
 For we have known the love that made 
 
 All round about you bright. 
 And may the years now yet to come 
 
 Still shower their blessings down, 
 For heaven is ne'er more pleased than when 
 
 Love wreathes a golden crown. 
 
92 -'il^ you MAKE IT 
 
 AS YOU MAKE IT. 
 
 Many things you'll find to cheer you 
 In this queer old world of ours; 
 
 Never mind the thorns beneath them, 
 Keep your eyes upon the flowers. 
 
 What if divers things do vex you? 
 
 There's a cure for every ill; 
 And it won't take long to find it 
 
 If you've courage and the will. 
 
 Look around you at the blossoms, 
 Kill the weeds or pass them by; 
 
 All the world is clothed in beauty 
 Save to those with jaundiced eye. 
 
 For your world is what you make it — 
 
 Full of joy or full of woe; 
 Carry smiles and sunshine with you 
 
 And you'll find them where you go. 
 
 r^ip-^f-^-'^-^' 
 
AS YOU MAKE IT 93 
 
 If you look for slight you'll find it; 
 
 Look for wrong and wrong you'll find: 
 Water always seeks its level, 
 
 Like loves like and kind its kind. 
 
 And if what you seek's beyond you, 
 Turn and take what's near at hand; 
 
 And if there's no chair beside you. 
 Thank the Lord you still can stand. 
 
 Oh, there's many things to cheer you 
 In this queer old world of ours; 
 
 And tho days are sometimes stormy, 
 Comes the rainbow after showerg. 
 
94 THEN AXD NOW 
 
 THEN AND NOW. 
 
 When the earth is wrapped in silence 
 With the mantle of the night, 
 
 And I seek the cozy corner 
 
 Where the fire is burning bright. 
 
 And I gaze upon the shadows 
 Where the fitful firelight gleams, 
 
 Fancy takes me with her backward 
 To my vanished boyhood dreams. 
 
 And again the airy castles 
 That I built before me rise, 
 
 And I smile at boyish visions 
 As they pass before my eyes. 
 
 Once again I tramp the furrow 
 With my hand upon the plow, 
 
 And the fragrance of the meadows 
 Brings a longing to me now. 
 
THE'M AND NOW % 
 
 There beyond the hills and pastures 
 
 With its shining, golden spires, 
 Full of wealth and dazzling promise 
 
 Stood the City of Desires. 
 
 There the way to fame and fortune, 
 
 Easy sailing of the seas; 
 There the rounds of joy and pleasure 
 
 Midst a life of pampered ease. 
 
 There no more the weary burdens 
 
 That the farm forever brings; 
 Only hours of glad employment 
 
 That flew by on golden wings. 
 
 Ah, the dreams my youthful longing 
 
 Built upon my discontent. 
 With the rainbow hues around them, 
 
 And enchantment distance lent. 
 
 Gone those dreams! How quickly vanished! 
 
 Time and tide have changed since then, 
 And I'm weary with the city, — 
 
 Longing for the farm again. 
 
 10 
 
96 FOR ETERNITY'S SLEEP 
 
 FOR ETERNITY'S SLEEP. 
 
 On the death of a friend' s father ivho loved God's out-of-doors 
 
 Bury him not where the willows maj^ weep 
 Nor the wind thru their branches may sigh; 
 
 Lay him to rest for eternity's sleep 
 Where there's naught 'twixt the earth and the 
 sky. 
 
 Bury him not where the saddening pines 
 Cast their shadows and darken the light; 
 
 Bury him there v/here the sun ever shines 
 And the stars cast their glory by night. 
 
 There be his grave where no shadows may fall, 
 But the light of the skies overhead; 
 
 There where the grass and the flowers for a pall 
 In their beauty may cover the dead. 
 
 Find him a place where in death he'll repose 
 
 In the hills in the freedom of air. 
 So that his ashes may rest at the close 
 
 Where he loved; and then bury him there. 
 
THE HUMAN HAXD 97 
 
 THE HUMAN HAND. 
 
