class Hm^n. 
 
 Book.ff a £-^4* 
 Copyright^? WO 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE SEER 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 Henry Johnson 
 
 BRUNSWICK, MAINE 
 
 JF. 2KM. (Shantikr & Aon 
 1910 
 

 Copyright, 1910 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY JOHNSON 
 
 <4M rights reserved 
 
 3CI.A275756 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SEER 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 THE DEBT OF LOVE 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 IN THE DEPTHS 
 
 
 
 
 7 
 
 PENSEROSA READS 
 
 
 
 
 IO 
 
 love's DESERT ISLE 
 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 TO MY ENEMY 
 
 
 
 
 13 
 
 AT TWILIGHT 
 
 
 
 
 14 
 
 FROM HEAVEN 
 
 
 
 
 l6 
 
 MY OWN HEART 
 
 
 
 
 17 
 
 THE PICKET 
 
 
 
 
 18 
 
 HEART'S LAND 
 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 THE RAIN 
 
 
 
 
 21 
 
 THE FLIGHT 
 
 
 
 
 22 
 
 THE PREY 
 
 
 
 
 2 3 
 
 god's BEGGAR 
 
 
 
 
 24 
 
 THE CAPTAIN 
 
 
 
 
 2 5 
 
 THE HIDDEN LOVE 
 
 
 
 
 26 
 
 WHEN HE HAS COME 
 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 III 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE WINTER OF THE SOU 
 
 TO HELEN 
 
 IDZUMO 
 
 SOFT STEPS 
 
 THE CAT AND THE BIRD AND 
 
 THE PHANTOM 
 
 THE SEA-SHELL 
 
 THANKS IN BABYLON 
 
 MONHEGAN 
 
 THE BETROTHED 
 
 THE SACRIFICE 
 
 IN JUDGMENT 
 
 LEAST STAR IN HEAVEN 
 
 OUR PRAYER 
 
 DISCOVERY 
 
 THE HUNTER 
 
 TO G. L. V. 
 
 FATHER AND SON . 
 
 SILENT PARTNER 
 
 SEEING . 
 
 FROM SUDDEN DEATH 
 
 I. M. 
 
 PAGE 
 28 
 29 
 3° 
 
 3 1 
 3 2 
 34 
 35 
 36 
 37 
 38 
 
 39 
 
 40 
 
 41 
 
 42 
 42 
 43 
 45 
 47 
 48 
 49 
 5i 
 52 
 
 IV 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 AS WE FORGIVE OUR DEBTORS 
 
 53 
 
 STORM AND STRESS . 
 
 54 
 
 TO HER ...... 
 
 55 
 
 HER DEAR LUCILE . 
 
 56 
 
 UNWORLDLY ..... 
 
 58 
 
 THE TEMPLE .... 
 
 59 
 
 364. IN CASE 5. CUP BY TLESON 
 
 60 
 
 HOW LONG, LORD? 
 
 61 
 
 FROM EVIL 
 
 62 
 
 WHEN THE WIND TURNS 
 
 63 
 
 THANKSGIVING-DAY 
 
 64 
 
 MOTHER AND CHILD 
 
 65 
 
 NON OMNIS MORIAR 
 
 66 
 
 TO PHILIP OF ENGLAND 
 
 67 
 
 WHEN HE SHALL COME . 
 
 69 
 
 WAITING ..... 
 
 70 
 
 SANDRO'S MASTERPIECE 
 
 71 
 
 TO HIM WHO READS 
 
 79 
 
 DE AMICITIA ..... 
 
 80 
 
 TIME TO THINK .... 
 
 81 
 
 SORRENTO ..... 
 
 82 
 
 DEDICATION ..... 
 
 83 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 ABROAD ..... 
 
 THE RETURN .... 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE DAWN 
 HIDDEN ..... 
 
 NOW . . ... 
 
 MYSELF ..... 
 
 TO THE VIRGIN: PETRARCH'S CANZONE, 
 
 VERGINE BELLA 
 LUCRETIUS, DE NATURA RERUM, I. I-49; 
 
 III. 894-915 .... 
 
 THE LORD'S PRAYER 
 
 HIS STILLNESS .... 
 
 THE RIGHT REVEREND GEORGE BURGESS, 
 
 1809-1909 .... 
 
 I COME WITH THE PLEA OF CHRIST 
 THE ROUND ..... 
 POOR DEBTOR .... 
 
 QUE SCAIS-JE? .... 
 
 THE CRITICS ..... 
 ANYONE'S EPITAPH 
 
 VIS ANIMAE ..... 
 WHEN SHE SINGS .... 
 
 84 
 85 
 
 86 
 
 87 
 88 
 
 89 
 90 
 
 96 
 
 99 
 107 
 
 108 
 109 
 no 
 112 
 
 "3 
 
 114 
 
 "5 
 
 116 
 117 
 
 VI 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE TEMPLE ..... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 118 
 
 THE VOYAGER .... 
 
 119 
 
 R. J. H. 
 
 120 
 
 FAREWELL ..... 
 
 121 
 
 journey's END .... 
 
 122 
 
 MINE ...... 
 
 123 
 
 IN THE OXFORD BOOK OF VERSE 
 
 124 
 
 VII 
 
THE SEER 
 
 No human eye foresaw 
 When His resistless law 
 Should add another name 
 To the great scroll of fame; 
 And, lo ! the child of light 
 Emerged from out the night 
 Beneath this northern sky: 
 "O bright, new earth, 'tis I." 
 
 Strong, happy youth, whose fancies rhyme 
 In laughing song and echoing word, 
 Matching the wonders of the time, 
 When life's new melody is heard; 
 While still we grasp at sun and moon, 
 And look unawed at starry skies, 
 Asking of heaven no dearer boon 
 Than endless childhood's paradise. 
 
 Read at the local celebration of the Longfellow Centenary, 
 in Memorial Hall, Bowdoin College, Feb'y 27, 1907. 
 
Unbidden conies the strange intruder, Death; 
 Hushed is the noisy play, checked is the breath, 
 And all the world is hidden in the mist, 
 For he has chilled the loving lips we kissed. 
 In vain we ask, we cannot understand 
 The silent sleep, the uncaressing hand; 
 Sweet music is grown sad, the sweetest flowers 
 Seem burdened with a speechless pain like ours. 
 
 Strong nature rises and the playing child 
 
 Exults to play the man; 
 
 Joys in the storm, and knows the winds less wild 
 
 Than the deep surges of the beating heart, 
 
 Unresting till the magic wand of art 
 
 In the good mother's plan 
 
 Gives the right rhythm, and the spirits dance 
 
 Obedient to Love's imperious glance. 
 
 Thou great Creator of Thy human-kind, 
 
 What joy to search for what Thou veil'st from sight 
 
 To wake in us the eager appetite ! 
 
 We bring Thee worship of the knowing mind; 
 
 We see the tiny fragment of Thy law 
 
 Within the ken of eyes that Thou hast given; 
 
 We strive with courage where the great have striven; 
 
 Not yet for us the inner temple's awe. 
 
But still beyond the truth of outward things 
 Thou yearnest to reveal the inward grace, 
 And shinest through the beauty of a face, 
 And we behold, and all creation sings. 
 For two, for two alone, the whole world lives; 
 The dream grows real with pain and happy tears, 
 While Thou dost teach the lesson of our years, 
 That he alone is rich who richly gives. 
 
 Thrice happy he whose heart could still be brave 
 When open foes assailed in open fields, 
 And honor met the sword that honor wields, 
 And took the strokes that worthy foemen gave; 
 When came the day of fickle fortune's flight, 
 Bearing with her the fools' gold of our thrift 
 But impotent to take away her gift 
 Of year-long courage and the clearer sight; 
 
 When dread disease inflamed the house of life 
 
 In which one dearer than our being dwelt, 
 
 And in our terror we afar had knelt 
 
 While loving skill met nature's hidden strife; 
 
 But bravest of the sons of men is he 
 
 Who meets the savage look of clear, cold hate, 
 
 Nor hates the hater, nor does hesitate 
 
 An instant in his own soul's loyalty. 
 
The day of others' doubt is overpast; 
 
 Heaven's silent blessings on the home descend, 
 
 The table and the fireside and the friend, 
 
 And days of trusty comradeship at last, 
 
 How quick to share the thought but half expressed, 
 
 To fly around the earth on fancy's wings 
 
 And see the marriage of the Thoughts and Things, 
 
 The instant's birth of a divine unrest. 
 
 If Thou have joined in us the hearing ear, 
 The seeing soul, the life that dwells apart, 
 Thy universe beats with the beating heart, 
 The music of the atom and the sphere; 
 We too may hear the never-ending woes, 
 May suffer with the hopeful souls that rise 
 To the thunders of the heavenly harmonies, 
 For through all worlds Thy greatest poet rose. 
 
 The mighty soul dwells infinitely far 
 In her own solitude beyond our ken; 
 She comes to us we know not how nor when, 
 And in the seeming shows the things that are. 
 She recks not though our cry be low or loud, 
 She heeds not all the folly of our deeds; 
 She worships, in the service of our needs, 
 To which the highest heaven once was bowed. 
 
What though we draw more near with measuring-rod 
 
 And dare the holy stillness to profane, 
 
 Or shatter every earthly shrine ? In vain, 
 
 In vain, for we are blinded by the God. 
 
 His prophet, unapproachable, divine 
 
 By gift of grace, beholds the world we know; 
 
 He lives within the world, and lives to show 
 
 Immortal gold in his new-minted line. 
 
 And when the line is ours, and the strong soul 
 Is hidden in the splendor of That Day, 
 We pause an instant, wondering, and say: 
 God speed thee ever to thy glorious goal ! 
 
THE DEBT OF LOVE. 
 
 Wait not till I am dying, O my friends; 
 For what you say in accents hushed and slow 
 Will be intrusion when my soul would go 
 In peace to rest, when once its struggling ends; 
 Nor, when at last the silent heaven bends 
 In speechless blessing, and Love lays me low 
 Where now no more the gusts of Fortune blow, 
 Strive not at earth's farewell to make amends. 
 Was it not for our daily need He made 
 Each life for all, whose love should find it out? 
 Then, as thy heart is rich, O friend, so pay 
 The daily debt of love, at best unpaid; 
 Give me my due, thyself, nor let me doubt 
 That thou art mine each hour of the day. 
 
IN THE DEPTHS. 
 
 Her eyes were dark, — you'd think them black, 
 Though deepest blue; 
 They seemed to mirror all light back, 
 Nor kept of you 
 A single ray. 
 
 And when her haughty head would turn 
 
 But half aside, 
 
 You wondered if her heart could burn 
 
 With love, such pride 
 
 Seemed there alway. 
 
 I should have shuddered at her look 
 
 Had I not read 
 
 In youth a page within a book 
 
 In which it said, 
 
 I knew not why: 
 
 High up among the chill, gray peaks 
 
 In silence rests 
 
 A tarn, as calm as death, nor seeks 
 
 To leave these crests 
 
 That touch the sky. 
 
But mirrors them in its black deep 
 
 Unmoved, for there 
 
 No lonely eagle's pinions sweep 
 
 That clear, thin air, 
 
 Without a sound 
 
 Save when the avalanche's roar 
 
 From hidden heights 
 
 Bounds down from cliff to craggy shore, 
 
 But not affrights 
 
 The depths profound; 
 
 Or the soft dripping of the rills 
 
 In scanty flow, 
 
 When swift midsummer greets the hills, 
 
 And the pure snow 
 
 Melts for her sake. 
 
 And when at close of day the sun 
 
 Sends back his kiss, 
 
 And earth, who watched his coursers run, 
 
 Blushes for bliss, 
 
 Dark sleeps the lake. 
 
Not even at the dead of night, 
 
 When some lone star 
 
 Thrills thy dark bosom with his light, 
 
 Tell me, then are 
 
 Thy deeps not stirred? 
 
