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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSITS 
 
THE SUNSET ROAD 
 
 BY 
 
 JANE G. A. CARTER 
 
 Author of **Boundbrook," "Songs 
 by the Way, " etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH ^ COMPANY 
 
 1913 
 

 Copyright, 1913 
 Sherman, French 6^ Compant 
 
 ©C/,A358763 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 In publishing this little volume, 
 compiled from the occasional writings 
 of many years, the author has no ambi- 
 tion save the gratification of old 
 friends, and kindly disposed readers. 
 Certain poems may be recognized as 
 waifs of earlier days in somewhat al- 
 tered dress, others as having appeared 
 in privately printed souvenirs. Sev- 
 eral of the more serious ones are in- 
 cluded through the courtesy of Zion's 
 Herald and the W at chmaTi- Examiner. 
 They are sent out with no pretension 
 to notice on the score of poetic merit. 
 They are but simple home songs, bear- 
 ing a message of love and cheer to fel- 
 low travelers on " The Sunset Road." 
 And so: 
 
 Kind be the critics who may sit 
 In judgment on these pages; 
 
 Leave to a carping world the work 
 Of keener wits and sages. 
 
 A breath of human sympathy, 
 A note of trust unbroken, 
 
 A chant of love, a psalm of hope, 
 These be my songs' true token. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Walk . 1 
 
 Nothing to Read 4 
 
 The Still, Small Voice 8 
 
 Alone ! 9 
 
 The Summer World 10 
 
 The Perfect Rainbow 13 
 
 The Answer 14 
 
 Awakening 15 
 
 The Meeting 16 
 
 The Singer 18 
 
 An Evening with Old Schoolbooks . . 19 
 
 Good Cheer 22 
 
 Beside the Sea 23 
 
 The Snow Storm 25 
 
 Life-pictures 26 
 
 A Question 28 
 
 A Calm at Sea 29 
 
 For a Birthday 31 
 
 A Simile 34 
 
 The Graces 35 
 
 Good-night 36 
 
 The Yet Uncrowned 38 
 
 "Not Old" 42 
 
 October Days 43 
 
PAGE 
 
 Gathering Roses 46 
 
 A Gray Day 47 
 
 Compensation 48 
 
 Strawberries 49 
 
 Unfathomed 51 
 
 What Does Easter Mean? 52 
 
 The Hidden Joy 54 
 
 At Appledore 55 
 
 Waiting 57 
 
 Wild Roses 58 
 
 Answered 59 
 
 Our Grandsires 60 
 
 Little Maid 65 
 
 My Little Lover 66 
 
 The Schoolhouse 'neath the Hill . . 68 
 
 After the Shower 71 
 
 The Angels in the Cloud 72 
 
 The Birds' Morning Concert .... 75 
 
 Grosbeak's Song 77 
 
 An Autumn Day 79 
 
 Dreaming 80 
 
 The Sunny Day in Winter 84 
 
 The "Bless-you-lady" 85 
 
 The Choice of the Star 87 
 
 The Crowning Gift 89 
 
 The Flower of Sorrow 92 
 
 The Nixie 94 
 
 On Midnight Wind 98 
 
 My Debt 99 
 
 The Rainbow in the Fountain .... 100 
 
PAGE 
 
 "In Lands Afar" 101 
 
 Lost — the Children ! 102 
 
 A Day at Windermere 104 
 
 Creation's Silence 106 
 
 Nantucket 107 
 
 An Anniversary 109 
 
 Beyond 112 
 
 A Thought 114 
 
 True and False 115 
 
 Our Trees 116 
 
 The Story of Brother Brown . . . .117 
 
 Retrospection 124 
 
 For a Library 126 
 
 Wave High, O Flag 128 
 
 The Composite Photograph 129 
 
 To the Hepatica 131 
 
 "Love Comes to Stay" 133 
 
 A Heart-song 135 
 
 On the Heights 136 
 
 Beautiful World 138 
 
 A Voice 140 
 
 Consecration 141 
 
 Sacred Companionship 143 
 
 The Unfinished Hymn 145 
 
 Heart-rest 146 
 
A WALK 
 
 Come, dear, in memory's truthful light the long 
 
 ago appears. 
 And I would have you walk with me adown the 
 
 vanished years. 
 Let us away to childhood's hours, to haunts that 
 
 knew not you, 
 For I, in love's dear name, would have you know 
 
 and love them, too. 
 
 It grieves me I can never hold in memory one 
 
 sweet face — 
 The mother with whose daily acts was blent such 
 
 winsome grace, 
 (Or so they tell) and whose blue eyes, low voice, 
 
 the whole day long. 
 Were like the blue of limpid brook, the music of 
 
 its song. 
 
 But come, at this path's ending — round the 
 
 green knoll winding yet — 
 (This path! how oft its early dews I've brushed 
 
 with garments wet!) 
 The old barn stood, a sturdy frame beneath a 
 
 time-worn roof. 
 Its wide door-sill all trodden round with marks 
 
 of cattle-hoof. 
 
