My Immortaii 
 
 and other Poeiti;"' 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS LEE GHAUV AN 
 
 (Name Pronounced Sho-van'J 
 
 Author of 
 ^^Self-Instructor in Reading and Speak? 
 
 'My head and heart thus flawing through my quiii, 
 
 Verse~nian or prose-snan^ term rr?« ^vhich you wsii 
 
 Pope':^ Saiir^ 
 
Book. aii^kM-B 
 
 Gof(yrightN"_ 
 
 Aa_L6 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
My Immortality 
 
 and other Poems 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS LEE CHAUVAN 
 
 (Name Pronounced Sho-van) 
 
 Author of 
 '^Self-Instructor in Reading and Speaking' 
 
 My head and heart thus flowing through my quill. 
 
 Verse-man or prose-man, term me which you will." 
 
 Pope's Satires 
 

 Printed by 
 
 the 
 
 PENN PRINTING 
 
 COMPANY 
 
 410 W. Seventh Street 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 Cal. 
 
 1910 
 
 
 CCir^R«5st 
 
Copyright 1910, by Francis Lee Chaiix 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 I dedicate my brief verse effort 
 
 To the 
 
 Divine Mission 
 
 of the 
 
 Societies for the Prevention of Cruelty 
 to Animals 
 
 Deus est aiiima brutoriim. 
 
 Francis Lee Chauvan. 
 
Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 My Immortality^ 5 
 
 The Voice Divine -- 6 
 
 The Heart of Midsummer 8 
 
 The Lil3^'s Pra3'er - - - - - - - 9 
 
 Sweet Daifodil - - 10 
 
 A Baby's Smile 11 
 
 The Morning- After the C3'clone - - - - 12 
 
 I Behold Th3' Son 13 
 
 Song-s of the Passion of Christ - - - - 14 
 
CHAUVAN S POKMS 
 
 My Immortality. 
 
 When the shadow deep passes o'er my face, 
 And my heart is still, give my spirit's mask 
 To the fire; — 'twill give it back in ashes pure. 
 Then strew my ashes where the flowers grow, — 
 Friends my dead heart loved. My one Atom true, 
 That, 'tis said, no fire destroys, may unite 
 With seed of lily, rose or violet, 
 And then, born anew in their season' s joy, 
 Live in their kingdom' s immortality. 
 
CH ATIVAN S POKMS 
 
 The Voice Divine. 
 
 Let us then labor for an inward stillness— 
 An inward stillness and an inward healing; 
 That perfect silence when the lips and heart 
 Are still, and we no long-er entertain 
 Our own imperfect thoug-hts and vain opinions. 
 But God alone speaks in us. and we wait 
 In sing-leness of heart that we may know 
 His will, and in the silence of our spirits. 
 That we ma^' do His will, and do that onl3\ 
 
 — LONGKET.T^OW 
 
 1 prayed to hear the Voice Divine. 1 bowed 
 
 In aisle ot oak, where the leaves 2:ently fell— 
 
 I'heir expression lost in their season's change— 
 
 And rested sacredly on the soil- My words 
 
 Trembled in my heart, and with the silence 
 
 1 tried to blend my soul, my senses hush. 
 
 That 1 miaht hear the Voice Divine speak in me. 
 
 An oriole on limb of tree, bending 
 
 To the breeze, made eloquent the hour with song 
 
 That melted in my prayer's love. Then 1 looked 
 
 Afar in the azure-veiled perspective 
 
 Of my aisle, and saw on a mountain top 
 
 The white of snow, the winter's sole treasure, 
 
 And, in thought, 1 strayed in its mystery. 
 
 My senses captive held to nature's charm, 
 
 1 worshipped in a sweet idolatry. 
 
 My prayer was vain. The Voice spoke not in me. 
 
 1 knelt in temple made by mortal hands. 
 With the organ's sigh 1 sighed for the Voice 
 To hear. The song-glory of the choristers, 
 The hushed piety in the music's pause. 
 The fervor of the preacher's text of faith. 
 Were an unction to the silent prayer breathed 
 In the litany of my soul's desire. 
 In the moment's sacred calm 1 listened. 
 
CHAUVAN S POEMS 
 
 Listened — till the chorister's last amen 
 
 Was faintly cadenced in the sacristy, 
 
 But no voice spoke to me articulate 
 
 To my soul. Before me, in arched recess 
 
 Of the altar, were carved divinities 
 
 In voiceless marble— voiceless to my plea. 
 