 Behold, a perfect work in Nature's plan 
 
 In this, the ^'.^nan hand, so framed to be 
 
 The ser .ant of the will in harmony 
 With all the needs of Nature's offspring, man 
 Who sways the sceptre over Nature's clan; 
 
 'Tis master of the power which man sets free 
 
 Or binds at will, and by which he 
 Is sovereign of all the forces that he can 
 Discover; made to carry and to bring; 
 
 What appetite may crave, the hand supplies; 
 
 The artist's brush, the chisel and the pen, 
 The workman's tool, the sceptre of the king 
 
 Alike it wields; unto the sightless, eyes, 
 The dumb, a tongue; the all in all of men. 
 
CONTRARIES 
 
 CONTRARIES. 
 
 I still have Adam's suit to wear 
 When I take off my clothes; 
 
 And then I lose myself in sleep 
 To find surcease from woes. 
 
 You know we have to go in squares 
 When we go 'round the town; 
 
 And woman's prone to buying up 
 The things that are marked down. 
 
 A clock must needs stay on the wall 
 
 Yet on and on it goes; 
 And I would fain remain in bed 
 
 If I would seek repose. 
 
 The doctor says you're very low 
 Whene'er your fever's high; 
 
 Tho wet, champagne is best, they say 
 When it is extra dry. 
 
CONTRARIES 99 
 
 And when a country man is dull, 
 
 A sharp he's sure to meet; 
 And while you're standing on your rights, 
 
 You may be off your feet. 
 
 So, frequently in words we find 
 
 There's some queer paradox, 
 Where some poor foreigner is wrecked 
 
 On linguistic rocks. 
 
100 THE MASTER POET 
 
 THE MASTER POET. 
 
 Verses? Yes, we all can write them 
 But 'tis only now and then, 
 
 That the master comes to thrill us 
 With the magic of his pen. 
 
 He, the master poet, lifts us 
 To the subtler realms of thought; 
 
 What he sees in God-sent visions 
 By his skill in words is wrought. 
 
 He, divinely chosen singer, 
 Reads the message from above, 
 
 Sweetly tunes his lyre to waken 
 Human hearts to hope and love. 
 
 He, the gifted, reads the meaning 
 Thru the mist of human tears. 
 
 Tunes his lyre to songs of solace, 
 For our longings, for our fears. 
 
WHY REPINE r 101 
 
 WHY REPINE? 
 
 Tho I missed the first spring blossom 
 
 Why should I repine? 
 Are there not a thousand others 
 
 Just as fresh and fine? 
 
 Tho the fish I caught escaped me 
 
 Why be overwrought, 
 Are there not a thousand others 
 
 Good as ever caught? 
 
 Tho the girl I loved has left me 
 
 Why should I despair? 
 Are there not a thousand others 
 
 Just as young and fair? 
 
102 THE MODERN STANDARD 
 
 THE MODERN STANDARD. 
 
 New problems for the world to solve 
 
 Each cycle, turning, brings; 
 The constant change of years has wrought 
 
 The need for different things. 
 No longer now are we content 
 
 With must of ancient lore; 
 The standard set for modern lads 
 
 Requires of them yet more. 
 
 The strenuous life that now we live 
 
 Demands that hand and brain 
 Together work in order to 
 
 The highest art attain. 
 The mind to plan, the hand to do 
 
 And skill its work to guide, 
 And then we have the boy or man 
 
 For life's stern strife supplied. 
 
UP AXZ) DOir.Y THE STREETS 103 
 
 UP AND DOWN THE STREETS. 
 
 Up and down the city streets 
 
 See the crowds that come and go; 
 
 Some on business there intent, 
 Some for only idle show, 
 
 Coming here and going there 
 
 Jostling crowds are everywhere. 
 
 Men and women, boys and girls, 
 Big and little, great and small, 
 
 Fat and lean and square and round; 
 Some are short and some are tall; 
 
 Some in rags and some in silk, 
 
 Every kin and every ilk. 
 