 [1] 
 
Here's the great hay-mow spanned by beams 
 
 whose dizzy height we gained 
 What time our youthful blood was spurred to 
 
 feats our sires attained. 
 The well filled rows of stanchions where the 
 
 meek-eyed cattle stood, 
 The long, cleared floor where new mown hay we 
 
 tossed in wildest mood. 
 
 Ah, here the dim, secluded spot where, as a child, 
 
 I crept. 
 While, o'er some trifling grief or pain, my heart 
 
 in silence wept ; 
 And that blest ray of sunlight shining through 
 
 the pane above. 
 That lifted oft the childish wo, was't light of 
 
 mother-love ? 
 
 And let us seek the orchard where the peach and 
 
 cherry grew. 
 The shallow pond where my small boats across 
 
 the water flew. 
 Dear, as these memories gather, and these lights 
 
 of childhood gleam, 
 I see dim-outlined presences, like figures of a 
 
 dream. 
 
 [2] 
 
strange, is it? — But it comes to me without a 
 thought of shame — 
 
 It seems as though across the years I must have 
 called your name. 
 
 When some faint and fleeting vision o'er the si- 
 lent spaces moved, 
 
 Was it you that passed before me, you, all un- 
 known, I loved? 
 
 O blessed days of childhood, lying in the mystic 
 past! 
 
 O mystery of older life toward which we traveled 
 fast! 
 
 O love so dear we think it must have dropped 
 from Eden skies. 
 
 How close to longing heart and soul your treas- 
 ured memory lies ! 
 
 [3] 
 
NOTHING TO READ 
 
 For a youth's library dedication 
 
 Sitting alone with my books one night, 
 With this and with that enchanted quite, 
 Talking in fancy with poets old, 
 With Pope, with Burns, and with Browning 
 
 bold. 
 There came a gentle tap at my door 
 ('Twas a tap I'd often heard before) 
 From my little neighbor, Marjory More. 
 
 Now, Mar j ory is a pleasant girl ; 
 
 Of Saxon blood is she. 
 Of lineage that knew high birth 
 
 In lands far over sea ; 
 And she's so neat, so gay and sweet, 
 
 This little Marjory More, 
 I wonder that I never sung 
 
 In rhyme of her before. 
 
 And yet — and yet — it must be told, 
 
 The tinith I must disclose. 
 To deck herself in trappings gay 
 
 Is all my Marjory knows. 
 Her pleasant voice, her pretty ways 
 
 Veer off in fashion's chase. 
 So all-engrossed her time and soul 
 
 In mere external grace. 
 
 [4] 
 
Now, Marjory's home Is beautiful, 
 
 As meet for one so fair; 
 And she in silks and jewels shines, 
 
 A bright adornment there; 
 And there are books in costly rows ; 
 
 At every turn they lie; 
 But Marjory, on dress intent. 
 
 Indifferent passes by. 
 
 '' O Marjory, Marjory!" once I asked, 
 
 " Why give so little thought 
 To these rare treasures of your home, 
 
 At no light purchase bought? " 
 She raised her placid eyes to mine 
 
 With slightly wondering look ; 
 " There's nothing here to read," she said ; 
 
 " I never take a book." 
 
 " Why, nothing here to read ? " I cried ; 
 
 " You mock me, Marjory More! 
 You surely find some fruit you like 
 
 Amid this varied store ! " 
 " My dear," said she, with ready smile, 
 
 " You were a bookworm made ; 
 If ever I've an idle hour, 
 
 I get the Yankee Blade. ^* 
 
 " Marjory, Marjory More ! " I cried — 
 My words leaped out like fire — 
 
 " Is this the limit of your want, 
 The height of your desire? 
 
 [5] 
 
How dare you deck your brow with gems, 
 With trash your young soul feed ? 
 
 How dare you scorn this priceless lore, 
 And say you've naught to read? " 
 
 Her wondering eyes again she raised ; 
 
 Her tranquil voice replied ; 
 " Those essays dull and poets old 
 
 I never could abide ; 
 It takes my time to plan my dress 
 
 And get my ruffles made; 
 And all the reading that I want 
 
 Is in the Yankee Blade.'' 
 
 O Marjory More! so neat, so sweet. 
 
 So fair and gracious, too ! 
 This is the reason why before 
 
 I've never sung of you ! 
 How long will fashion blind your eyes 
 
 And dull your sense of need? 
 How long will your indifferent mind 
 
 Pretend you've " naught to read ? " 
 
 'Twas thus I mused by the firelight bright 
 After my Marjory went that night, — 
 That night you know, I had talked by turns 
 With Pope and Browning and Scottish 
 
 Burns ; — 
 " Nothing to read ! " when in home and hall 
 Science and History come at our call; 
 
 [6] 
 
Art, as delightful as novels first read; 
 Philosophy, with her thoughtful tread; 
 Astronomy, too, with reverent eye, 
 Exploring paths of the stars on high ; 
 Poetry, kindling with deatlilcss flame; 
 All lore that a master-mind might name; 
 All fruit of old or of modern pen. 
 Wide-spread as the air of life to men. 
 " Nothing to read! '' O Marjory More! 
 So fair, yet shallow from surface to core ! 
 Can it be her mind will ever wake 
 To all it loses for fashion's sake? 
 