 "One glory is it that he lead 
 
 His planet choir, 
 
 Hymning His praise as He decreed 
 
 In boundless fire, 
 
 By us unheard. 
 
 My glory that I constant feed 
 The valley springs; 
 He bade me this, and giving heed 
 Their music rings 
 Unceasingly. ' ' 
 
PENSEROSA READS. 
 
 Madam, does the novel please ? 
 Then why lay it on your knees, 
 And sit thinking, hand to chin? 
 Are you not the heroine? 
 Is his heart not honour's throne, 
 By whose steps you love to own 
 Your allegiance pure and strong, 
 Though the victory tarry long? 
 
 When within his prison cell 
 He to those deaf walls would tell 
 All the joy that in him springs, 
 Envying not a crowned king's, 
 When, once broken through the bars, 
 He rides breathless 'neath the stars, 
 Lover true to lover, — then 
 Is he not your king of men ? 
 
 "Should a man be like a hind, 
 Clod of clod, scarce sense his mind, 
 While his weary body works? 
 He who, toiling, thinks not, shirks ! 
 These I read of, Jane and John, 
 To be sure seem plodding on, 
 But they wonder why God sent 
 Children, while they were intent 
 
John to learn to lead a strike, 
 Show the rich what men are like, 
 Finding balm for human ill 
 Words, not work inside the mill; 
 While, the pity of it ! Jane 
 Vexes her, — and my, — poor brain, 
 Organizing for redress 
 Of all wrongs on earth — no less." 
 
 ii 
 
LOVE'S DESERT ISLE. 
 
 Come down, my love, and in my boat 
 We two embarked will gently float 
 Out of this harbour to where lies 
 The opal sea beneath bright skies. 
 
 The gorgeous splendor of the clouds 
 Our eyes will feed on, while the shrouds 
 Shall, dipping, rising, idly sway 
 Above us all the livelong day. 
 
 Leaving the common waters wide, 
 At set of sun our boat shall glide 
 Between great headlands into port 
 Where only playing breezes sport. 
 
 No eye shall view in dazed delight 
 The burnished gold, the spotless white; 
 No ear shall turn more keen to hail 
 The rustle of our silken sail; 
 
 But only I on that firm strand 
 Shall take you coming by the hand: 
 My lips take tribute of that smile 
 They pay who touch Love's Desert Isle; 
 
 And we two then will wander there, 
 
 By darkling grove ascend to where 
 
 The god's loved oracle receives 
 
 The trembling prayer, and shakes its leaves. 
 
TO MY ENEMY. 
 
 Waste not the little vessel of thy wrath 
 On me who grow no better for thy hate, 
 But rather treasure it till soon or late 
 Thou meet a noisome reptile in thy path; 
 Then be thou slow to render scath for scath; 
 Obeying wisdom's counsel, coolly wait 
 Before thou strike, lest he retaliate 
 With surer blow than thy blind anger hath. 
 
 Whilst thou art waiting thus perchance a thought 
 Of some less dangerous expense may rise, 
 Staying the instant doing of thy will; 
 If to thy evil mind shall come unsought 
 Virtue's least hope, inaction, then despise 
 Her not, but do that moment's best, be still. 
 
 13 
 
AT TWILIGHT. 
 
 She sits alone before the black-ribbed grate, 
 Wearily watching as the embers burn, 
 Till the last flickerings no more return, 
 And dull, dead ashes greet the eyes that wait 
 For nothing now, since the spent blow of fate 
 Fell on her mother's heart, henceforth to yearn 
 Unsolaced, grown with grief too dull to spurn 
 Whatever bolt might yet be hurled by hate. 
 
 Where, where was love when he stood in the path 
 Of that dread providence whose ways are dark, 
 And we must in our duty tread those ways? 
 Let me cease thinking ! Hide me from the wrath 
 Of ancient sin that strikes the hellish spark, 
 And rending, thundering, crashing Death obeys. 
 
 Taking my hand in his, One said: "Not so 
 The thoughts of God move to their unseen ends, 
 Then new beginnings, till the reach transcends 
 Our reason's utmost flight and prayer to know. 
 I am the Angel of His Vengeance. Lo, 
 Thy breath swelled to a whirlwind now ascends 
 Within the veil whose very cloud forfends 
 Approach of aught unpurified below. 
 
 14 
 
Has He not sent me? And shall I not smite? 
 Will you not learn, O sons of earth, His law, 
 Ere I draw near and waft you from my face?" 
 I heard no more, for now exceeding light 
 Burned in his features; and I fell in awe, 
 For God had taught me patience in that place. 
 
 r 5 
 
FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 The soul is as an instrument whereon 
 The spirit winds play as they pass. His gave 
 Such music forth, my captive mind would rave, 
 Throbbing with pain till the last note was gone; 
 And he whose mere self-harmony had won 
 My very heart eager to be his slave, 
 How should he know that passion's living grave 
 May seem less drear than unheard passion? 
 O sweetest boon of heaven to release 
 The fettered soul that earth held fast and long, 
 Hearing sweet music and itself struck dumb ! 
 Oh, when shall break the silence of this peace? 
 When shall I greet him with my full, glad song? 
 For I am waiting, waiting till he come. 
 
 16 
 
MY OWN HEART. 
 
 My own heart is my oracle, 
 The priest am I, who come 
 To listen to its slightest word, 
 To wait if it be dumb. 
 
 But when I learn and then am slow 
 To turn that word to deed, 
 Be patient, heart, nor cease to speak 
 Till I have strength to heed. 
 
 i7 
 
THE PICKET. 
 
 He walks the street with me by day, 
 He leaves me not at night, 
 The same young form, the hands upthrown, 
 As in that early light. 
 
 Day-break in June ! A time to live, 
 With every thankful breath. 
 And I, yes I, stood waiting there 
 Till he should come to death. 
 
 Over the valley all night long 
 
 I peered; the wood was still, 
 
 The only sound rose from the stream 
 
 Far down below the hill. 
 
 I saw a moving in the leaves, 
 Then eye and hand were quick, 
 I judged how far, nor made a sound 
 Except my hammer's click. 
 
 And then — a pitching forward told 
 How sure had been her fear 
 Whose mother arms had loosed to give 
 That life than hers more dear. 
 
 18 
 
And her arms too shall wait in vain 
 To clasp her lover's breast, 
 Till Time shall teach her, if he can, 
 That all is for the best. 
 
 Be just, my brother, and forgive 
 As you shall be forgiven, 
 And War shall keep her native hell, 
 Nor longer mock at heaven. 
 
 19 
 
HEART'S LAND. 
 
 Why should I tell you what lies hidden deep 
 Within the forest solitudes where I 
 Wander alone in thought beneath a sky 
 Crowded with gentle eyes that never sleep? 
 Shall I not with their golden silence keep 
 The secret of the patient woods, that lie 
 Outspread to house the birds that homeward fly 
 Or shelter safe the tiniest forms that creep? 
 
 Beware! My Heart's Land knows not of the glare 
 Of the great sun, and the great din of day, 
 And the great crowds that throng the thousand streets; 
 But if you fain would breathe its cool, pure air, 
 Be then my guest and come with me away 
 Beyond the line where earth with heaven meets. 
 
 20 
 
THE RAIN. 
 
 The clouds that all the morning frowned in vain 
 Were sailing lower, sweeping now the tops 
 Of the high hills, till oftener threatening drops 
 On face and hand told of the coming rain. 
 The sky became of one soft hue again, 
 One interfusing gray, which scarcely stops 
 Its work till the old cliff-face, that outcrops 
 Defiant, seems to wear a softened strain. 
 O spirits of the never-resting wind, 
 Stay your swift course till ye shall take my prayer 
 To Him who sent you with the rain today: 
 Thou who dost live in all, in world and mind, 
 Let me too in this double being share, 
 Let me be and build after Thee alway. 
 
 21 
 
THE FLIGHT. 
 
 The air was still; no clouds were in the sky, 
 Save those low in the far-off west that wait 
 Unmoved till He shall sink, irradiate 
 With his sole splendor, as great heroes die. 
 My thoughts in vain on glory, I saw fly 
 Two doves winging to southward at such rate 
 That even quicker than I can relate 
 They grew but specks I could no more descry. 
 What were the glory of the world to me 
 Without thy heart, thou dearest of all loves, 
 Whom I pursue with loving, day and night? 
 Glory to those who love it ! Thou to me ! 
 Then pass, brief years, swift as the homing doves, 
 One instant seen, forever passed from sight. 
 
 22 
 
THE PREY. 
 
 Since early light he watched the little cote 
 That nestled safely half-way down the glen. 
 No slightest motion had escaped his ken 
 As in that air the mighty pinions float 
 And dip as idly as a pleasure boat 
 Upon a summer sea. Marked you not then 
 That turn and swoop in hunger's scorn of men, 
 That rise ! And now his gorging eaglets gloat ! 
 There lived an earthly poet-soul, who said 
 Within himself: The world and all therein 
 Shall teach me what is ill and what is good. 
 He learned, and wrote what grateful men have read, 
 And, grateful, yet accounted it a sin 
 That he had paid that price and understood. 
 
 23 
 
GOD'S BEGGAR. 
 
 One of the nameless brotherhood had found 
 His way to my inhospitable door 
 And asked for bread, the word was, nothing more, 
 While he stood waiting, looking on the ground. 
 "Right in the midst of dinner!" and I frowned, 
 As, petulantly tapping on the floor, 
 I rose with justice fired, myself to score 
 This latest beggar on his lazy round. 
 Alas for justice ! Grief had set its seal 
 On that enquiring face turned up to mine, 
 To me who cannot read the Open Book ! 
 I could not answer that mute, brave appeal, — 
 Unless the bread spoke for me, — nor define 
 What met me, and still haunts me, in that look. 
 
 24 
 
 
THE CAPTAIN. 
 
 Whichever way the salt winds went 
 Wheeling beneath the firmament, 
 He watched them come, and made them serve 
 The path from which he did not swerve; 
 
 And when they changed, he was before 
 Their wilfullness and overbore, 
 And then they served him, mastered still 
 By his unchanging, steady will. 
 
 The water he had conquered too; 
 He liked it when the salt spray blew; 
 He trembled not though he could feel 
 The good ship quiver from truck to keel. 
 
 They eased her as she pitched, but veered 
 Scarce two points off the course they steered. 
 He loved his ship; crew, wind and wave 
 Were one to serve him as his slave. 
 
 He sailed all oceans on the chart, 
 Had seen the farthest pagan mart, 
 Had come and gone and come again 
 His own way o'er the watery plain. 
 
 ****** 
 
 I saw him stand before his door, 
 Stand in the open as of yore, 
 And still he watched the useless breeze 
 As once the great winds on great seas. 
 
 2 5 
 
THE HIDDEN LOVE. 
 
 When reason shall forsake her wonted throne 
 And wander helpless through the world she knew, 
 Seeking her past with pitiful ado, 
 In unapproachable distress, alone, 
 Pray then to Him lost too in the unknown, 
 That He may send His angel down the blue 
 Of empty heaven and shine glorious through 
 My darkened heart with radiance from His own. 
 Be not as he who crouches, bent in awe 
 Of this dread, speechless universe of things, 
 A stricken creature of a day of pain; 
 But stand, and cry to Him who made the law, 
 And He who suffers with thy sufferings 
 Shall give thee strength till He shall come again. 
 
 
 26 
 
WHEN HE HAS COME. 
 
 We love, but yet we cannot say 
 The slightest word that shall betray 
 The secrets that we guard. 
 Then ask we not for gifts, but give 
 The best we have each day we live 
 Though heavy gates thrice barred 
 And adamantine walls surround 
 A breadth and height and depth profound 
 Where dwells the soul alone; 
 Yet not alone, for He is there 
 Who hangs this Paradise in air 
 And gives it for our own. 
 Keep then thy soul with sacred fear, 
 And working on dread not to hear 
 The call, Come unto Me. 
 And we shall no more blindly seek, 
 But soul with very soul shall speak 
 All this life's mystery. 
 