 Then in dreamy idleness, 1 painted 
 
 On the canvas of my mind the splendor 
 
 Of the altar and the temple's beauty. 
 
 My prayer's theme was lost in my reverie. 
 
 In the loved silence of my home — alone, 
 
 Where no rite's mysteries my senses held, 
 
 1 prayed to hear the Voice Divine. My prayer, 
 
 With fervor wild, became the storm-passion 
 
 Of my soul. My mind was barred to all thought 
 
 Intrusive in my one supplication. 
 
 Then deep in my being was a stillness, 
 
 A solace of expression infinite. 
 
 The truer light pierced my corporal mask. 
 
 My real life revealed. The Voice Divine 
 
 I heard. 'Twas with my soul incorporate. 
 
 1 felt the benediction of its breath 
 
 Revive in me a grace long lost. All life 
 
 I held in communion. From ev'ry bud 
 
 Of nature's motherhood Divinity 
 
 Ministered to my prayer in my retreat. 
 
 The breath of love divine made in my heart 
 
 A kingdom universal, with justice, 
 
 Mercy-crowned, its sovereign. No cruelty 
 
 Usurped its dominion. The silent prayer 
 
 Of the animal for mercy I prayed, 
 
 For life, to me, was one fraternity. 
 
 In its voice of pain ev'ry syllable 
 
 Was articulate to my sympathies. 
 
 And with its joy for right emancipate. 
 
 Was my joy in unison. My spirit paused. 
 
 In my communion, I held the chalice 
 
 Of my kingdom's love to humanity. 
 
CHAUVAN S POEMS 
 
 The Heart of Midsummer. 
 
 The divine unity of nature in Life, Truth and Love. 
 
 Midsummer's voice in blossom's breath, 
 Exhaled from meads and hills, 
 
 Reveals to me the symphony 
 That nature's spirit fills. — 
 
 Reveals its only song of heart, 
 
 For life from Life Divine; 
 I sin.g the song that nature sings,— 
 
 Midsummer's heart is mine. 
 
 I blend with notes of metre true— 
 
 The truth divine of trees, 
 Of hills aglow and vales aglow 
 
 In warm embrace of breeze. 
 
 My metre blends with songs of birds 
 That sing midsummer's heart; 
 
 With song-soul tell of Love Divine 
 That Life and Truth impart. 
 
 The wild rose on the mountain side, 
 
 And lily of the vale. 
 Wave to me the true delight 
 
 Their petals pure exhale. 
 
 1 feel the breath of verdant soil, 
 
 Hallow'd by the leaves; 
 Hallow'd by nature's seed of life 
 
 The Love Divine conceives. 
 
 O'er earth I see the smile revealed 
 
 Of spirit great above:— 
 Midsummer's heart is nature's song 
 
 Of Life and Truth and Love. 
 
 8 
 
chauvan's poems 
 
 The Lily's Prayer. 
 
 In the white of the lily's breast 
 
 I hear a prayer; 
 'Tis the lily's voice, for I feel 
 
 Its spirit there. 
 
 There' s a glow on the lily' s breast, 
 
 It speaks to me, 
 In the sweet of its breath I hear, 
 
 *'I pray for thee. 
 
 I pray for thee, ' ' the lily says, 
 
 "That thou wilt feel 
 My spirit's love, I would with joy 
 
 To thee reveal. 
 
 As I gently rest on the breast 
 
 Of the lady fair, 
 I breathe into her soul the pure 
 
 Of love in prayer. 
 
 When on thy brow the shadow falls, 
 
 The light in thee 
 Of my spirit' s life will be thine 
 
 Eternally. ' ' 
 
■ CH A U V A N S PO E M S 
 
 Sweet Daffodil. 
 
 I bend to the breeze, sweet Daffodil, 
 
 I bend with thee; 
 Thy petals hold a secret, dear, — 
 
 Tell it to me. 
 
 In thee is my rose, sweet Daffodil, 
 
 My violet true; 
 Thou hast all their joys, sweet Daffodil, 
 
 And pure of hue. 
 
 Now to the breeze we merrily bend. 
 
 We bend alone; 
 I feel the sweet of thy petals' heart 
 
 Sweeten my own. 
 
 In thy breath's delight, sweet Daffodil, 
 
 My heart aglow, 
 1 press thee gently in caress, 
 
 Thy secret know. 
 
 In thy smile's delight I see the life 
 
 From evil free; 
 In the joy thou giveth is revealed 
 
 Divinity. 
 