 O youth, dear youth, when in days to come 
 Rare feasts await in this well stored room. 
 Don't turn from the priceless treasure-store 
 To the page of trash, like Marjory More! 
 Let not your learning be mere pretense ; 
 Let not poor wit entrap your sense ; 
 Don't take the worst when the best is by ; 
 Don't gather husks when the fruit hangs nigh, 
 Lest of you 'tis said, with scorn indeed, 
 " These are the youth who've ' nothing to 
 read.' " 
 
 [7] 
 
THE STILL, SMALL VOICE 
 
 TitERE is a voice that speaks to earth-dulled 
 ears, 
 
 A still, small voice, with gentle force alluring ; 
 It steals upon us through the busy years. 
 
 And fain would bless us with a joy enduring. 
 
 When passions of the earth tumultuous rage, 
 When pleasure's artful snare is laid before us. 
 
 The still voice warns us ; and from youth to 
 age 
 To temper and to soothe it whispers o'er us. 
 
 Through clamor and through strife it may be 
 heard ; 
 Unto the soul it speaks with earnest plead- 
 ing; 
 Shall we, indifferent, lose the precious word, 
 Or fail to understand its blessed meaning? 
 
 Deaf ears that hear not ! May they be attuned 
 To vibrant chords of sympathy and feeling; 
 
 So may we heed the " still small voice " of God, 
 And grow in beauty through His word's re- 
 vealing. 
 
 [8] 
 
ALONE! 
 
 Under a cold, cold moon 
 
 Alone in the night walk I; 
 The snow creaks 'neath my tread, 
 And sharply clear o'erhead 
 Stars gleam in a jeweled sky. 
 
 I am alone, alone! 
 
 Vague terror freezes my heart ! 
 White stares the moon above ; — 
 Did that dark shadow move ? — 
 
 I hsten, and look, and start ! 
 
 Ah! a familiar tread! 
 
 A voice I have heard before! 
 Near comes a well-loved form ; 
 The frigid earth grows warm, 
 
 I am alone no more ! 
 
 [9] 
 
THE SUMMER WORLD 
 
 There lies a land beyond the main 
 
 That knows no frost or snow ; 
 Its air is sweet with orange-bloom 
 
 And bright with tropic glow; 
 No icy blast from northern clime 
 
 Can touch that sunny land; 
 Its life is kin to heaven's ; it seems 
 
 By heavenly zephyrs fanned. 
 
 There, in the gentle, spicy breeze, 
 
 The red pomegranates swing; 
 Close to the tall and graceful palm 
 
 The luscious cocoas cling ; * 
 O'er bank and wall thick vines intwine 
 
 Aflame with giant flowers; 
 The earth beneath is hid in bloom 
 
 Flung down in crimson showers. 
 
 In wild-wood haunts the gay-winged birds 
 
 Flash in and out the shade ; 
 Chaste lilies from their creamy cups 
 
 Pour fragrance through the glade ; 
 
 * The half ripened fruit of the cocoa-palm, in this 
 locality, is often eaten for the sake of its sweet pulp, 
 which is like a soft white custard; and the use of the 
 word " cocoas," by the English-speaking people there, is 
 really more appropriate than cocoanut. 
 
 [10] 
 
Here stately oleanders grow 
 
 In all their native pride, 
 Young plantains 'neath their low-spread 
 leaves 
 
 Rare tropic mosses hide. 
 
 Out from the land your lazy boat 
 
 Drifts o'er a lazy sea ; 
 Before its lightly dipping bow 
 
 The waves part silently ; 
 A mellow laugh may stir the air, 
 
 Or sea-bird's plaintive call. 
 But soul and sense alike are held 
 
 In deep, mysterious thrall. 
 
 Anear the purpling foothills lie, 
 
 A chain of amethyst ; 
 Far to the western side the bay 
 
 Is wrapped in tender mist, 
 Till night its ebon coverlet 
 
 Spreads o'er the drowsy sea. 
 And the last hours of day embrace 
 
 The day that is to be. 
 
 O Summer World! Fair tropic land! 
 
 Home of perennial bloom! 
 My weary arms I stretch to thee 
 
 From out this wintry gloom. 
 
 [11] 
 
Sweet winds, blow gently o'er that isle ! 
 
 Flowers, yield your sweetest breath! 
 Shine on, bright sun, and let it know 
 
 No change, no sign of death! 
 
 [lie] 
 
THE PERFECT RAINBOW 
 
 We, stood upon the margin of the sea; 
 
 The summer rain was ceasing; in the west 
 The sun, low-lying, burst out gloriously. 
 