 Some that carry loads of grief, 
 
 Some that laugh and some that sigh 
 
 Some on secret sin are bent 
 
 Watching chance with eagle eye; 
 
 Erring woman, hardened man, 
 
 Modest maid and preacher clan. 
 
104 UP AND DOWN THE STREETS 
 
 Colors sombre, colors gay, 
 In kaleidoscopic change; 
 
 Every fashion, every style 
 
 From the old to new and strange; 
 
 Farmer folk and city swells. 
 
 Ugly men and lovely belles. 
 
 Envy, greed and lust for gain, 
 Love and hope and tragedy, 
 
 Disappointment, grief and pain, 
 Joy and smiles and comedy, — 
 
 Carried by the ones we meet 
 
 Going up and down the street. 
 
A TOAST 
 
 A TOAST. 
 
 105 
 
 Come, my comrads, fill your glasses 
 Come and drink a toast with me, 
 
 And recall the glories of the 
 Army of the Tennessee. 
 
 Side by side we stood in battle 
 As we faced our country's foe; 
 
 Side by side we shared the fortunes 
 Of the war in weal or woe. 
 
 Side by side we charged at Shiloh 
 Where ten thousand comrades fell 
 
 Where we stood before the canon 
 And beheld the jaws cf hell. 
 
 Still together on to Vicksburg, 
 Thence to eastern Tennessee; 
 
 Southward next thru sunny Georgia 
 And the march clear to the sea. 
 
 And after all the hardship 
 
 Of those four long years of war 
 We at last shared in the triumph 
 Of the cause we battled for. 
 
106 ^ TOAST 
 
 With no bitterness or malice 
 But with "charity for all," 
 
 We have met here now together 
 And the days of old recall. 
 
 With our difference forgotten 
 
 In a new united land, 
 Where one flag is floating o'er us 
 
 We will clasp the southern hand. 
 
 And we'll pause to pay a tribute 
 To the ones who, fallen, lie 
 
 With a mound of green above them 
 'Neath a friendly southern sky. 
 
 And tho age is creeping o'er us 
 And our steps are growing slow, 
 
 We'll respond with courage when the 
 Great Commander bids us go. 
 
 So, my comrades, fill your glasses, 
 Come and drink a toast with me 
 
 To the undimmed glories of the 
 Army of the Tennessee. 
 
THE BUFF AND THE BLUE 107 
 
 THE BUFF AND THE BLUE. 
 
 Come and we'll join in a song and a cheer, 
 
 And pledge to our colors anew; 
 Colors by romance and story made dear — 
 
 All hail to the Buff and the Blue! 
 
 Colors of beauty and colors of might, 
 
 How dear to the hearts of us all! 
 Colors we hail with a thrill of delight, 
 
 What glorious days they recall! 
 
 Waving triumphantly over the field 
 
 Where valor and beauty are met, 
 Telling of triumph o'er foes as they yield 
 
 To prowess of old Gallaudet. 
 
 Wave them aloft and then cheer them above 
 With hearts that are loyal and true, 
 
 Colors that all of us reverence and love — 
 Forever, the Buff and the Blue! 
 
108 THE WORKER'S RECOMPENSE 
 
 THE WORKER'S RECOMPENSE. 
 
 In the thrill of his creation, not the gain, 
 The sculptor's real incentive lies; 
 
 And the artist finds his compensation in 
 The perfect lines that meet his eyes. 
 
 In the pleasure of the winning, not the prize 
 The runner gets the most delight; 
 
 In the pride of doing something to excel 
 The toiler's work grows light. 
 
 All, the artist, sculptor, and the artisan, 
 Find joy in that which each loves best; 
 
 The pride of work, the glory of o'ercoming, 
 To art and labor give the zest. 
 
 Whether gain be great or small, 'tis one; 
 
 There's joy which only workers know; 
 In the shaping of a form at will, the while 
 
 Beneath their eyes its beauties grow. 
 