 Will thy spirit wed, sweet Daffodil, 
 
 Will wed with mine ? 
 In love pledge with thee my life will be 
 
 A joy like thine. 
 
 10 
 
CHAUVAN S POEMS 
 
 A Baby's Smile. 
 
 In the God-light of a baby's smile, 
 
 There is to me, 
 A vision of the life elysian 
 
 I've prayed to see. 
 
 In the God-light of a baby's smile, 
 
 1 sing my heart. 
 To touch of key, in a melody 
 
 Of truest art. 
 
 My numbers float in the stream of light 
 
 Of a smile divine, — 
 The music true of a little coo 
 
 Blendeth with mine. 
 
 1 hold your dimpled hands, my pride. 
 
 And in sweet glee, 
 Count your fingers pink, my heart's own link- 
 
 You laugh with me. 
 
 In your laugh is purest note, my bard, 
 
 In verse of cheer; 
 It tells in voice of your soul's rejoice. 
 
 That Heav'n is near. 
 
 11 
 
CHAUVAN S POEMS 
 
 The Morning After the Cyclone. 
 
 St. Louis, Mo., May 28th, 1896. 
 
 Look not upon the sky with color glowing;, 
 
 There is no beauty there; 
 Its robe of azure is the mask deceptive,— 
 
 The mask its terrors wear. 
 
 Tell me no more of a day that's perfect, 
 
 The calm precedes the storm, 
 Nature its fury vents,— o'er havoc smiling. 
 
 It knoweth not its harm. 
 
 I lift my voice to the blue above me. 
 
 In deepened breath of pain, 
 And ask if, in pity, life's Great Ruler 
 
 Will me an answer deign. 
 
 Why are lips that in purest prayer tremble. 
 
 In cruel mock'ry hushed.^ 
 Why live wretches to profane the morrow, 
 
 And baby faces crushed.^ 
 
 My words float afar into the distance. 
 
 Full laden with my tears; 
 Then in impression strange of the moment, 
 
 My spirit, list'ning, hears: 
 
 "Thy Redeemer liveth when darkness threatens, 
 
 And rude winds wildly blow; 
 When the Morning breaks upon thy dreaming. 
 
 Thou shalt, awakened, know." 
 
 12 
 
CHAUVAN S POEMS 
 
 / Behold Thy Son. 
 
 Mater Dolorosa. 
 
 In the shadow of the cross my spirit kneels, — 
 
 It kneels with thee, 
 It weeps with thee, for the burden of thy heart 
 
 Is borne by me. 
 
 1 behold thy Son ! — and the sword in thy heart 
 
 Is piercing mine; 
 In its pain there is to me my truest gain,— 
 
 A life with thine. 
 
 My spirit leaves the shadow of the cross; it goes 
 
 To valleys mild 
 'Mid Galilean hills and in joy, is with thee. 
 
 And with thy Child. 
 
 I behold thy Son with ej-es of trust to thine, 
 
 Thy life replete 
 With every grace, and as my prayer ascends, 
 
 Our spirits meet, — 
 
 Meet in Christ thy son; 'tis the gift of a life 
 That never dies. 
 
 World! world! what care I for your wreaths that fade 
 
 'Neath pitying skies, 
 
 1 have found eternal youth, eternal fame 
 
 In infant heart, 
 In Mary's child— love's realm where no dial marks 
 The hour to part. 
 
 I behold thy Son ! — and now my spirit kneels 
 
 A child in prayer; 
 It sees its King in glory, no shadows fall, 
 
 No cross is there. 
 13 
 
CHAUVAN'S POEMS 
 
 Song Poems 
 
 of the 
 
 Passion of Christ. 
 
 Representing Five Degrees in a Christian Life. 
 
 First Degree — Obedience — Christ's Agon3^ in the Garden. 
 Second Degree — Fortitude — The Scourg-ing- of Christ at the Pillar. 
 Third Deg^ree — Meekness — Christ is Crowned with Thorns. 
 Fourth Deg-ree — Courage — Christ Carries His Cross. 
 Fifth Degree — Love — The Crucifixion of Christ. 
 
 14 
 
chauvan's poems 
 
 The Agony of Christ in the Garden. 
 
 The First Degree in a Christian Life. 
 OBEDIENCE. 
 
 'My Father, if this cup cannot pass from 
 
 me unless I drink it, Thy will be done. 
 
 In I'hee is the solace, O Christ ! 
 (3f my soul as 1 pray, 
 As 1 drink from the cup of pain 
 In the strange of my way. 
 