 Its radiance flinging o'er the billows' crest. 
 
 Lo ! in the east a perfect rainbow arch 
 
 Spanned the wide bay, and touched the land's 
 far rim; 
 
 It seemed uplifted for a victor's march, 
 
 One almost heard the grand triumphal hymn ? 
 
 Far up th' unbroken iridescence hung, 
 An arc of glory set for realms on high ! 
 
 A banner bright o'er heaven's forces flung, 
 A beacon for " the armies of the sky ! " 
 
 Entranced, we gazed and watched it fade in 
 air; — 
 
 Not soon again its counterpart may be ; — 
 Did only mortals sight the vision rare? 
 
 Perchance the angels left their place to see. 
 
 [13] 
 
THE ANSWER 
 
 The New Year by me stood, 
 Young, very young, and fair; 
 
 " No Years have been," I cried, 
 " That could with thee compare ! " 
 
 " All others have brought pain 
 
 Or loss or ill to me. 
 But thou — so fair and sweet — 
 
 Can ill abide in thee? " 
 
 Slowly he turned, and showed 
 
 A picture traced in light ; 
 A long, long line of years. 
 Young — very young — and bright. 
 
 " Thy past Old Years," he said, 
 " When young as I to thee ! " 
 
 Silent, I bowed my head, 
 For he had answered me ! 
 
 [14] 
 
AWAKENING 
 
 Break forth, O sun of spring! 
 
 Send light on freer wing! 
 
 Bid earth to turn her eyes 
 
 Toward thy radiant skies! 
 
 To Hst for brooklets' tune; 
 
 The bridal songs of June; 
 
 The stir of life aglow 
 
 In things that bud and grow; 
 
 Bid her no more be sad, 
 
 But smile! All things are glad! 
 
 Bid man to breathe a prayer 
 Of thanks for thy sweet air; 
 To find in day and night 
 A new and pure delight; 
 In joy thy coming brings, 
 The type of higher things; 
 The perfectness of Love 
 On earth, in heaven above; 
 And in its blessed calm 
 Sing joy's eternal psalm. 
 
 [15] 
 
THE MEETING 
 
 Out from the Northland, 
 Down the Atlantic, 
 
 Drifted the iceberg, 
 Awful, gigantic. 
 
 Nature's white terror. 
 Loosed from its lair! 
 
 Stealthily daring. 
 Cruelly fair! 
 
 Feet deeply hidden 
 
 Toward the prey move; 
 Pitying heaven! 
 
 Shield her in love! 
 
 She comes ! the Titanic ! 
 
 With laughter and song! 
 Peerless in beauty. 
 
 So proud, so strong! 
 
 Queen of her sisters. 
 Rides she the deep, — 
 
 Death, dumbly waiting. 
 Didst thou not weep ? — 
 
 Grapple of giants ! 
 
 Grip as of steel! 
 Terrible ice-barbs 
 
 Tear the ship's keel ! 
 [16] 
 
Priceless the treasure 
 Sunk in that grave! 
 
 Love goeth weeping 
 Over her brave! 
 
 Down the Atlantic, 
 The berg rides alone ; 
 
 Only the sea hears 
 Its pallid lips moan. 
 
 [17] 
 
THE SINGER 
 
 I HEARD thee from the bough 
 Close by my window flung; 
 
 A cheery songster thou 
 As e'er in carol sung. 
 
 Whence camest thou, dear bird? 
 
 Why singest thou apart? 
 Ah, be thy message heard 
 
 By my desponding heart! 
 
 I had a song to sing. 
 
 Its words were lost in pain; 
 But let thy clear notes ring 
 
 And I shall sing again. 
 
 [18] 
 
AN EVENING WITH OLD SCHOOL- 
 BOOKS 
 
 Here, first upon my shelf, stands " Art of 
 Speech," 
 Which helps us climb the tall " linguistic 
 tree ; " 
 There, 'mid the leafy boughs, the fruit we 
 reach — 
 The luscious fruit that hangs for you and 
 
 me. 
 Of Teuton, Saxon, Norman ancestry, 
 We scions of great race, with air devout. 
 
 Point to our Aryan root; and well may we 
 Our English nurture, ever branching out 
 With leafage new, with fruitage rich, the old 
 trunk stout. 
 
 And here I read how in the castle gray 
 
 Brave Luther wrote the words that thrilled 
 the world; 
 I follow him upon his toilsome way ; 
 
 I see the shafts of priestly anger hurled; 
 I mark the lips that with fine scorn were 
 curled 
 When incensed pope pronounced the ban of 
 shame ; 
 I see his proud new banner flung unfurled, 
 With ringing note and words of living flame; 
 I hear enfranchised souls pay homage to his 
 name. 
 