THE WORKER'S RECOMPENSE 109 
 
 'Tis the glory in the triumph, leads them on 
 And keeps the spirit strong and tense; 
 
 Gives to him who toils, tho he may miss the goal 
 His greatest, most prized recompense. 
 
110 MY RECOMPENSE 
 
 MY RECOMPENSE. 
 
 The noisy band goes marching by 
 
 But not a sound I hear, 
 For Nature in a naughty mood 
 
 Once closed my outer ear. 
 
 But tho I lose those martial strains 
 Some recompense have I; 
 
 The rhythm of their moving feet 
 Is music to the eye. 
 
 The winds that whisper to the trees 
 Bring naught of sound to me; 
 
 But far above in purple haze 
 The singing leaves I see. 
 
 And in the flowers that blossom near 
 
 Or sparkle with the dew, 
 I read a thousand color notes 
 
 And know their music, too. 
 
MY RECOMPENSE m 
 
 And yonder bird that fills the air 
 
 With his triumphant note; — 
 Do I not see the music in 
 
 His trim and shapely throat? 
 
 And in the plumage that bedecks 
 
 His back and brilliant wings? 
 For tho bereft of sound I know 
 
 When light or motion sings. 
 
 12 
 
112 THE GIFT THAT 18 OURS 
 
 THE GIFT THAT IS OURS. 
 
 There on the mound where the soldier lies 
 
 Scatter a wealth of flowers; 
 Meagre the gift for the debt we owe — 
 
 Owe for the peace that is ours. 
 
 His was the gift of a patriot's life 
 
 Laid on the alter of war; 
 Ours is the gift of a grateful land — 
 
 Land that he battled for. 
 
 Soon we'll have but the headstones white. 
 
 To tell of that civil strife, 
 When, in the throes of a fearful birth 
 
 "Was brought forth our national life. 
 
 Over the graves where our heroes sleep 
 The North and the South join hands, 
 
 Each with a thought of the other's loss, 
 And each of us understands. 
 
TO THE PA8-A-PA8 CLUB 113 
 
 TO THE PAS-A-PAS CLUB. 
 
 On the occasion of its Silver Jubilee 
 
 As a traveler on a summit 
 Stops to rest along the way, 
 
 And looks back to view tJie windings 
 Where his toilsome journey lay. 
 
 Or a Knight discards his armor 
 
 At the setting of the sun " 
 And reviews his strength, and courage 
 
 By recounting laurels won, 
 
 Comes a pause in thy advancement 
 
 On this Silver Jubilee 
 When the eye may now turn backward 
 
 And in clear perspective see 
 
 All the past that lies behind thee 
 
 With its varied memories 
 And behold in panorama 
 
 All the hard won victories. 
 
X14 20 THE PA SAP AS CLUB 
 
 Five and twenty years of triumpli 
 Now have crowned thy chartered life— » 
 
 Years that conquered opposition; 
 Left thee stronger after strife. 
 
 Firmly now thy name established 
 After years of patient growth; 
 
 Step by step progressing onward 
 Gaining strength and numbers both. 
 
 Step by step, though slow but surely 
 Was thy present glory gained; 
 
 Step by step, by slowly climbing 
 Were thy present heights attained. 
 
 In the motto thou hast chosen 
 
 Lies the key to all success; 
 Step by step, by persevering; 
 
 Doth the world at large progress. 
 
ai|Hm^0 STrnm ttj^ S^t\\wl ^wm 
 
SCHOOL TIME. 
 
 Brush the dust from off your desk 
 
 And sweep the cobwebs from your brain; 
 Gather up your scattered books 
 
 That long in hidden nooks have lain; 
 Summer days are done, 
 School days have begun, 
 And the call to study comes again. 
 
 'Reading, 'riting, 'rithmetic, 
 
 Were good enough in days before, 
 But in modern times to them 
 We have to add a hundred more: 
 Science, chemistry. 
 Logic, history. 
 With a lot of ancient musty lore. 
 
 Greek and Latin, German, French, 
 
 And lots of "oligies" to mix 
 With philosophy and law, 
 
118 SCHOOL TIME 
 
 Astronomy and politics, 
 Minerology, 
 Physiology, 
 And a dozen more in "y" and "ics." 
 