 27 
 
THE WINTER OF THE SOUL. 
 
 When I reflect on what has been denied 
 My life-long asking of the Powers that be, 
 And what the years to come shall keep from me 
 Until the hands sink hopeless at my side, 
 I think of many a journey far and wide, 
 And wanderings in rich lands beyond the sea, 
 Of waking dreams in the soul's Italy, — 
 And the wild tossings of the heart subside. 
 Be still, O little, little life, and learn 
 What the white snow and leafless trees can teach 
 In the brief days of their imprisoning. 
 The time shall come when thou shalt cease to yearn 
 For liberty, and blameless hands shall reach 
 For unforbidden fruit now ripening. 
 
 28 
 
TO HELEN. 
 
 O child of mine, whose eager eyes 
 Scan this old world with new surprise, 
 Believe me when these eyes are wet 
 For loss that thou canst ne'er forget, 
 Though love should die misunderstood, 
 As thou art good, the world is good. 
 
 Enough for thee the simple creed: 
 If pure my heart, then pure my deed. 
 Then look the future in the face 
 And men shall find thy childlike grace 
 The light of love half-understood; 
 As thou art good, the world is good. 
 
 Though all thy sisters were more fair 
 With earthly charms beyond compare, 
 A beauty purer yet may glow 
 In thy sweet looks and men shall know 
 Thee, living love, all understood; 
 As thou art good, the world is good. 
 
 29 
 
IDZUMO. 
 
 The little potter of Idzumo 
 Pushes, pushes, and round they go, 
 Turning wheel and lump of clay, 
 All at work yet half at play, 
 Finger and thumb and shaping stick, 
 Every motion sure and quick, 
 Daintiest, fondest touches, lo! 
 There's my vase of Idzumo. 
 
 3° 
 
SOFT STEPS. 
 
 Your careful footfall on the chamber floor 
 Would make poor me start up and turn my eyes 
 To see if it were coming in the guise 
 Of some dread boatman, pointing to a shore 
 Throbbing with indistinguishable roar 
 Of mingling wind and surge and low, bleak skies, 
 While he stood mute and beckoning me to rise 
 And follow him, alone, to come no more. 
 But see ! I know that it was all a dream, 
 For you are kneeling at the bedside now. 
 Were they not foolish thoughts and idle fears? 
 And yet I wonder how it all will seem ! 
 Why do you hold my hand to your hot brow, 
 And hide your face as though you were in tears? 
 
 3* 
 
THE CAT AND THE BIRD AND I. 
 
 I saw it, Christopher, — know you, 
 And if you weren't just a cat, — 
 But I will be patient and show you 
 What good people think of all that. 
 
 Among my stray notions there lingers 
 A fancy that all things which live, 
 Whether clawed or provided with fingers, 
 Have a right to all this world can give. 
 
 And here you go out in the garden 
 And hide by a barrel — oh, fie ! 
 With a heart so hard nothing can harden, 
 And you look from the earth to the sky. 
 
 'Tis nothing to you she 's a mother, 
 The dear little wren on the twig, 
 She has only no spurs that will bother, 
 And you are so strong and so big. 
 
 You wriggle an instant and quiver 
 As you plant your hind paws in the dirt, 
 And then there's a spring — and a shiver; 
 Your teeth stab her breast, and they hurt. 
 
 32 
 
Your judgment was good, you did reach her, 
 And now you are creeping along, 
 And drop the limp, lifeless creature 
 Without a suspicion of wrong. 
 
 What? Christopher! Winking? You sinner! 
 
 Did ever »I act like that ? 
 
 "What was it I had for dinner?" 
 
 Be out of this ! Off with you ! Scat ! 
 
 33 
 
THE PHANTOM. 
 
 I looked into the face of Death, and saw 
 No sorrow in the eyes, no sullen mood, 
 But only passive waiting as he stood 
 Beside me while I wrought in life my law. 
 Tell the old lie of you, and stand in awe 
 Of a mere nothing, neither bad nor good? 
 I breathe one living breath, and head and hood, 
 Gray mantle, all, melts into air. Then pshaw 
 On idle versing of an idle theme ! 
 But who can say that truth may not be hid 
 In this for you, whom Fortune made to scan 
 This line, and pass, I pray, no more to dream 
 Mere dying into some dread shape, but bid 
 All hail, O Future ! as becomes a man. 
 
 34 
 
THE SEA-SHELL. 
 
 This afternoon, as empty as this shell, 
 Left by its tenant on the shingly beach, 
 By their own fury tossed beyond the reach 
 Of the great waves now sunk to yon low swell, 
 Here you lie waiting till I come to tell 
 How your enameled beauty, like the peach, 
 Utters its moment's fragment of the speech 
 Of earth and sea, sadder than swaying bell. 
 Ere yet the fated, coming blow shall crush 
 This empty house to mingle with the sand 
 Of countless wrecks of unmarked tragedy, 
 I listen, and I hear the roar and rush 
 Of restless waters, beating on the land, 
 Where once your little life passed, by the sea. 
 
 35 
 
THANKS IN" BABYLON. 
 
 Ithaxk thee, Baal, now that I have fed, — 
 (And mumbling thanks is easy on such days 
 As this. — What nonsense to pretend to praise 
 The goodness of a god, who beats your head 
 And sends you whining supperless to bed 
 To think out some great blessing in such ways 
 Of deab'ng with a wretch, as though he'd raise 
 His foolish eyes to him, nor curse instead ! 
 I'd rather be a Jew and done with it 
 To wail old psalms, my head against a wall, 
 And smear more ashes on my dirty brow. 
 What's that to me, who've sense enough to sit, 
 Grateful for just what I have got, that's all?) 
 That I have fed, I thank thee, Baal, now. 
 
 36 
 
MONHEGAN. 
 
 Lean inward toward the cliff, for if you slip 
 And cannot clutch this overhanging rock, 
 The frenzied prayer will not make soft the shock 
 Of the bruised hand, the helpless foot or hip 
 Upon the slime; an instant, and your lip 
 Shall touch the salt flood as your weak arms lock 
 In vain embrace the waves, that swaying mock 
 All strength but theirs, that drags you as they dip. 
 Amid them, yet beware the laws at play; 
 Yours is the craft, and they were made to serve. 
 If you are wise enough, then you shall rule; 
 But if your thought avail not more than they, 
 Expect not they shall falsely yield and swerve 
 To spare the wise man rather than the fool. 
 
 37 
 
THE BETROTHED. 
 
 When the sea swallowed him, I sought in vain 
 Some hated Nymph whom my wild heart might curse 
 
 With prayer for ill more potent than the verse 
 
 Of maddened Sibyl, shrieking by the main; 
 
 And when I had no answer, cried again 
 
 On Zeus to smite her as she rose with worse 
 
 Than frenzied Niobe's swift fate, or hers 
 
 Whose ever-bleeding wounds the Mera stain. 
 But now, I only pray the sea may keep 
 In its still shelter him, whose image dwells 
 In my heart's depths undimmed and safe from change, 
 Until I too, grown weary, fall asleep, 
 To waken in who knows what stormless dells 
 Of long-sought peace, where faithful lovers range. 
 
 38 
 
THE SACRIFICE. 
 
 Though God had granted you should even aspire 
 To build His thought in the obedient stone, 
 To paint a glory Heaven itself might own, 
 To plead in organ-voice the soul's desire, 
 His love was large enough to bless the fire 
 My hand had kindled to Him, as, alone 
 And comfortless, I prayed to the Unknown 
 To spare me the blind stroke of utmost ire. 
 
 Unfathomed thoughts, that not as ours embrace 
 The whole world's agony since time has been, 
 Who but the Infinite could know or bear, 
 Until upturning to His hidden face 
 The last poor child of earth shall sleep serene 
 To wake unburdened, fanned by heaven's air? 
 
 39 
 
IN JUDGMENT. 
 
 As soon as I recall my debts to Grace 
 For patient favor since I first could sin, 
 I blush to think how often I begin 
 To dare usurp the only Judge's place. 
 When in some far-off seon His dread face 
 Shall send the searching light of love within 
 My weary soul, from which at last has been 
 Purged as by fire every earthly trace, 
 Grant me, O Spirit, to return to them 
 Who suffered for my weakness and my wrongs, 
 Where'er, attaining or attained, they be, 
 That I may bow to kiss their garment's hem, 
 Or help them rise toward Him to whom belongs 
 Alone forever all truth's mystery. 
 
 40 
 
LEAST STAR IN HEAVEN. 
 
 I left the earth-plain when the heavens burned 
 With fiery points of great and lesser light, 
 And in my straight and ever swifter flight 
 Sped to the faintest world Love's eye discerned. 
 With what celestial rapture my soul yearned 
 Itself athwart the ether, till, grown bright 
 With speechless glory day engulfed the night, 
 And Love was at its goal ! And Love returned. 
 If I could lay the very tints of Heaven, 
 Echo the music of that singing star, 
 And make men know the peace that there abides, 
 No less should they adore the Only Seven, 
 Serenely sweeping in their depths afar, 
 Than seek the Presence which the distance hides. 
 
 4i 
 
OUR PRAYER. 
 
 The Son of Wisdom prayed, and I, who heard 
 My own unuttered longing in each word 
 That bore his clear petition through the skies, 
 Whose very brightness closed my feebler eyes, 
 I grew more bold, and dared look up again, 
 And all was peace when I had breathed Amen ! 
 
 DISCOVERY. 
 
 I went a thousand miles to greet 
 An unknown stranger in the street, 
 And found the rarest good, a friend. 
 
 I met a friend of old; O shame ! 
 That you had ever used the name ! 
 And saw his love was at an end. 
 
 42 
 
THE HUNTER. 
 
 I know but need not tell his name; 
 The story 's just as true, 
 How he though hunting little game, 
 Shot something big as you. 
 
 Your squirrels tumble from the trees 
 
 As dead as any stick; 
 It doesn't take a man for these, 
 
 A boy can, if he 's quick, 
 
 Perhaps a girl; but then this man 
 Was cunning, was a guide; 
 
 No creature of the forest ran 
 But he knew where he 'd hide. 
 
 And though he walked about for fun 
 
 To take the air and rest, 
 From habit he would take his gun, 
 
 For who could tell what nest 
 
 A man might pass and pass again, 
 And then would stumble on? 
 
 But if you couldn't shoot, why then 
 Your bird was lost and gone. 
 
 This time the clear October air 
 
 Made him almost forget 
 Why he was wandering here and there 
 
 With nothing killed as yet. 
 
 43 
 
He gazed about, when suddenly 
 
 A distant gun-shot rang 
 And from the thicket toward him, see ! 
 
 A frightened, brown deer sprang. 
 
 Quick as a flash he took good aim; 
 
 "What luck! Just squirrel shot !" 
 But scarcely hoped to more than maim; 
 
 But better so than not. 
 
 If he could hit him once ! Hooray ! 
 
 He crashed his fore-leg; swift 
 A second shot, and there he lay 
 
 Pitched forward, nor could lift 
 
 His heavy head. But one faint sight 
 
 Struck terror and he rose 
 To stagger from the fateful light 
 
 To shelter from his foes. 
 
 Then sure and strong the hunter rushed, 
 
 And death was in his eyes; 
 Another shot, and he had crushed 
 
 That life no more to rise. 
 
 Some hate to do Death's work for him, 
 
 And dread the victim's gaze. 
 Some hearts grow tender, some grow grim; 
 
 Choose you, and go your ways. 
 