 £19] 
 
I loiter in Athenian streets, and hear 
 
 The seven wise men the Laws of Reason 
 teach ; 
 To tragic poets lend enchanted ear; 
 
 Laugh with the crowd at Lucian's merry 
 
 speech ; 
 Well pleased I list as flies from each to each, 
 The fire of wit along the peopled way; 
 
 Alas! that minds so fine, so quick, should 
 reach 
 To trifling jealousies and passion's play! 
 How well might Greece have stood in proudest 
 ranks to-day! 
 
 I follow Xenophon's smooth-flowing pen. 
 
 And linger o'er the story of the day 
 When his brave remnant of ten thousand men 
 Saw, from the heights, the Euxine's waters 
 
 play; 
 Join Alexander's ranks of bright array. 
 The phantom chasing of a conquered world. 
 
 Till dies the leader, naught but useless clay. 
 Oh, War! Shall thy red banner ne'er be 
 
 furled 
 Till Evil from his throne to earth supine be 
 hurled ? 
 
 To Mount Olympus, in celestial air, 
 
 I rise on wings of mythologic flame; 
 I dash through space in Juno's glittering car, 
 [20] 
 
With fiery steeds no hand but hers can tame ; 
 
 I dote on Psyche's beauty, still the same; 
 Sail with Ulysses on his wanderings lone; 
 
 Recall with pride Penelope's fair fame; 
 Hear sad Calypso' in her sea-cave moan; 
 Each phase of storied grief or joy I make my 
 own. 
 
 Away, ye gods and myths of ancient time! 
 
 Away, ye men whom only war-tales praise ! 
 I turn to One whose passion all sublime 
 
 Transcendeth yours, as ages exceed days ; 
 
 I hear the voice that thrilled Judea's ways ; 
 I look on Him who stilled the raging sea; 
 
 And all your glory one scene far outweighs, — 
 That midnight hour in sad Gethsemane, — 
 And — " Father, not my will, but thine, be done 
 in me 1 " 
 
 [21] 
 
GOOD CHEER 
 
 Keep on the bright side! 
 Look out for Joy! 
 So shall she come to thee ; 
 So shall she bring to thee 
 Cheerful employ. 
 
 Look for her, seek her! 
 
 She is not far; 
 Shadows must break in light ; 
 Joy comes from clouds of night, 
 
 Thy guiding star ! 
 
 [aa] 
 
BESIDE THE SEA 
 
 Thick clouds o'erhang the deep ; the dark blue 
 
 waves 
 Are changed to ever deepening gray, and 
 
 mount 
 And fall in one dense, heaving, shivering mass ; 
 Far out the horizon line is dimmed and blurred. 
 While, close on shore, a lone sail cleaves the 
 
 mist, — 
 A transient break in the wild waste, — the 
 
 wind 
 With moaning weird makes drearier the scene; 
 Down falls the ceaseless rain and floods the 
 
 moor ; 
 Earth, sea, and sky seem but one drowning 
 
 world ! 
 So upon nature's breast lay yesterday. 
 
 TO-DAY 
 
 Steeped in rich sunlight rise the yellow cliffs, 
 Above them hangs the blue concave, as clear 
 As it had never worn a leaden gray; 
 Soft, wind-spent clouds float idly o'er the blue. 
 Tracing faint shadows on the lush beach-grass, 
 Alive with golden butterflies that poise 
 In careless joyance over blade and flower; 
 Sweet melody the west wind sings, a psalm 
 Of gratitude, a lifted chant of praise 
 
 [23] 
 
That wins the soul to worship. Did God make 
 This world to-day so fair, last eve so wild? 
 Ay, sun and storm are both His ministers ! 
 So worketh He His wonders among men, 
 So writes His grand epistles upon earth! 
 
 [24] 
 
THE SNOW STORM 
 
 The sun rose pale and sullen ; dark that dawn ; 
 The clouds, whose blushes would have set aflame 
 The sky, had he, their lord, smiled graciously, 
 Sulked round his throne in robes of somber 
 
 gray; 
 Nay, even drew them o'er his whitening face, 
 Till not a gleam — unguardedly astray — 
 Found one small rift whence it might peep below. 
 
 Then rose the north-wind; up and down he 
 
 raged 
 Over the shivering fields ; and while his breath 
 With finest crystals dimmed the window panes, 
 Drove all the waters under shields of ice, 
 And sent wayfarers hurrying to their fires, 
 Down came the snow in sweeping, blinding 
 
 sheets, 
 Down, down, and ever down, till nature lay 
 As pulseless as the dead beneath the mold; 
 While shrub and tree, and towering spire and 
 
 shaft, 
 Stood round, — snow-sculptured monuments, — 
 
 to tell 
 The story of earth's death and burial. 
 
 £26] 
 
LIFE-PICTURES 
 
 Two, within a dim-aisled wood, 
 'Neath the spreading hemlocks stood ; 
 Interlacing boughs above 
 Breathed, it may be, tales of love ; 
 Lingering airs in sportive play 
 Kissed each flower on their way; 
 From the west hill's golden crown 
 Light, more golden, quivered down 
 Through the spaces of the wood 
 Where the youth and maiden stood; 
 Then a voice the silence broke; 
 Voice? — no; heart of him there spoke. 
 