 So, away your summer dreams 
 
 And find your paper, pen and ink; 
 Get together odds and ends 
 And fix your "thinking cap" to think; 
 Play days now are past, 
 Fall has come at last. 
 To the "fount of knowledge" go and drink. 
 
STILL MORE BEYOXD 119 
 
 STILL MORE BEYOND. 
 
 /. S. D. Class Poem, 1905 
 
 Nothing in this life's completed, 
 
 Something still remains undone; 
 When the end may seem the nearest 
 
 Often we have just begun. 
 Looking forward to life's promise 
 
 As the seasons 'round us roll, 
 Ever learning, ever striving, 
 
 Still beyond us lies the goal. 
 
 Something still to be completed, 
 
 Something further to be learned; 
 In the future, something higher, 
 
 Something better to be earned. 
 Toil and work and endless striving 
 
 To our efforts oft respond, 
 And there's something left to strive for 
 
 Something still there is beyond. 
 
120 STILL MORE BEYOND 
 
 When one task is thru and ended 
 
 There's another to begin; 
 And the more that we accomplish 
 
 Greater grow our burdens then. 
 When one lesson has been mastered. 
 
 There's another yet to do; 
 When the book is closed and finished 
 
 Points its ending further too. 
 
 Still there's always something higher. 
 
 Something to be better done; 
 Never quite contented with our work 
 
 Until the prize is won. 
 But we'll not become discouraged — 
 
 'Tis the weaklings that despond — 
 While we keep in mind our motto 
 
 That there still is more beyond. 
 
 Hope is always left to cheer us 
 
 When the clouds around us rise, 
 And we know that thei^e beyond them 
 
 Lie the blue and sunny skies. 
 And when death at last shall claim us 
 
 And we break our earthly bond, 
 There is comfort in the promise 
 
 That there still is more beyond. 
 
DOES IT PAY? 121 
 
 DOES IT PAY? 
 
 Weary and sad and dejected 
 
 I sat at tht close of the day, 
 Tediously marking some papers 
 
 Before I could hurry away. 
 
 Thoughts of the day's disappointments 
 Came thronging to sadden me then; 
 
 Thoughts of how utterly fruitless 
 
 My efforts seemed then to have been. 
 
 Thoughts of the constant endeavor, 
 
 The failure and end of it all, 
 So that I couldn't help thinking 
 
 There was nothing to drink but the gall. 
 
 And as I finished my papers 
 And carefully laid them away, 
 
 This was the query I pondered, 
 "With this as the end does it pay?" 
 
122 DOES IT PAY? 
 
 What does it pay to keep trying 
 When so little of good we attain? 
 
 What does it pay to keep striving 
 When striving seems often so vain? 
 
 Yet on the morrow as ever 
 I took us my burden again, 
 
 Praying the Lord for the courage 
 And leaving the rest with Him then. 
 
 Hoping that sometime in future 
 The seeds I have planted in youth 
 
 Will in the minds of these children 
 Then grow into blossoms of truth. 
 
 13 
 
DEDICATION ODE 123 
 
 DEDICATION ODE. 
 Read at Dedication of new Building at I. S. D. June, 1906 
 
 Tn time's eternal onward sweep 
 That lifts the veil from wrong, 
 
 To souls long dead thru love's neglect 
 Shone hope delayed so long. 
 
 The messengers of Love and Light, 
 
 God's benediction brought 
 And lo, thruout the wakening world 
 
 A miracle was wrought. 
 
 As far adown the flight of years 
 Christ's "ephphatha" was heard 
 
 And men were turned to deeds of love 
 By His inspiring word. 
 
 And tho Lucretius in his rhyme 
 
 Declared the deaf to be 
 Beyond the power of wisdom's art 
 
 Or skill of men to free, 
 
124 DEDICATION ODE 
 
 In minds unreached by sound, thru eyes 
 The light of knowledge broke, 
 
 And thoughts long hid for want of tongue 
 Now thru the fingers spoke. 
 