 44 
 
TO G. L. V. 
 April 19, 1901 
 
 The Bridge of Sighs my idle feet 
 Once crossed when life was dreaming, 
 When love and moon-lit palaces 
 Were real and all else seeming. 
 
 The Devil's Bridge that leaps the Reuss 
 I crossed with nerves unshaken; 
 It was a good bridge and I knew 
 Some one had been mistaken. 
 
 Old London Bridge stands stout and firm, 
 And cleaves the Thames in seven, 
 As true a part of English earth 
 As rainbows are of Heaven. 
 
 Saint Angelo's binds Rome to Rome; 
 You watch the Tiber flowing 
 Beneath its arches till you doubt 
 If you or it be going. 
 
 A poet threw a bridge of thought 
 Across an unknown river 
 From pier he knew to pier he found 
 Straight onward, without quiver. 
 
 45 
 
Now we, whose wit can only walk 
 Or ride, nor yet go flying, 
 Pass boldly at his giddy height 
 To where his fields are lying. 
 
 Some day when antemortal things 
 Are left behind our vision, 
 I know you'll take whatever is 
 And build a bridge Elysian. 
 
 The span shall stretch from star to star, 
 And you and I will wander, 
 To search new depths beyond the blue 
 We gaze at now up yonder. 
 
 46 
 
FATHER AND SON. 
 
 A crouching savage, peering from his cave, 
 Watched shuddering the last black cloud swept forth 
 From out the stricken valley to the north; 
 Then he arose, and beat his hated slave. 
 His latest son sat where the just should sit; 
 And when the trembling debtor dared to seek 
 The godlike mercy to the poor and weak, 
 He spoke: "The Law! I will forbear no whit !" 
 
 47 
 
SILENT PARTNER. 
 
 When she comes with hidden laughter, 
 Then I open wide my arms, 
 Grant her begging first, and after 
 How I preach of hurts and harms ! 
 
 Yes, she knows about the danger, 
 As she listens, eyes askance, 
 Till her look grows strange and stranger 
 And she breathes as in a trance. 
 
 Shall I break the spell and wake her, 
 Dreaming dreams I cannot share, 
 Modest, pensive little Quaker, 
 Building castles in the air? 
 
 "Good papa! You dear!" and springing 
 From me, skipping in the hall, 
 Still I listen to her singing, 
 Wisest builder of us all. 
 
 48 
 
SEEING. 
 
 I sat in the sunshine, thinking 
 How blessed to be alive, 
 To be part of the good world's being, 
 To strive among those who strive. 
 
 I envied the painter's power 
 To mirror the flooding light 
 That plays on the changing surface 
 Or lurks in the deepening night. 
 
 I listened, and knew that the painter 
 Was dumb, while the days rejoice 
 In the answer breathed by the pine trees 
 To the wooing winds' tender voice. 
 
 I sighed for the skill of the singer 
 To guide me in heavenly ways, 
 For my heart is too glad to be silent 
 When all His creation gives praise. 
 
 But vain was my wishing and sighing 
 The moment would not delay; 
 To me was not granted to paint it, 
 Nor echo its music for aye. 
 
 49 
 
I thought of the vanished glory 
 Of days of the endless past, 
 When suddenly all around me 
 I felt Him, the First and Last. 
 
 "Lo, I am the Sight and the Seer, 
 And thou art a part of Me ! 
 Was ever a cloud that floated 
 And I was not there to see? 
 
 The stone in the heart of the mountain, 
 The path of the farthest star, 
 Obey Me, their Law, within them, 
 For am I not where they are? 
 
 Thou child of the moment, know Me; 
 Unfaltering, trust Me still, 
 For thou shalt become what thou knowst not, 
 And with Me shalt work My will. ' ' 
 
 5° 
 
FROM SUDDEN DEATH. 
 
 What fearful Father of the Desert dreams 
 That, should the moment's preparation fail, 
 The shivering soul must lack its guide, and quail 
 Unwelcome at the gate whence glory streams? 
 What duteous acolyte of his next deems 
 These awful musings true, and pens them, pale 
 As though the stillness spoke beyond the veil, 
 And bade him write: "This and this is," which seems? 
 But, courage, heart ! The deepest darkness lies 
 In self-distrust and shut-eyed, actless fear, 
 Lest God be less compassionate than we ! 
 The world is good, and blest the seeing eyes, 
 The hands that handle and the ears that hear; 
 And what is yonder new, new eyes shall see. 
 
 5i 
 
I. M. 
 
 Solid I stand, erect, nor shall I fall 
 Until I feel the last descending stroke 
 That Time shall deal, who lops the soundest oak, 
 Strewing a crown o'er which dull things shall crawl. 
 No tender nursling by a sheltered wall, 
 I saw the windy hill-side as I woke, 
 When first my roots drank the soft rains that soak 
 The rocky soil, and I grew firm and tall. 
 
 The wandering mists of autumn come and go, 
 The sturdy winter howls the same old song 
 To yield in spring-time to each loving sound. 
 Good, good it is in branch and root to grow, 
 Each year stretch further lusty limbs and strong, 
 And drop my thousand acorns to the ground. 
 
 52 
 
AS WE FORGIVE OUR DEBTORS. 
 
 That best of hours, after dinner, take 
 For your best work, the treatment of your foes, 
 Of whom too many thrive for your repose, 
 And kill them by forgetting, ere they wake ! 
 Then think in silence, for completeness' sake, 
 Of him who rose from bed when you arose, 
 Who does your deeds the day through as he goes, 
 And takes to rest your foolish bones that ache. 
 But, farewell, heaven, where you thought to see 
 Yourself enthroned forever as a sage, 
 Farewell the pit where they should ever burn ! 
 All men shall be what they were made to be, 
 Nor waste their little wisdom in their rage. 
 Be still! The wheels of God will ever turn. 
 
 53 
 
STORM AND STRESS. 
 
 What have I to do with currents 
 In the swirling flood of time? 
 Quite enough to watch the heavens, 
 Fool to think my task sublime. 
 
 For it bloweth where it listeth, — 
 Steer the ship and mind the sail; 
 
 If today good fortune helps me, 
 Come tomorrow storm and gale. 
 
 Oh, the long, long, weary journey 
 To the port so far away! — 
 
 Cursed be, curs' d is a coward, 
 Do the duty of today. 
 
 Mind your helm, and let the weather 
 Bless or blast you; keep your course. 
 
 When you pray, work ten times harder, 
 Stiller when the storm is hoarse. 
 
 Then will come one more tomorrow, 
 You'll forget it, how it roared, 
 
 When you spy the waiting pilot 
 And you welcome him aboard. 
 
 54 
 
TO HER. 
 
 Not for desert, which in His hidden book 
 Thy deeds of love have written hour by hour; 
 Not for the quiet wielding of the power 
 Of strong, pure womanhood in every look; 
 Not for thy touch of peace, when passion shook 
 My very life, faced by ill fortune's glower; 
 Not for sweet presence, sweeter than e'er flower 
 Gave to its haunt beside the shaded brook; 
 For more than all the unknown sum of all 
 And acts of grace still in the days to be 
 I offer newly what of old I gave, 
 A poor heart's promise while I still shall call 
 Aught of the frail earth mine to use for thee 
 In service proud to be thy true love's slave. 
 
 55 
 
HER DEAR LUCILE. 
 
 Awake, O merry Muse, and we'll 
 Together sing of sweet Lucile, 
 The darling of the painted face, 
 With cotton in her in the place 
 Of thinking brain and breathing chest 
 And stomach — Doctor knows the rest, — 
 But, oh, Lucile, those winkless eyes, 
 That look so cheerful and so wise, 
 That stare all day and stare all night, 
 And still were staring when the light 
 Broke through the latest morning's mist, 
 And, — what you needed not, — had kissed 
 Two heavy, drowsy eyes awake ! 
 But, oh, what nonsense 'tis to take 
 You for a living child at all, 
 When you are just a cotton doll ! 
 Your eyes, I know, were never wet 
 With tears like Annie's tears, and yet 
 She loves you, and will have a shawl 
 Put round the shoulders of her doll 
 Lest you should take a little cold, 
 The careful mother, twelve years old ! 
 Did you not feel a jealous pang 
 When the expressman stopped and rang 
 
 56 
 
To introduce, — no more nor less, — 
 Her Royal Worcester Mightiness, 
 Queen Mary, when already there 
 Elizabeth sat with haughty air, 
 And wondered who denied her right 
 To rule; but, like all dolls, polite 
 She showed no feeling more than you; 
 Perhaps was thinking what to do. 
 Yes, Annie loves you all, all three. 
 And you must show no jealousy, 
 However much your heart may feel, 
 My Annie's first-born, dear Lucile! 
 
 57 
 
UNWORLDLY. 
 
 Poet. I build the rhyme to gladden me, and you, 
 And, if a third shall come, for his eye too. 
 What gift of fortune if the shrine have worth 
 To get the passing worship of a fourth ! 
 The very Fates have wrought, if it shall claim 
 Some unborn day a fifth, and then is Fame. 
 
 Musician. Unto the market-place I crept abashed 
 Where men were wrangling, and dull weapons clashed 
 In ceaseless din, and petty, purblind craft 
 Swore lies were truth, and sold itself, and laughed. 
 'What had I then for sale?' My useless store 
 Was food for silence, music, nothing more. 
 
 58 
 
THE TEMPLE. 
 
 I digged, and laid the wall of smooth-hewn stone, 
 And was not false to what I knew alone 
 Of all His children in the Earth's strong youth; 
 My work is His, for am I not the Truth? 
 
 I shaped and set the flawless shafts in line; 
 The roof that heaven looked on too was mine; 
 I, Beauty built it, not of part and part, 
 But one, as I had seen it in my heart. 
 
 I loved and, dared, until His look of peace 
 Bade the too high aspiring labor cease. 
 "Enough, O children! Draw not nearer now!" 
 And thoughts we knew not shone beneath that brow. 
 
 59 
 
364. IN CASE 5. CUP BY TLESON. 
 
 C C r I ^leson of Athens has been with me, 
 
 1 Son of Nearchos. " "Tleson? Who's he?' 
 "Patience, I pray you! Maker of that! 
 Greek of the Greeks ! Why, off with your hat ! 
 Genius is in it! And think how we'd feel, 
 Happy as he was, turning his wheel, 
 Shaping that body? The master-touch ! 
 'Tired of hearing Nothing too much? 1 
 How he would stare at you, Aniline Age, 
 True to his finger-tips, potter and sage ! 
 Be as a child again, like him, and seek 
 In the Elysian Fields Tleson the Greek." 
 
 60 
 
HOW LONG, O LORD? 
 
 How long, O Lord? the watching Angel cried 
 From the pure silence of his soul to Him 
 Who thrones above the spotless Seraphim, 
 Himself revealing, though by none descried; 
 And, swifter than the shafts of light divide 
 The flood of chaos, ocean-deep and dim, 
 Came from the heights clear tones as of a hymn 
 Sung by one coming where the blest abide: 
 Dear Father, Thou hast led me all the way; 
 My little strength each instant was upheld, 
 Although I stumbled as I groped along. 
 Up from the low, dull light of earthly day, 
 My vision clearer with each cloud dispelled, 
 I bring Thee happier love in purer song. 
 
 61 
 
FROM EVIL. 
 
 Deliver us from evil! Deep on deep 
 He fathomed, and my little trembling soul 
 But sees the topmost cloudy billows roll 
 And fain would close its fearful eyes and sleep. 
 His eye had seen those primal spirits sweep 
 Headlong from their great orbits round the Pole 
 Of new-made Heaven to the abysmal goal 
 Where still He gazes, and they know, and weep. 
 Love, let my hand not go, though I were kin 
 Through oldest strain to those who did rebel, 
 Though I too breathe denial in my pain. 
 Hold me the closer, till my self-made sin 
 Consume to nothing in my self-made hell, 
 And He can take me to Himself again. 
 