 Where, within a sacred fane. 
 Rainbow-hues in mystic train 
 Glided slowly o'er the wall. 
 Lingered on the arches tall. 
 Where triumphant music thrilled 
 Choir and chancel, flower-filled. 
 There, in trustful maidenhood, 
 Elsie at the altar stood; 
 Bridal blossoms, — none more fair, — 
 Nestled in her sunny hair, — 
 Blossoms odorous and white. 
 Trembling in the softened light; 
 Now through temple door a ray, 
 Bright with sun from outer day, 
 
 [26] 
 
O'er the scene exulting played, 
 Resting on the youth and maid; 
 Now it o'er the altar danced, 
 Coyly at the bridesmaids glanced, 
 Now the bride's bowed head caressed, 
 As an angel might have blessed. 
 
 Now, beside a marble stone, 
 Bendeth one alone, alone; 
 Larch-boughs pendent o'er him weep. 
 Winds with dirges round him sweep ; 
 And the sunlight, pale and chill. 
 Quivers sadly from the hill; 
 Heeds he not the dirge-like tone. 
 Hears not how the larches moan ; 
 Cares not how the chill w^ind sweeps. 
 Sees he only where she sleeps. 
 
 [87] 
 
1 
 
 A QUESTION 
 
 She asked of me, " How long could one, could 
 
 you 
 Await fulfillment of a love that's true? " 
 " A hundred years ! " I cried, yet in my soul , 
 
 The years as nothing seemed to time's vast | 
 
 whole ; ' 
 
 Were true love to be mine, must it not flow 
 E'en now, unconsciously, through all I know 
 Or feel? Love compasseth eternity. 
 And limitless is Love's infinity. 
 
 [28] 
 
A CALM AT SEA 
 
 'Tis morn. The sun ablaze 
 Lies with fierce heat upon a glassy sea ; 
 
 The clouds unmoving laze; 
 Scarce stirs the heavens' hot white canopy. 
 
 The day wears on; the deep 
 Heaves not beneath the slumbering tropic air; 
 
 Long lines of shadow sweep 
 Across its face, with fitful streaks of glare. 
 
 Beneath the vessel's stem, 
 By rudder fanned, the waters circle slow; 
 
 So slow they swell and turn, 
 The eye can trace their winding far below. 
 
 And down the watery dell 
 Full many a measured fathom deep, we see 
 
 Where sea-nymph blows her shell. 
 And where, perchance, sing mermaids merrily. 
 
 'Tis noon. The same dead tack; 
 No breath of air distends the flapping sail; 
 
 The taut ropes dangle slack; 
 The heavy boom creaks oft with dismal wail. 
 
 Upon her sultry perch. 
 Dumb, heavily, the old gray parrot sits; 
 
 Nor cares she now to search 
 For grain thrown down to rouse her sleepy wits. 
 [29] 
 
'Tis eve. Slow drops the sun, 
 Enveloped in a robe of fiery haze ; 
 
 O favoring breezes, come. 
 And break the calm of these dead tropic days ! 
 
 [30] 
 
FOR A BIRTHDAY 
 TO W. C. 
 
 A GIFT its chiefest value owes — 
 
 Says one who speaks with reason — 
 Not to its own intrinsic worth, 
 
 Nor yet to time nor season; 
 Its interest centers in the thought 
 
 Which moved the earnest giver ; 
 And thus the gift bestowed becomes 
 
 "A thing of joy forever." 
 
 And so we hope to give to-night 
 
 A true, substantial pleasure, 
 While Time records another year 
 
 Of your allotted measure; 
 Not that we joy to see you draw 
 
 More near to life's completeness. 
 But, since life's length can ne'er be less. 
 
 We wish it added sweetness. 
 
 Not midway 'tween life's common bounds 
 
 You stand, nor near its dawning; 
 The path is shorter to the gate 
 
 Of the celestial morning; 
 But who could bid Time's couriers 
 
 Retard the year's advancing. 
 Or add one paltry day of grace, 
 
 Your joys or cares enhancing? 
 
 [31] 
 
Full oft, from labor's cumb'ring cares, 
 
 At day-end's tender gloaming. 
 May you within this arm-chair rest, 
 
 While memory goes a-roaming; 
 Then, from the past, in bright array. 
 
 Will early days come thronging. 
 The boyish sports, the dreams that held 
 
 Your heart with eager longing. 
 
 Then live you o'er some happy scene 
 
 Which none besides you knoweth; 
 You see again an English lane 
 
 Where dainty harebell groweth; 
 The hawthorn hedges in the light 
 
 Of morning o'er them glancing; 
 Yourself — the restless, " speedy " boy - 
 
 Among their shadows dancing. 
 
 You view those roguish escapades 
 
 Of mischievous invention. 
 When all that saved the culprit lay 
 
 In " innocent intention ! " 
 The stolen hours from school or work — 
 
 Your " thirst for venture " slaking — 
 The frequent visits down the lane 
 
 Where " pikelets " were a-making ! 
 