 And they to whom the world denied 
 
 In life an equal share, 
 And doomed because of Nature's wrong 
 
 The cross of scorn to bear 
 
 Were freed; and education took 
 
 Away the blighting ban. 
 Restored them to the realm of life 
 
 And brotherhood of man. 
 
 Now to this cause we dedicate 
 The walls that round us rise, 
 
 A pledge of that humanity 
 That in their purpose lies. 
 
WHICH VALEXTIXEf 125 
 
 WHICH VALENTINE? 
 
 Two little girls in school I know, 
 
 And see them every day; 
 I see them as they work in school 
 
 And see them at their play. 
 
 "Old Cross-patch" one of them is called, 
 
 (I think you can guess why). 
 The other, "Sunshine," (and you know 
 
 Her just as well as I). 
 
 When Cross-patch comes to school each day, 
 
 She wears a dreadful frown; 
 Seems like a cloud has settled there, 
 
 Whenever she sits down. 
 
 But Sunshine, she comes laughing in. 
 
 And fills the room with glee; 
 Seems like the world is changed to gold 
 
 Whenever her I see. 
 
126 WHICH VALENTINE? 
 
 And Cross-patch will not let you touch 
 
 Her doll or things at play; 
 She's selfish and she makes a fuss 
 
 Unless things are her way. 
 
 But Sunshine smiles and says, 
 "Oh, come and play here too; 
 
 It's lot more fun when I can share 
 My things with some of you." 
 
 And so each day I stand and watch 
 These two young friends of mine; 
 
 Now which one do you think I'd choose 
 To be my valentine? 
 
yOT FOR kiELF BUT OTHERS 127 
 
 NOT FOR SELF BUT OTHERS. 
 /. S. D. Class Poem 1907 
 
 Now we leave our school behind us, 
 Now the parting of the ways; 
 
 Closed the books so long beside us, 
 Torn away the props and stays. 
 
 Wide the world, but God has given us 
 Each his own particular sphere, — 
 
 We have work that he assigned us 
 Even tho we can not hear. 
 
 Life is always what we make it. 
 
 Full of joy or full of tears, 
 And to measure its completeness 
 
 Count the deeds and not the years. 
 
 I^et us then go forth with courage 
 Seeking what our hands may do, 
 Loyal to the school that made us, 
 14 Faithful, firm and ever true. 
 
128 ^OT FOR ^ELF BUT OTHERS 
 
 Let US strive to make time useful 
 As we journey on thru life, 
 
 Let us seek the good and noble, 
 Turn away from petty strife; 
 
 Let us find our greatest pleasure 
 In the deeds of faith and love, 
 
 Living not for self but others, 
 Trusting in the Lord above. 
 
THE SCHOOL GIRL'S COMPLAINT 129 
 
 THE SCHOOL GIRL'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 I don't see why that I should have 
 To study, work and go to school, 
 
 When grown-ups do just as they please 
 And never have to mind the rule. 
 
 The morning brings some task to do 
 And then it's hurry to prepare 
 
 For school, and oh! the troubles and 
 The tasks I know await me there! 
 
 The teacher, she puts on the board 
 The hardest things for us to do, 
 
 And then she sits and watches us 
 The while we toil and struggle thru 
 
 And when we get the answer wrong, 
 She frowns and scolds us awful hard 
 
 And wonders why we are so slow. 
 Then marks us low upon our card. 
 
13a 7'i?^ SCHOOL GIRL'S COMPLAINT 
 
 I guess she has forgotten when 
 She was a girl and went to school, 
 
 Or she would understand and be 
 Less cross when we forget the rule. 
 
 I'll be so glad when I grow up; 
 
 Then I'll be free to go and do 
 Just as I please — and maybe then 
 
 I'll try and be a teacher too. 
 
THE PATH OF DUTY 131 
 
 THE PATH OF DUTY. 
 