 62 
 
WHEN THE WIND TURNS. 
 
 When the wind turns and you are borne life chaff 
 Before it in your utter helplessness, 
 
 What cares the wind, if you shall curse or bless, 
 
 Or even mock it with your angry laugh? 
 
 Wisest is he whose eager soul shall quaff 
 
 The cup of joy the passing hours press 
 
 To ruddy lips, ere youth shall even guess 
 
 The promised sceptre is a beggar's staff. 
 
 Mould, mould, old Nature, till the latest dust 
 Shall fly for dryness in your blind, old eyes, 
 Unpitying eyes, that sorrow never wet; 
 Complete the blight from Eden, when the crust 
 Of earth rolls lifeless, and the sun shall rise 
 On empty Death, and, blazing vainly, set. 
 
 63 
 
THANKSGIVING- DAY. 
 
 Thanksgiving-Day the sun rose clear 
 And shone upon her bed, 
 But they had been awake before, 
 And this is what she said: 
 
 "I have been thinking, mamma dear, 
 
 What day it is, you know; 
 I am so thankful I can breathe 
 
 Without its hurting so. 
 
 And then how good it is that now 
 
 I do not have to think, 
 But take the glass of water and 
 
 Have all I want to drink. 
 
 It's so much better than it was 
 
 When my lips were so dry. 
 Why mamma dear, what have I said 
 
 That makes you want to cry?" 
 
 64 
 
MOTHER AND CHILD. 
 
 it ''TS 
 
 Her thin, white hand to share 
 The horror of the awful thought, 
 " 'Twould be so lonesome there. 
 
 Or, mamma, what if you should die ? 
 If you should go before 
 My turn should come, I couldn't live 
 Another minute more." 
 
 65 
 
NON OMNIS MORIAR. 
 
 I shall not wholly die; only the base 
 And dull alloy of Nature shall return 
 To her new uses, but my love shall burn 
 Brilliant, unquenchable, before His face, 
 Whose wisdom willed it, when as yet all place 
 And time still slept unborn in thoughts that yearn 
 For Love's own gaze, reflected from the stern, 
 Unloving mirror of the things of space. 
 To think of me this hundred million years, 
 To bid my soul begin to be, and guide 
 Its tiny course along this devious way ! 
 Though I yet quiver at my phantom fears. 
 Thou knowest my heart would not go aside, 
 But love Thee with a stronger love each day. 
 
 66 
 
TO PHILIP OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Little bird, if human speech 
 Were but wise enough to reach 
 What men please to call your chatter, 
 How your little heart would scorn 
 The hatred of the giant-born, — 
 But it can't, and so no matter. 
 
 Did you ask us leave to be 
 In our world of misery? 
 
 No! You thought you'd come, and quicker 
 Than the swift invading Huns, 
 You and all your little ones 
 
 Come a-crowding ever thicker. 
 
 Nothing simpler than your "Tweet!" 
 Busiest bird in busiest street, 
 
 Hopping, flitting, pecking, peering. 
 What to you the stately dove, 
 Bird of Venus? Fie on love, 
 
 But just when my chicks need rearing! 
 
 Steal your living? If to steal 
 Means to show our commonweal 
 How the loving, lavish Mother 
 
 67 
 
Bids her hungry children glean 
 What my dull eyes had not seen, 
 Dull eyes of the dull, big brother. 
 
 Preach and scold you? God forbid, 
 Till my selfish heart is rid 
 
 Of the bully's cruel bluster, 
 Till I reach where you began, 
 Learn what birds can teach a man, 
 
 Know She loves us all, and trust Her. 
 
 68 
 
WHEN HE SHALL COME. 
 
 I have already come. I begged the bread 
 Which you refused Me at your door, 
 Me, asking what I needed, nothing more, 
 From you who from My bounty had been fed. 
 I have already come. In vain I plead, 
 Not on some far, forgotten day of yore, 
 Not in a speech unknown, unheard before, 
 This morning, here, it was My voice which said: 
 "Have you some work to do? I cannot find 
 A man that wants a laborer, although 
 I have tried hard; and I have come to you." 
 It still goes echoing, echoing in my mind, 
 A voice forever calling, clear and low: 
 "Have you some work, have you some work to do?" 
 
 69 
 
WAITING. 
 
 When life shall be but waiting for release, 
 Breathing and waiting for the messenger, 
 Come with thy sweetest smile to welcome her 
 And guide her gently to the Gate of Peace. 
 Take her dear hand, and bid her trembling cease. 
 Fold her so lovingly ! She will not stir, 
 But smile in dreams at thy soft pinions' whir, 
 Till she shall wake, fanned by that heavenly breeze. 
 
 hope of hope ! I know, and yet I dare 
 Pray for the endless greeting of their love, 
 Whose pure souls have been borne unto the height. 
 Though I should fail, I loved and breathed this prayer: 
 
 1 would be worthy of the life above, 
 
 I would have done no deeds but deeds of light ! 
 
 70 
 
SANDRO'S MASTERPIECE. 
 
 "Like Sandro's masterpiece, 
 That no man ever saw, but he himself." 
 
 Some even say that Sandro never lived; 
 But they are fools, who will not trust a tale 
 Except some ancient book may be produced, 
 In which such page and such a line asserts 
 The very hour and idle circumstance. 
 The people know more safely what they know. 
 
 "Tis said that he had sprung from noble stock 
 By some descent the Church had not approved; 
 But he was blameless, was he not? Besides, 
 His uncle, the old Cardinal Francesco, 
 Disowned him not the day the small, sweet grapes 
 His sister sent him from their childhood's home 
 Made him look deep into the bringer's eyes, 
 And yield his heart to all-constraining love, 
 Leaving to God the judgment of her sin. 
 A pity she should die so soon thereafter, 
 As though, that gained on earth, she hastened on 
 To win the last forgiveness that she craved. 
 
 Then not unwillingly gay Avignon 
 
 Received the fresh young life that coursed so strong 
 
 In Sandro's veins; no circle of fair dames 
 
 But listened eagerly as he would tell 
 
 7i 
 
The story of some wrong avenged at last 
 By prowess of a pure, devoted knight; 
 No chosen beauty but more beautiful 
 To listen to the music of his praise; 
 And when his skilful pencil swept the lines, 
 Repeating Nature's triumph in some face, 
 They crowded to his shoulders in their joy, 
 And seeming to forget him, praised him most. 
 The marvel of it all, his northern blood 
 Felt not the hot contagion of the Court, 
 When the lithe dancer's hand lay clasped in his 
 And half-averted eyes essayed in vain 
 To spy some token of approaching love; 
 But still he guarded eye and lip and tongue. 
 
 What less like courtier than to don his cloak 
 To follow down the crooked, narrow street 
 Till he should come to where the windy bridge 
 Uplifts its frowning arches o'er the Rhone, 
 And, walking idly, see each face that passed, 
 Himself too watched, for was he too not fair? 
 But him no shallow prettiness misled. 
 He knew at Court too many black-brown depths, 
 Beneath which lay forever sunken souls, 
 Though he had toyed secure upon the edge 
 Where yet the sweet air fans the glowing cheek. 
 
 72 
 
One autumn evening, guided by no thought 
 
 Which he had understood, he found himself 
 
 Among the merry throng upon the bridge, 
 
 When Providence, or, if you love Him, God 
 
 Sent by a weary mother with her babe, 
 
 Borne tenderly and sleeping in her arms. 
 
 One look from that pure mother's eyes to his, 
 
 An instant's path, but everlasting life 
 
 Had used it, and he knew it and was still. 
 
 When day succeeded to that sleepless night, 
 
 In which the vision faded not, but grew 
 
 Clear with the patience of eternity, 
 
 He rose in mood more prayerful than his wont, 
 
 Obedient, expectant in his heart, 
 
 That he should learn the meaning of the sign. 
 
 First, he would fix it, fondly, faithfully; 
 
 "Petrarca — but what hope to follow him, 
 
 Whom Love and Death perfect beyond our praise? 
 
 But Giotto's art, that keeps the very hue 
 
 Of breathing life, — if I could master that?" 
 
 What had been pastime crowded now his days 
 
 With eager labor, year on year, until 
 
 Even in Florence Sandro's skill was praised. 
 
 The end of it? Why, plain enough, that he 
 
 Might eat the honorable daily bread 
 
 Of noble souls, nor live on patronage, 
 
 73 
 
As rightful even as his share at Court. 
 
 The Pope had not forgotten that young face — 
 
 What can the conscience of the world forget? — 
 
 And often had besought the Cardinal 
 
 For news of his now famous nephew's life. 
 
 So when the papal chapel should be made 
 
 More beautiful in honor of her state, 
 
 Whom God had chosen to bear Him who came, 
 
 A messenger was sent to Italy 
 
 With order "to effect a swift return" — 
 
 Bearing the uncle's missive: — "if thou prize 
 
 The Holy Father's favor, and my love. 
 
 Think with uncertainty of my intent; 
 
 Are there not other artists still to fear, 
 
 If not for skill, yet for their eager friends, 
 
 Who too have access to His Holiness? 
 
 Delay not, Sandro, for I bid thee come 
 
 To counsel with me in a great design. ' ' 
 
 With forward springing fancies he set out 
 In due obedience. Master Duccio's work 
 Held him in passing but a single day; 
 His worship, open-eyed, seemed not to fear 
 Madonna's gaze, which awed the Siennese. 
 Should he for love of beauty love Her less? 
 Should Majesty enthroned so blaze with light, 
 
 74 
 
That human eyes might not look in and in? 
 Else were the very saints in heaven 
 Made glory-blind with visions of God's throne, 
 The childrens' angels could not see His face. 
 And who shall say that by the roadside too 
 The painter's child-soul met not in frank eyes 
 Some light of heavenly patience in good deeds? 
 At last the walls and towers of Avignon 
 Rose drear before him, and he entered in, 
 While in his thoughts he lingered far behind, 
 Where he had hoped one day to emulate 
 The beauty Duccio's brush had shown to men. 
 'Twas early on the morrow that he sought 
 The Cardinal, who quickly, privately 
 Set forth the Pope's desire, and his plan. 
 Only, since he had sent for him to Rome, 
 He learned, by devious ways that are at courts, 
 The possibility — he called it plot — 
 Of choosing some one else to do the work. 
 He scented intrigue, influence, calumny, 
 And all the poisonous weapons of the dark, 
 Until the nephew, terrified to see 
 An old man's agitation, begged His Grace 
 Might suffer him in quiet to return; 
 Then, stinging words about ambition dead, 
 And hinting how it was not for his sake, 
 
 75 
 
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Madonna with the Christ-child in her lap, 
 Bordered with angels kneeling round her throne; 
 Then in due order, paintings on the walls. 
 
 The first warm days of Spring had come, and still 
 
 In solitude the master worked, absorbed; 
 
 Line upon line until the painting seemed 
 
 Like some live thing, unwilling to be changed. 
 
 Unsatisfied, and thinking wearily 
 
 It might be he at fault, he closed his door 
 
 And sought abroad the guidance that he lacked. 
 
 Beside the Rhone, whose waters swift and strong 
 
 He hoped would lend their motion to the thoughts 
 
 That seemed so wilful in their sluggishness, 
 
 He met a stranger, idle as himself, 
 
 To whom the promise of the Spring had come, 
 
 With hope of one more summer yet to live. 
 
 The thin, pale hand, the deep-set eye, the cheek 
 
 Spoke of the struggle, and the courage, too. 
 
 A casual word he used of pleasure felt 
 
 At some unwonted shade of opening leaf 
 
 Startled the brooding Sandro with its truth. 
 
 A question and another opened soon 
 
 The wondering artist's eyes, which here looked on 
 
 The rival who had lost. With throbbing heart 
 
 He learned how hard had been his earthly lot, 
 
 Not friendless, but with friends among the poor. 
 