 The days that stand apart, when youth 
 Its bounds and bands o'erbreaking. 
 
 Rose up in its ambitious might. 
 To life anew awaking; 
 [32] 
 
The parting from the native shore, 
 Sad, yet by strong hope lighted. 
 
 The wonder-thrill that grasped you, when 
 The longed-for land was sighted. 
 
 But, softer now than far off light 
 
 From youth or boyhood stealing. 
 Falls on my page a hallowed ray. 
 
 Life's later years revealing; 
 The ministry of love and home. 
 
 Though blent with burden-bearing; 
 The generous service for mankind. 
 
 The times of trial-sharing. 
 
 We know not if your coming days 
 
 Bear light or somber shading; 
 We know that somewhere waits a home 
 
 Whose love-light is unfading. 
 Long may your feet beside us tread 
 
 Life's way without a turning. 
 But, at its turn, find wide the gate 
 
 And heaven's home-lights burning ! 
 
 [3S] 
 
A SIMILE 
 
 Yon stands a shapely tree. When gentle winds 
 Play with its fresh, young leaves they bend and 
 
 bow, 
 And, fluttering this way, that way, dance and 
 
 flirt, 
 As our bright, thoughtless youth, when pleas- 
 ure's airs 
 Blow round them with sweet flattery and guile, 
 Flutter at every breath, nor dream of ill. 
 
 But lo! A storm I Fierce blow the raging 
 
 winds 
 Against the tree with grace and beauty clothed. 
 Where now the leaves that dallied with the 
 
 breeze ? 
 Stricken before the gale the slight tree bends. 
 And every leaf clings wildly to the twig. 
 Straining to keep its hold; before the blast 
 They bend as one, a mass of wind-swept green, 
 Driven unpitied by the storm's fierce power. 
 
 Oh, in the hour when life's wild storm-winds 
 
 rage, 
 Be Thou, our Father, shelter for our youth. 
 Dear careless ones, who, innocent and free. 
 Dance to the breezes of the summer days. 
 Heedless of covert from the winter's storm. 
 
 [34] 
 
THE GRACES 
 
 Let us be strong, so no o'erwhelming blast 
 
 Strike hard and fast, 
 Foundations wresting that to us were given 
 
 To build for heaven. 
 
 Let us be pure, for strength availeth not, 
 
 If the dark blot 
 Of impure thought and tainted speech doth rest 
 
 Within the breast. 
 
 Let us be true, for purity and strength 
 
 Lose power at length. 
 If truth's clear whiteness be distained and 
 marred. 
 
 Its impulse barred. 
 
 Strength, Purity, and Truth, divinely lent, 
 
 From heaven sent! 
 Now Love — Christ-bom — come to the wak- 
 ened soul. 
 
 And bind the whole. 
 
 [35] 
 
GOOD-NIGHT 
 
 In allusion to a pleasant custom among foot-travelers, 
 in some parts of England, of exchanging a cheerful 
 " good-night " when meeting or passing on the highway 
 
 Ho traveler! Whosoe'er thou be 
 That passeth on thy way by me ! 
 Thou mayst be friend, thou mayst be foe, 
 But here's for cheer as on we go; 
 
 Till morning light. 
 
 Good-night ! Good-night ! 
 
 The straight smooth road may wait for 
 
 thee, 
 Steep mountain paths my track may be. 
 Yet each to each we'll hopeful say, 
 " Success attend thee on thy way ; 
 
 May all be bright; 
 
 Good-night ! Good-night ! " 
 
 At midnight of the dying year 
 I heard two travelers' words of cheer, 
 One faint and echoing far away. 
 One clear and strong with coming day. 
 "Old Year!" "New Year!" 
 " Pass on, nor fear ! " 
 " Good-night ! Good-night ! " 
 
 [36] 
 
Old Year, farewell ! New Year, all hail ! 
 
 Oft in life's paths our feet may fail ; 
 
 But, passing here or meeting there, 
 
 No way is dark that God doth share. 
 He is our light; 
 Till morning bright. 
 Good-night ! Good-night ! 
 
 [37] 
 
THE YET UNCROWNED 
 
 FOR MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 'Tis well to pause a moment in our hurrying to 
 and fro, 
 
 To contemplate our country's plight of many 
 years ago, 
 
 When the bitter curse of slavery lay on a dark- 
 ened land. 
 
 And the deep war-trumpet sounded loud its call 
 on every hand. 
 
 Would hear a tale as yet unknown in patriotic 
 rhyme ? 
 
 One sacrifice of many made in that heart-stir- 
 ring time? 
 
 'Twill crown some heroes yet uncrowned and 
 set our hearts aglow. 
 
 To think of what these brave hearts bore in 
 days of long ago. 
 
 Who were our martyrs? Not alone the 
 
 " boys " who rifles bore, 
 Who marched to death and in its flame a smile of 
 
 triumph wore; 
 But they who in their lonely homes laid all their 
 
 hopes away, 
 These crown our roll of honor bright ; 'tis these 
 
 we sing to-day. 
 