 I pray with Thee in Thy prayer's depth, 
 "Thy will be done, not mine," 
 And in my pulse of life 1 feel 
 Thy streno;th of trust divine. 
 
 1 pray with Thee in Thy prayer's depth, 
 
 1 lift my cup above, 
 
 I'll drink to its dregs is my pledge. 
 
 Is the test of my love. 
 
 In Thy armor of truth 1 stand, 
 Facing my darkened way. 
 My soul's first degree is its trust, 
 To fear not and obev. 
 
 15 
 
CHAUVAN S POKMS 
 
 The Scourging of Christ at the Pillar. 
 
 The Second Degree in a Christian Life. 
 FORTITUDE. 
 
 "With his stripes we are healed." 
 
 At pillar of pain 1 bow, O Christ ! 
 Confirm me in Thy will; 
 As the whip's sharp strokes 1 bear, my soul 
 With Thy fortitude fill. 
 
 Thou bore the merciless lash of wrong 
 To give the truth to me; 
 I'm bared for the blows of the trial 
 To prove my trust in Thee. 
 
 Let the whip of right in its mercy, 
 Scourge from my soul the wrong; 
 In sin oppressed 1 am weak, O Christ ! 
 In rhy truth 1 am strong. 
 
 1 bow with Thee at pillar of pain, 
 I hear in voice revealed, 
 In Thy voice of love that speaks in me, 
 "By my stripes thou art healed." 
 
 16 
 
CHAUVAN S POEMS 
 
 The Crowning of Christ with Thorns. 
 
 The Third Degree in a Christian Life. 
 MEEKNESS. 
 
 "Blessed are the meek, for 
 
 the3" shall inherit the earth." 
 "The3^ put upon him a purple robe. — And when they 
 had platted a crown of thorns they put it upon his 
 head, and a reed in his rig-ht hand, and the^^ bowed 
 the knee before him, and mocked him, sa3nng'. Hail, 
 Kinsf of the Jews." 
 
 1 hou wert crowned with thorns and mocked, O Christ! 
 Place Thou Thy crown on me ; — 
 
 press deep the thorns, press out the false. 
 Press in Thy victory! 
 
 I'm born anew in the purple pure 
 Of King that never dies ; 
 The only pride of His court is love, — 
 'Tis love His herald cries. 
 
 1 must meekly wear His robe of court, 
 I must bear the evil smite, 
 
 And make His reed, as a courtier true. 
 My emblem of the right. 
 
 Let the palace ring with praise of King, 
 Whose grave 's his glory's goal. 
 With reed of the meek the earth is mine. 
 Says the King of my soul. 
 
 17 
 
chauvan's poems 
 
 Christ Carries His Cross. 
 
 The Fourth Degree in a Christian Life. 
 COURAGE. 
 
 'And he that taketh not his cross and 
 
 followeth after me, is not worthy of me." 
 
 When 'neath Thy cross Thou fell, O Christ! 
 No val'rous love was there, 
 No son of Israel said to Thee, 
 ''Master, Thy Cross I'll bear." 
 
 The angel senate 'rose to award 
 
 Its own wreath of glory ; 
 
 Heav'n was hushed, — no deed of hero 
 
 Glowed in Israel's story. 
 
 When 'neath my cross I fall, O Christ ! 
 
 Thou'rt the Hero divine, 
 
 In my meekness and fortitude, 
 
 To make my burden Thine. 
 
 In the strength of Thy love I'll lift 
 Tear laderied hearts to Thee, 
 Will bear their cross as Thy burden light, 
 Thv yoke of ease to me. 
 
 18 
 
CHAUVAN S POEMS 
 
 The Crucifixion. 
 
 The Fifth Degree in a Christian Life. 
 LOVE. 
 
 'I am the resurrection and the life.' 
 
 In the wound of thy heart, O Christ ! 
 
 A light triumphant gave 
 
 A life to the heart of the dead 
 
 In the dark of the grave. 
 
 They rose in Thy light of sacrifice, 
 That gave true life in Thee, 
 That rent the veil of the mortal 
 And made its bondmen free. 
 
 Hands pierced for me rest on my brow 
 With blessing of sacrifice; 
 In Thee is the love that gaveth 
 My soul's redemption price. 
 
 In the hour of my strange quiet— 
 My hush of mortal breath, 
 In the truth of Christ I shall rise 
 Triumphant over death. 
 
 19 
 
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