 77 
 
•'I ought not to have thought of it," he said: 
 
 ••What can a man, who only knows his art, 
 
 Count for at Court? But I have no mind to boast: 
 
 It is not now so hard for me to think 
 
 That Sandro is a better man: and then, 
 
 When one gets on where I am, near the end, 
 
 And knows a good man with a chance to live 
 
 Is doing well what I perhaps had left 
 
 Half-finished, — well, 'tis not so bad I failed. 
 
 But see that shower coming!" Then he smiled. 
 
 "How I have talked! Pardon! I don't complain." 
 
 They parted; and when Sandro stood once more 
 
 Before the painted panel, sobbing now he said: 
 
 "Why was I made so hard of heart as that? 
 
 I knew, but knew so faintly, what is clear ! 
 
 I can not bear to doubt. Another's bread? 
 
 If not his bread, not mine, although the toil. 
 
 It lacks the soul I could not give it then. 
 
 Become again the elements you are!" 
 
 They found the shattered wood, and, stranger still, 
 
 The unused gold, the precious colors all, 
 
 In careful order, not as if he raged, 
 
 Except against the picture ! Who e'er knew 
 
 Whence came the Happy Brother there at work 
 
 Upon the staging, where the color 's fresh? 
 
 No common begging vagabond was he. 
 
 78 
 
 
TO HIM WHO READS. 
 
 I ask no gift, 'tis I who bring 
 To you my thought, a simple thing, 
 But yet the best I have to give; 
 Some one may listen, let me live. 
 Another's life may be more brave, 
 If you will grant the boon I crave: 
 The voices of the myriad dead 
 Left my brief message still unsaid. 
 I come, and if the Truth is here 
 Attuned to charm another's ear, 
 That soul, if not your own, shall be 
 A better soul because of me. 
 But if I shall have planned in vain 
 To share with you my happy gain, 
 I know that I have seen and known 
 A something better than my own. 
 
 79 
 
DE AMICITIA. 
 
 As long as hearts shall meet and understand 
 The needs that poor humanity must know, 
 And feel the quickening pulse and warmer glow 
 That make the answer to the clasping hand; 
 As long as men shall traverse sea and land 
 In search of what the poor earth may bestow 
 To bless her children, wandering to and fro 
 On wiser errands than their thought had planned; 
 So long let Fortune lead her blindfold way 
 And we will follow in her idle train 
 To seize the gifts and bear the blows she sends; 
 For what foretold the coming of that day, 
 Which like a thousand came nor comes again 
 And showed us both that you and I were friends? 
 
 80 
 
TIME TO THINK. 
 
 Let genius soar and overlook the heights 
 Which our slow, common steps may never gain ! 
 Safer the crowded paths across the plain, 
 And toilsome days that part oblivious nights. 
 What are to us the clamorous brawlers' rights, 
 The fancied pleasure to the real pain, 
 Which throbs and throbs as we by might and main 
 Earn bread, because the peaceful spirit fights? 
 Blessed be evening and the fast-closed door, 
 That dulls the murmur of the mighty stream 
 In whose great currents we are swept along, 
 Helpless as straws amid a torrent's roar! 
 Sweetest the hour when at least we dream, 
 Still waking, of a day to know no wrong. 
 
 81 
 
SORRENTO. 
 
 Ibid thee, gentle Fancy, build 
 A palace by the sea, 
 Where every boisterous wave is stilled 
 And earth sleeps dreamily 
 Beneath the drowsy haze of noon 
 That dims the isles that lie 
 Soft as the gray of the tardy moon 
 Above them in the sky. 
 
 The orange trees in gold and green 
 
 Shall be in beauty there; 
 
 The olive with its silvery sheen 
 
 Shall glimmer in the air; 
 
 And landward o'er the sail-flecked bay 
 
 The sloping curves shall sweep 
 
 To where the cloudlet floats away 
 
 From fires that feign to sleep. 
 
 When thou hast reared its crowning dome 
 
 And gemmed its courts with flowers, 
 
 Bid thou a Lord and Lady come, 
 
 And She shall say: " 'Tis ours! 
 
 To my closed eyes it rose in air 
 
 Upon a summer's day, 
 
 When none were near, though two were there, 
 
 For thou wast far away." 
 
 82 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 I have not sought to put my heart in rhymes 
 To please an idle, transitory whim; 
 But that I might by grace escape from dim, 
 Uncertain regions of beclouded times, 
 Into the timeless sunlight of the soul, 
 And float on Fancy's pinions, bathed in air 
 As soft and warm as sleeping breezes, where 
 After the storm, the slow waves landward roll; 
 Or seek the quiet, where the great moon sheds 
 Her light in solitude upon the hills, 
 And, listening, breathe the coolness by the rills 
 Trickling and bubbling down their stony beds. 
 This world, all worlds are ours, O waking man 
 The poets lead us; enter we, who can. 
 
 83 
 
ABROAD. 
 
 Need I with all earth's power be endowed? 
 A soul within to look through my two eyes, 
 I'll fix in adamant the idlest cloud 
 
 That, breath-born, floats in silence through the skies. 
 
 And you essay to doom me ignorant, 
 
 Because the world is not the world you know? 
 
 When will you cease to stir the dregs of cant 
 And leave the bitterness asleep below? 
 
 The world forbids that I should use the name 
 
 Which you have borne in my heart's speech so long; 
 
 O silly world to brand as outward shame 
 
 The call of soul to soul, pure, clear and strong ! 
 
 We know the meeting that we celebrate, 
 
 Our souls' own secret though all men were there; 
 
 We read our line upon the page of Fate 
 
 And smiled for joy that we alone should share. 
 
 Come back, my thoughts ! E' en now the plodding task 
 Comes creeping on with leaden tread, methinks; 
 
 But soon tomorrow comes, when I will ask 
 Tomorrow's question of tomorrow's sphinx. 
 
 84 
 
THE RETURN. 
 
 I wander homeward with slow steps along 
 The country road you knew years, years ago; 
 I hear the thrush you knew call far below 
 For answer to his liquid even-song. 
 The oaks upon the hillsides still are strong 
 As those which you saw in defiance throw 
 Their mighty arms straight out, scorning to grow 
 With earth-bent limbs, as if to stoop were wrong. 
 O sturdy kindred of the early time, 
 Whose rugged lives were passed beneath these skies 
 In self-reliance of unseeing trust, 
 Where'er you roam the heavenly fields sublime, 
 Accept the loving thoughts of ours that rise 
 From these dear scenes where sleeps your earthly dust. 
 
 85 
 
THE ANGEL OF THE DAWN. 
 
 Hept in such unrest as they must sleep 
 Whose little strength is ebbing last away ; 
 About his face, no more distressed, would play 
 The sunlight of the soul, that could not keep 
 Her joy within herself, although there sweep 
 The darkest clouds above the Earth's decay; 
 A moment'? straggle at the break of day 
 And those still eyes are closed, no more to weep. 
 O heavenly victor, in the solitude 
 Of thy last battle, though we drew not nigh 
 No* heard the faint prayer of thy lessening breath. 
 We know that now. thy latest foe subdued. 
 Thy soul on music's wings doth cleave the sky 
 With God's dear angel, whose smile seen is death. 
 
 U 
 
 
HIDDEN. 
 
 TO give my moment immortality 
 The power of God were needed, as you will, 
 To force great Fame to seize her trump and fill 
 The ears of all men with her news of Me; 
 A blast of what, new-born, shall ever be, 
 A cry above the earthly din more shrill 
 Than ever rang o'er Athens from her Hill 
 With news of her Olympic victory. 
 
 I dare not doubt, although no mighty State 
 Bid me bring back to her the olive crown 
 While some new Pindar sings my proud return, 
 I will not doubt the miracle of Fate 
 That shall reward my prayer for love's renown, 
 The secret fires, love-lit, that quenchless burn. 
 
 87 
 
NOW. 
 
 I seize the Moment's garment as she glides 
 To join the breathless ghosts of yesterday; 
 Before thou passest, heed my cry and stay; 
 Leave me one gift, I beg for nought besides. 
 But she hears not, as lost in thought she rides 
 In her own triumph on the waves that play 
 Unknowing if I faint and sink away 
 A hidden thing to drift with lifeless tides. 
 Withhold thy benison; long since a child 
 In whose true breast the far-off heaven's spark 
 Enkindled love when life had but begun, 
 I am a man, and though the storm be wild, 
 I know that I shall come forth from the dark 
 Into the light that is the Eternal Sun. 
 
 88 
 
MYSELF. 
 
 Not in the dawn of Earth's heroic prime 
 Did Nature blend my spirit and her clay 
 To feed and fight in some forgotten day 
 That came and went in unrecorded time; 
 Nor in some distant age and warless clime 
 Was I to live beneath the gentle sway 
 Of Love enthroned when men shall no more prey 
 Upon the weakened victims of their crime. 
 The riches of thy heart, O Palestine, 
 The conquests of great Greece, the spoils of Rome, 
 The blood-bought heritage of liberty, — 
 Are not these ours, and are they not divine, 
 O Thou who mad' st this spinning world our home 
 And bad' st us delve and we should come to Thee? 
 
 89 
 
TO THE VIRGIN. 
 
 Petrarch's Canzone: Vergine bella, che di sol vestita. 
 
 Virgin of beauty, who with the sun arrayed 
 And crowned with stars, didst please the Sun supreme, 
 So that He hid within thee His own light; 
 Love urges me to utter words of thee, 
 But I may not begin without thine aid, 
 And His, who in His love found rest in thee. 
 Her I invoke, whose answer never fails 
 Him who in faith appeals. 
 Virgin, if wretchedness 
 Extreme of human things did ever turn 
 Thy heart to mercy, now incline to me, 
 Who pray for help from strife, 
 Although I am but clay, and thou art heaven's queen. 
 
 Virgin of wisdom, who art one among 
 The prudent, blessed virgins, nay, who art 
 The very foremost with the brightest lamp, 
 O shield of safety for afflicted souls 
 Against the strokes of fortune and of death, 
 O'er which we triumph, not alone escape; 
 O thou that coolest the blind heat that burns 
 In foolish mortal breasts; 
 Virgin, may those fair eyes, 
 
 90 
 
That grieving looked on the unpitying blows 
 
 On the sweet limbs of thy beloved Son, 
 
 Turn to me in my doubt, 
 
 Who, lacking guidance, come to thee to be my guide. 
 
 Virgin of purity, perfect in all, 
 
 Daughter and mother of thy gentle Son, 
 
 Light of this life and glorious on high, 
 
 Through thee the exalted Father's Son and thine, 
 
 O window of the glowing light of heaven, 
 
 Come down to save us in these last of days; 
 
 And of all earthly dwelling-places, thou 
 
 Alone wast sought for Him; 
 
 Virgin, blessed art thou, 
 
 Who turnest Eve's lament to happiness. 
 
 Make, for thou canst, me worthy of His grace, 
 
 O blessed without end, 
 
 O thou who now art crowned in the supernal heights. 
 
 Virgin of holiness, full of all grace, 
 
 Who by thy true, most deep humility, 
 
 Hast risen to heaven, where thou dost hear my prayer, 
 
 Thou broughtest forth the Fount of holy love, 
 
 The Sun of righteousness, that sheds His beams 
 
 O'er all the world of errors dark and dense, 
 
 Three dear, sweet names are thine, in thee conjoined, 
 
 Of mother, daughter, spouse, 
 
 9i 
 
O Virgin glorious, 
 
 royal bride of Him who loosed our bonds 
 And gave back liberty and joy to earth; 
 
 By His most holy wounds, 
 
 1 pray, grant my heart peace, thou truly blessed one. 
 