 When Mary the best of my pupils 
 
 Went wrong and coumpelled me to blame 
 
 Where always I'd loved, how I hated 
 To scold her and put her to shame. 
 
 All day she'd been cross and unruly 
 Till when it was too much to bear, 
 
 I called her right up to my table 
 And made her stand up on a chair. 
 
 I kept her in school In tne evening 
 And told her how naughty she'd been; 
 
 She sobbed while she said she was sorry 
 And never would do it again. 
 
 How little we reckon of sorrow 
 In hearts of the tender in years! 
 
 How little we know till we see it 
 O'erflowing in torrents of tears ! 
 
 How often the heart of the teacher 
 
 Is longing affection to show, 
 When duty as often compels her 
 15 To sternly a chiding bestow. 
 
132 SCHOOL ROOM PROBLEMS 
 
 SCHOOL ROOM PROBLEMS. 
 
 I often wonder why, one day, a child with 
 
 ease will learn, 
 And on the very next, the simplest thing can 
 
 not discern. 
 And why one day the self-same child will be 
 
 so awful nice 
 And on the next will vex my soul with 
 
 every mean device. 
 
 And why when I have spent an hour to 
 
 patiently explain 
 The "how" and "why" of this and that and 
 
 made it very plain, 
 Then ask the pupils to produce a brief of 
 
 what they've seen, 
 A boy gets up and says to me, "What does 
 
 this subject mean?" 
 And when I show them where to put the 
 
 nouns and place adverbs, 
 
SCHOOL ROOM PROBLEMS 133 
 
 And tell them that the adjectives can't 
 
 modify the verbs, 
 And then they go and mix them up without a 
 
 thought or care, 
 I feel like I will have to drop and give up in 
 
 despair. 
 
134 A/M HIGH 
 
 AIM HIGH. 
 
 /. S. D. Class Motto, 1908 
 
 Starting out upon life's highway, 
 Leaving school and help behind, 
 
 Whither will its windings lead us? 
 What of blessings shall we find? 
 
 Will it give us ought of triumph? 
 
 Will it lead to wealth or fame? 
 All depends upon our effort 
 
 And the heights for which we aim. 
 
 We may never reach the summit 
 Of the mountain's rugged peak; 
 
 We may never quite accomplish 
 All the purpose that we seek; 
 
 But unless our eyes be lifted 
 As we struggle toward the skies 
 
 And our aim be high above us 
 Can we ever hope to rise? 
 
AIM HIGH 135 
 
 May our lives be free from doing 
 
 Anything to bring us shame; 
 Let us work and do our duty 
 
 That there nought will be to blame. 
 
 Ours the aim to reach the highest, 
 Ne'er content save with the best, 
 
 Strive that when our work is over 
 It will stand the Master's test. 
 
136 ANAXAGORAS 
 
 ANAXAGORAS. 
 
 Wise Anaxagoras (and ever may his tribe 
 
 increase) 
 Once kept a school at Athens for the boys 
 
 of ancient Greece. 
 And how to keep them dutiful, he knew 
 
 the wisest way, 
 For when they'd all been good, he'd give 
 
 then, a holiday. 
 
 His lectures on philosophy, as fairy tales 
 
 disguised, 
 And talks on deep astronomy, they heard 
 
 with open eyes; 
 But they were always ready when he'd stop 
 
 and, smiling say, 
 "Come, boys, now put your books aside and 
 
 take a holiday." 
 
ANAXAG0RA8 137 
 
 For good old Anaxagoras, he well remem- 
 bered when, 
 
 Back in the days of long ago, like them, a 
 boy he'd been. 
 
 So, when their tasks were heavy and their 
 eyes would turn away, 
 
 He'd smile a knowing smile and give the 
 boys a holiday. 
 
 Like othfers, Anaxagoras at last grew old 
 
 and died, 
 And friends came at the end to see, and 
 
 gathered at his sMe. 
 They asked what h^ nors at his funeral he'd 
 
 have them pay; 
 Said Anaxagoras, "Just give the boys a 
 
 holiday." 
 
FEB Z 1903