 Virgin, who wast on earth peerless, apart, 
 Thy beauties drew the love of heaven down, 
 Thou unexcelled, unequalled, unapproached; 
 Whose holy thoughts, whose loving and chaste deeds 
 Built to the God of truth a sacred shrine, 
 A living temple in thy maidenhood. 
 Through thee, O Mary, may my life rejoice, 
 If, granted to thy prayers, 
 
 Virgin pious, sweet, 
 
 Grace shall abound where had abounded sin. 
 
 Upon my spirit's bended knees I pray 
 
 That thou wilt be my guide, 
 
 And turn my crooked ways unto the goal of good. 
 
 Virgin unchanging, clear eternally, 
 Star of this stormy sea, who guidest all 
 Whose barks are in thy trusted governance, 
 Behold this tempest terrible wherein 
 
 1 find myself alone and without helm, 
 And not far off the last shrill cries of death, 
 In thee alone my soul has put her trust, 
 
 92 
 
Sinful, I hide it not, 
 
 O Virgin; oh, forbid 
 
 Thine enemy should triumph over me. 
 
 Remember that it was our sin that led 
 
 Our God for our release 
 
 To take on human flesh within the Virgin's womb. 
 
 Virgin, how many tears already shed, 
 
 How much imploring and what prayers in vain, 
 
 And all for my distress and grievous harm! 
 
 Since I was born beside the Arno, life, 
 
 Passed in a weary searching far and wide, 
 
 Is naught but suffering; for beauty doomed 
 
 To death and merest acts and words have laid 
 
 Their weight upon my soul. 
 
 O Virgin holy , pure, 
 
 Delay no more, for I have reached, perchance 
 
 The utmost bound; my days like arrows swift 
 
 Mid miseries and sins 
 
 Have sped away till now I wait for death alone. 
 
 Virgin, to dust is she returned, who left 
 
 My heart to mourn, that grieved for her in life, 
 
 And of my thousand ills one she knew not; 
 
 And, had she known it, from it could have sprung 
 
 Naught else, for any other will of hers 
 
 Had been my death, and infamy to her. 
 
 93 
 
Celestial sovereign and our goddess thou, 
 
 To pray thee by that name, 
 
 Virgin of thought profound, 
 
 Thou seest all; what she could not, shall be 
 
 As though it were not to thy virtue's power; 
 
 Bid thou my pain to end, 
 
 And thine shall be the praise, but the salvation mine. 
 
 Virgin, in whom is all my trust, that thou 
 
 Hast power and will to help me in my need, 
 
 Leave me not now in my extremity; 
 
 Not me, but Him who made me, look upon; 
 
 No worth of mine, but his high likeness given 
 
 To me, move thee to care for one so low. 
 
 Medusa and my error have made me 
 
 A stone of dripping tears 
 
 Virgin, grant my poor heart 
 
 May overflow in holy, pious grief, 
 
 So that at least its last plaint be devout, 
 
 Without terrestrial stain, 
 
 So mingled with the first that flowed in folly then. 
 
 Virgin of human birth, unstained with pride, 
 
 Let love of whence we sprang now move thy soul. 
 
 Have mercy on a contrite, humble heart; 
 
 If I have loved with such fidelity 
 
 A little mortal earth, doomed to decay, 
 
 94 
 
What may I be to thee, perfect one? 
 
 If from my base estate of wretchedness 
 
 I rise up by thy hands, 
 
 Virgin, I'll consecrate 
 
 To thee in purity my thought, my brain, 
 
 My style, my tongue, my heart, my tears, my sighs. 
 
 Lead me the better way, 
 
 And with thy favor look upon my changed desires. 
 
 The day is drawing nigh, no more far off, 
 
 So runs, nay, flies the time, 
 
 O Virgin, peerless one; 
 
 Now conscience and now death thrust at the heart. 
 
 Commend me, I beseech thee, to thy Son, 
 
 That, very Man and God, 
 
 He may receive at last my spirit to His peace. 
 
 95 
 
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And nought without thee rises to the sh<\ i '. 
 
 Divine of light, and nought knows joy M I 
 
 Thee do I seek for comrade of my toil 
 
 As I essay to treat in verse my theme, 
 
 The Nature of Things, ar. ra, 
 
 Thy friend and mine, of Memmian stock, whom thoc 
 
 Mess, in all times and all affairs 
 Art pleased to grace with every excellence. 
 Wherefore, O goddess, add a deathless charm 
 To these my words, and do thou grant the while 
 The savagery of war may rest, appeased 
 O' er every land and sea; for thou alone 
 Canst give tranquillity to mortal man. 
 For often Mars, whose mighty weapons guide 
 War's savagery, himself is overcome 
 By wounds of deathless love, and falls supine 
 Within thine arms; his fair round neck thrown back, 
 With parted lips and eyes upturned he feeds 
 His hungry ga^e, O goddess, loving thee, 
 And, as he lies, his breath leaves not thy lips. 
 When he reclines beside thy holy form 
 In thine embrace, O goddess, let thy mouth 
 Pour forth sweet words, beseeching peace for Rome, 
 O glorious one; for if unsettled ; 
 Befall the state, we cannot do this work 
 With settled mind, nor in such circumstance 
 May the bright offspring of the Memmian race 
 Be lacking when the commonwealth hath need. 
 
 ,' 
 
DE NATURA RERUM, III. 894-915. 
 
 "No more thy home shall welcome thee with joy, 
 Nor she, the best of wives; nor children sweet 
 Shall run to thee for kisses; now no more 
 Shall they with silent sweetness touch thy heart. 
 Thy power and prosperity shall cease 
 And thy defence of thine; one fatal day 
 Has stripped thee wretchedly, thou wretched one, 
 Of all the many goods of life," men say, 
 But do not add: "and there remains to thee 
 No care for even one of all these things." 
 Could they but clearly see this in their minds 
 And follow it with words, their great anxiety 
 And fear would melt away. ' 'As thou art now, 
 Lulled in the sleep of death, so shalt thou be 
 For all the age to come freed from all pain; 
 But we in awe beside thy funeral pyre 
 Have wept to see thine ashes, unconsoled; 
 No day may rob our breasts of endless grief." 
 Let them be asked, why so much bitterness, 
 If things return to states of sleep and rest, 
 That one should pine away with endless plaint. 
 How often men reclining at the feast 
 With cups held high and brows engarlanded 
 Will say from out their hearts: "Brief is this joy 
 Of poor, weak man; soon it has passed away, 
 Nor ever after can we call it back." 
 
 98 
 
OUR FATHER. 
 
 iC A /I ake straight His paths!" the Herald cried, 
 
 1 V 1 "Make straight His paths! I but proclaim.' 
 And quickly in the dungeon died 
 The desert voice; the Master came. 
 
 He walked among men, and they knew 
 The quiet Thinker's outward form; 
 And ever as He nearer drew 
 He felt the coming of the storm. 
 
 And one there was, whose eyes would dim 
 To see Him in the crowded mart; 
 Her mother love was following Him, 
 For she had pressed Him to her heart. 
 
 When He would wander far, alone 
 With God across the stony fields, 
 His way grew clear, because there shone 
 The light His Father's presence yields. 
 
 He lived into the life of men, 
 
 And learned what we might ever share, 
 
 As wider, deeper, higher then 
 
 His spirit searched Our Father's care. 
 
 99 
 
WHICH ART IN HEAVEN. 
 
 We bless Thee for the mind that knows, 
 And all the things within its ken; 
 We bless Thee more that reason grows 
 And men may serve their fellow men. 
 
 We bless Thee more for souls that live 
 To use the world of time and sense, 
 That each may take and each may give, 
 Nor seek an earthly recompense. 
 
 We bless Thee more for those with Thee, 
 Whose feet once trod these human ways, 
 Whose goal of doing was to be, 
 Who loved Thee to the end of days. 
 
 We bless Thee more for Him whom Thou 
 Didst send to witness most of Love, 
 To whom the hosts of Heaven bow, 
 Who draws all men to Him above. 
 
 We bless Thee most that Thou didst deign 
 To rend the clouds of human guilt, 
 And say I AM, O Lord of pain, 
 But God of Love, e'en as Thou wilt. 
 
 ioo 
 
HALLOWED BE THY NAME. 
 
 Thy primal angels lift their voice 
 In one harmonious acclaim, 
 And in their purity rejoice 
 To sing their worship to Thy Name. 
 
 Though praises thundering upward roll 
 From countless throngs below Thy throne, 
 Thou hearest when the suffering soul 
 But whispers "Father," sad and lone. 
 
 The rolling orb which Thou hast set 
 Within Thy universe to shine 
 The brightest in earth's coronet 
 Doth sing: My glory is but Thine. 
 
 Though like a scroll worlds pass away 
 When He shall come in clouds above, 
 Thou grantest in our little day 
 That we reflect Thy name of Love. 
 
 When all has been and nought shall be, 
 Thou art, all-glorious One, the same; 
 Impure no more, eternally 
 Thy works shall bless Thy Holy Name. 
 
THY KINGDOM COME. 
 
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THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH 
 AS IT IS IN HEAVEN. 
 
 O miracle of grace, that I 
 Should have a will that Thou dost give ! 
 That Thou shouldst say I shall not die 
 If I will turn to Thee and live ! 
 
 O Earth, thou tiny golden sphere 
 That spin' st along thy path in space, 
 The very Son of Heaven came here, 
 And made of thee his dwelling-place. 
 
 'Twas here with us that Thou didst dare 
 To breathe Thy hope within our dust, 
 And give to man the godlike share 
 Of birthright, nor didst say, Thou must. 
 
 To those who dimly see, give light, 
 Teach every soul on earth to pray, 
 Till every phantom of the night 
 Shall vanish at the break of day. 
 
 All worlds are Thine; my little task 
 Is Thine this unreturning hour; 
 Thy Will is done, Thou dost not ask 
 For any deed beyond my power. 
 
 103 
 
GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD. 
 
 O power of God, whose angels sweep 
 On duty's orbits, silent, strong, 
 And flame his glory through the deep 
 That heard creation's morning song, 
 
 Descend as Love, envelop us, 
 Whose weakness still has need of night, 
 And make this darkness glorious 
 With visions of the heaven's light. 
 
 As in the hollow of Thy hand 
 The worlds Thou hast created lie; 
 Thou giv'st, we cannot understand, 
 Thou takest, and we know not why. 
 
 Though we see little of the way, 
 But little of the truth may know, 
 Our little life be but a day, 
 From Thee we come, to Thee we go. 
 
 Grant in Thy service we may earn 
 The daily food our bodies need; 
 With Thine own self, for whom we yearn, 
 Do Thou our souls forever feed. 
 
 104 
 
FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES, AS WE FOR- 
 GIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US. 
 
 O crush us not beneath the weight, 
 Our sins are more than we can bear; 
 Give grace, before it be too late 
 And we will not ! If we despair, 
 
 Send Thou some messenger of grace 
 To shine upon the good still left; 
 Hide not behind our clouds Thy face, 
 Lest we should die alone, bereft. 
 
 'Tis Thou who givest man his breath; 
 Thou gavest me my being; Thou 
 Dost call me from the past of death 
 Into Thy everlasting Now. 
 
 The courage in my brother's soul 
 Thou givest from Thy loving heart; 
 I cannot love the perfect Whole, 
 If I offend the living part. 
 
 Not in some far-off sphere to be 
 Would I grow just, as Thou art just; 
 Teach me to love the man I see 
 While we both tenant here the dust. 
 
 i°5 
 
LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION, 
 BUT DELIVER US FROM EVIL. 
 
 i i T choose the good that nearest lies; 
 
 1 There is no good but mine to seek; 
 All men I silently despise, 
 For I am strong and they are weak. 
 
 The mysteries of heaven grant 
 That evil work, and death may strike 
 Ye know not when; we grimly haunt 
 The good and bad we hate alike. ' ' 
 
 The voices of the passions call 
 Within the desert places wild; 
 The night is dark, I fear, I fall! 
 Father of mercy, hear Thy child ! 
 
 The world is Thine, and Thou art good; 
 But men, so weak of heart and mind, 
 Have, oh! so little understood, — 
 The purblind leaders of the blind. 
 
 We bless Thee that Thy truth has sent 
 Thy heralds since the birth of time 
 To light us from the firmament, 
 And guide the wise to things sublime. 
 
 1 06 
 
 
HIS STILLNESS. 
 
 I listen in the silence of the soul 
 And wonder if the voice of Love will speak 
 To me, poor me ! who am so very weak, 
 His voice, who makes the starry heavens roll ! 
 This tiny place in Him, who is the Whole, 
 This moment in the rest-day of His week, — 
 Of all His millions I but one, dare seek 
 His thought, who watches His creation's goal! 
 I wait, while steadily the beating heart 
 Keeps on to pay the total debt it owes; 
 The tides of breath rise gently, gently fall. 
 I rest, and with closed eyelids I depart 
 Whither Love will on journeys that He knows, 
 When in His stillness I once hear Him call. 
 
 107 
 
THE RIGHT REVEREND GEORGE BURGESS, 
 1809-1909. 
 
 If he earns fame, who guides the ship of State 
 By reason's star across the trackless sea, 
 
 Whom all winds serve and who alone is free, 
 
 The lonely wielder of the force of fate; 
 
 If he, who searches while the nations wait 
 
 To find from what has been what yet shall be 
 
 In opening vistas of eternity, 
 
 Deserves from little men the name of Great; — 
 Let him, who shares the dearest gift of all, 
 The longing of the soul to learn the powers 
 Of Him whose will is to be understood, 
 Let him, who heard us when we dared to call 
 His soaring spirit to the aid of ours, 
 Have homage of our love, which calls him Good. 
 
 108 
 
I COME WITH THE PLEA OF CHRIST. 
 
 I come with the plea of Christ 
 For the life of the growing soul: 
 Give unto God thy heart, 
 He asks not a little part; 
 Trust Him, and give Him the whole. 
 
 I come with the plea of Christ, 
 The brother of all who live: 
 My spirit will show thee the way, 
 The night shall be as the day; 
 I have given thee all; then give. 
 
 I come with the plea of Christ 
 To the soul in her earthly youth: 
 Seek Me in gladness or tears; 
 The light of the brightening years 
 Shall lead thee to Me, the Truth. 
 
 I come with the plea of Christ, 
 Who calls in the midst of strife: 
 Leave thou the paths of the dead, 
 Give Me thy hand and be led 
 Beside the still waters of life. 
 
 109 
 
THE ROUND. 
 
 From the springs of God came streaming 
 The soul of a little child, 
 And ever it wonders, dreaming 
 Of His glory undefiled. 
 
 His child-steps went exploring 
 
 Outside the walls of home; 
 His child-soul, too, went soaring 
 
 Where only children roam. 
 
 He knew there were tears and sorrow, 
 
 But his was an April day; 
 He could hardly wait for tomorrow 
 
 With its budding, blossoming May. 
 
 Swifter the days were fleeting, 
 
 With the pulse and the world in tune, 
 
 And he came with his heart to the meeting, 
 And they loved, for it was June. 
 
 And they idled beside the river, 
 
 Alone in the summer fields, 
 As they lived their thanks to the Giver 
 
 Of all that the good earth yields. 
 
 no 
 
Rich autumn was theirs with its gladness, 
 While the earth seemed waiting and still, 
 
 When slowly, unbidden, came sadness, 
 And the brimming of eyes that fill. 
 
 They listened, and knew she was singing: 
 "Be praise in the highest to Thee; 
 
 Thou gavest me seed, I am bringing 
 The fruit and the seed to be." 
 
POOR DEBTOR. 
 
 Nothing has changed, only, you care no more; 
 I blame you not, although you pass me by 
 
 With such a lofty coldness in your eye, 
 
 Mere nothing where there was so much before. 
 
 For love once dead a world cannot restore 
 
 As long as you are you and I am I; 
 
 I cannot trust you, howsoe'er I try; 
 
 My head is weary, and my heart is sore. 
 Nay, life is large, go we our ways apart; 
 It cannot be that love can turn to hate, 
 For even bankrupt love shall pay its debt. 
 We cannot die; some day, somewhere, the heart 
 Shall pay the seven-fold due to hearts that wait, 
 And soul with soul shall once again be met. 
 
QUE SCAIS-JE? 
 
 He knew the living men who sought renown, 
 He knew the glory of the men of old; 
 
 He knew the poets and their coined gold, 
 
 He knew the tumult of the wrangling town; 
 
 He knew himself and safely sat him down; 
 
 He knew the thousand tales that men had told; 
 
 He knew life's cowards and he knew the bold; 
 
 He knew no master and he feared no frown. 
 A thousand shall be learned, one be wise, 
 One shall discover what all time shall use, 
 Nature shall give ten thousand children birth 
 Ere such another Sun of Wisdom rise 
 In Time's new constellation to diffuse 
 His clear, pure light upon the cloud-vexed earth. 
 
 113 
 
THE CRITICS. 
 
 Your help? No, your resistance is worth more; 
 Your silence better, but your scorn is best. 
 Is it a base alloy that ye detest, 
 Which ye have found commingled with the ore? 
 'Tis vain to cry you mercy, and deplore 
 That Nature's self has left unpurged a rest 
 Of sinful longing in the purest breast 
 That shall be quenched with life, and not before. 
 O blessed mystery of frost and fire, 
 Which human weakness had not dared create, 
 Ye are the servants of a love sublime; 
 But we shall be where ye may not aspire, 
 When ye have finished the drear work of hate, 
 And sunken in the soundless depths of time. 
 
 114 
 
ANYONE'S EPITAPH. 
 
 Here lies one to whom God dared give 
 A body that a soul might live; 
 His life was mingled joy and grief, 
 From dark to dark a passage brief; 
 A guest at first, at last a guest, 
 Of earth, to earth, forgot, at rest. 
 
 "5 
 
VIS ANIMAE. 
 
 Shall I put down the thoughts of one lived hour 
 In flashing words, parted by pearls of rhyme. 
 To be then indestructible by Time, 
 Whom, if it will, my soul has in her power? 
 Though Pharaoh's pyramid, though Nature's tower 
 Of virgin mountain rear its head sublime 
 To heights the harmless winds alone may climb, — 
 They shall be dust, blown by a summer's shower. 
 Oblivious grave of hope, of deeds not done, 
 I know thee, silent waiter, what thou art, 
 And cast the burden of lost hours in thee; 
 But in my endless ages just begun 
 I seek eternal treasures with a heart 
 That knows the goal of doing is to be. 
 
 116 
 
 
WHEN SHE SINGS. 
 
 When I have heard the hidden nightingale 
 Pour forth the wonder of her lonely song 
 In liquid notes, now faint, now full and strong, 
 In the safe shadows of the dusky vale, 
 My thoughts go wandering back beyond the pale 
 Of human happiness and human wrong 
 Into the realm where I in part belong 
 Of Nature's purposes, that never fail; 
 
 But when I hear your voice, true, pure and clear 
 
 Pour forth to God the worship of our prayer 
 
 In the full sunlight of His blessed peace, 
 
 I think no more, for I already hear 
 
 His answer coming forth from heaven, where 
 
 In His own time the soul shall find release. 
 
 ii 7 
 

 THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Why do you labor to compare, compare, 
 As though a soul could not exist alone 
 And quarry from the hills of God the stone, 
 Lay giant block on block, firm, true and fair 
 As from some milk-white mountain of the air 
 Seized to the earth to be some sea-god's throne, 
 Labor till column, roof and altar shone 
 In beauty that a part of God might share? 
 
 From farthest eastern shores she brings the gold, 
 The ivory, the gems that shall adorn 
 The robe of Love, and blaze within her crown; 
 And Love, whom all of Heaven could not hold 
 Obeys, and at her bidding is reborn, 
 Immortal seen on mortals looking down. 
 
 118 
 
THE VOYAGER. 
 
 The dead are ageless, it is we are old 
 In dusty composition with decay, 
 While they are young in an immortal day 
 Of suns new-visited in heights untold, 
 Where the dull senses' mysteries unfold 
 In the near splendor of a Milky Way 
 Of dazzling constellations in array, 
 As when in gem-like shower first they rolled. 
 
 The near-by task unfinished cries: Not yet; 
 
 The mind that knows still struggles as it peers 
 
 Into the deeps below, around, above; 
 
 The god-like soul is fluttering, beset 
 
 By things, that cloud and weight the lagging years, 
 
 And ever listens for the call of love. 
 
 119 
 
R. J. H. 
 
 IT were too slight a wish that this chance day 
 Might be repeated in its transient mood; 
 That were as if we dimly understood 
 The blessed sun and stars above our way; 
 And trusted not that Nature's work and play 
 Would bring each day an added store of good, 
 Nor knew that human nature's daily food 
 Wrought out its miracles in our dull clay. 
 It is not ours to hope nor to despair 
 Of what shall be in life's long discipline, 
 For good is good, and God cannot be foiled; 
 We cannot lessen what we freely share; 
 The more we sow, the more we gather in, 
 Or others reap in fields where we have toiled. 
 
 120 
 
 
FAREWELL. 
 
 I sit and watch the arm across the breast, 
 The pillowed head, and flowers everywhere; 
 I hear one read the verses, say the prayer, 
 And those whose song would charm the soul to rest; 
 Then fragments of the truth the life expressed 
 Mix with the memories that we two share 
 Of words that seemed to die upon the air, 
 But, poor as was the gift, it was our best. 
 This too is life; thine earth a moment more 
 We cherish fondly with our lingering gaze; 
 Time tarries not; I hear again the bell. 
 Close out the light, he sleeps. Softly the door 
 Swings open as the organ breathes its praise, 
 And we go hence with thee to earth. Farewell ! 
 
 121 
 
TOURNEY'S END. 
 
 I strive to store my daily gain to meet 
 The challenge of the Keeper of the Gate, 
 When life's last height is mounted, and I wait. 
 A dust}" traveler, wearied with the heat. 
 Will not. must not a look of welcome greet 
 Those who have lived for love and hated hate. 
 And been content in their decreed estate, 
 Nor envied power nor sought the lofty seat? 
 When heaven's breezes fan my upraised brow, 
 And, though so poor, I pray to enter in 
 For what I am, — whatever shall befall. 
 Thou wilt be still the Truth, as Thou art now; 
 Grant me a little sleep ere I begin 
 Anew to labor till I hear Thee call. 
 
 
MINE. 
 
 ( i I\ /I y being and my use of it are mine, 
 
 I V JL And what I must become of more or less 
 
 In the stern traffic of this business, 
 
 Which bounds of human birth and death define. 
 
 Then, for the goods I have not why repine, 
 
 Wasting my little in self-wrought distress, 
 
 As though I would do evil nor confess 
 
 That Thou, O my Creator, shouldst use Thine? 
 Shall I have aught and shall not pay the price? 
 Shall I sow seed and shall not reap the grain? 
 Is not my life but learning of the Law?' ' 
 "Though thou learn all, except thou sacrifice 
 Mine own to mine, thy days shall pass in vain, 
 And thou shalt vanish in thy loveless awe. ' ' 
 
 123 
 
IX THE OXFORD BOOK OF VERSE. 
 
 To be of that choice company. 
 What lack I? Have I wit to see? 
 The candid mind 
 That dares record 
 The very word ! 
 The loving heart 
 That cannot rest, 
 But gives its best ! 
 The faultless skill, 
 That must be given 
 By kindly heaven ! 
 
 If mind, heart, skill are mine, these three, 
 I am of that choice company. 
 
 124 
 
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