 ■ •••••• 
 
 [38] 
 
A home on Hampshire hillside, 
 With two sons — all they had, 
 
 The parents lived serenely, 
 With labor worn, but glad. 
 
 'Twas evening in the cottage, 
 And by the firelight gleams, 
 
 Their boys, by home-care sheltered, 
 Sat musing, dreaming dreams. 
 
 Dear hearts, with young love glowing ! 
 
 Did coming shadows throw 
 Some strange, grave power o'er them 
 
 That led them dreaming so.? 
 
 Came sudden news of action, 
 
 Close followed by defeat! 
 Tales of our fleeing army 
 
 Sped fast from street to street. 
 
 The father trembling entered; 
 
 " My sons — what ! dreaming. Will ? 
 There's sad news from the army ; 
 
 Our men are routed still ! " 
 
 A silence — and the young men 
 
 As one were on their feet. 
 The elder broke out fiercely, 
 
 With swift and fiery heat, 
 
 [39] 
 
" Yes ; dreaming was I, father, 
 But not as sluggards dream; 
 
 I heard the roar of battle, 
 I saw the bayonets gleam. 
 
 " I saw our brave boys falling — 
 
 Father, I go to-night! 
 Give me your blessing, mother — 
 
 Love's armor for the fight ! " 
 
 Outspoke the younger, slowly. 
 With deep-drawn, steady breath, 
 
 " I, too, was dreaming, father. 
 My brother's dream of death! 
 
 " But you are young no longer, 
 And mother's step is slow; 
 
 The home would be so lonely ! 
 Oh, can we leave you so? " 
 
 Then spoke those Spartan parents, 
 " In God's hands are we all ; 
 
 In field or home we follow 
 Where'er His work may call. 
 
 " We taught you to be loyal. 
 We taught you to be true ; 
 
 Shall now we shrink and falter. 
 Though this He bids you do ? " 
 
 [40] 
 
They went — the old, old story ! 
 
 It tears the heart with pain ; 
 The aged ones awaited 
 
 The boys they loved, in vain. 
 
 One fell where roar of cannon 
 Was sounding war's alarms ; 
 
 One at the dear home-threshold 
 Died — in his mother's arms. 
 
 Think you those parents murmured 
 
 At passing 'neath the rod? 
 Or grudged their precious treasures 
 
 To country given and God.^ 
 
 Nay, these were truest heroes ; 
 
 They sought no loud acclaim ; 
 Their honor was their nation's. 
 
 Her glory was their aim. 
 
 Well may we on our soldier's graves our fairest 
 
 flowers lay. 
 But pass not by the mounds of those who sleep 
 
 with them to-day. 
 Who valiant, in their lonely homes, obeyed their 
 
 country's call, 
 And on her altar bravely laid their hopes, their 
 
 sons, their all ! 
 
 [«] 
 
" NOT OLD " 
 
 Nay, old no life can ever be 
 That draws its strength, our God, from Thee ; 
 By heaven nurtured, here we grow; 
 From its deep fount forever flow 
 The springs of an unfading youth, — 
 The exultant joy, the living truth. 
 Thus mind and body keep their powers, 
 And Time forgets to count the hours. 
 
 " Not old ! " Not even when at length 
 We must lose hold of nature's strength, 
 And the dark angel Azrael stands 
 Beside us with compelling hands. 
 And we soar with him to the height 
 Where day begins, where ends the night. 
 Then e'en more sure our youth shall be ; 
 There is no age, O God, with Thee! 
 
 [42] 
 
OCTOBER DAYS 
 
 Beautiful, bright October days! 
 Earth glorifies her walks and ways ; 
 With gorgeous hues the land she dyes, 
 Fresh beauties painting for our eyes ; 
 Anon she wears a brave attire, 
 Her mantle flecked with tints of fire. 
 Or veils in tender, misty gray 
 Th' unwonted brilliance of the day ; 
 Her dawns are sheets of flame unrolled. 
 Her sunsets melt away in gold. 
 
 Across the path the birches lean. 
 Dipping their plumes of yellow sheen; 
 The great oak lifts its tawny head; 
 The elm flings down an amber bed; 
 Sweet steals the scent of fir and pine. 
 Pure incense from the Hand divine; 
 The breeze in pensive murmur dies. 
 While — softened nigh to sweetness — rise 
 The sharp cicada's long drawn notes; 
 The butterfly on slow wing floats ; 
 While from us, round us, everywhere, 
 Life drops its load of fevered care. 
 Draws a long breath of dreamy peace. 
 And prays such dreaming ne'er may cease. 
 
 [48] 
 
Beautiful, still October days ! 
 Silent we tread the woodland ways; 
 Near by, the squirrel fearless sits; 
 Through maple-trees the blue-jay flits — 
 Bright harmony in white and blue 
 Caught from the heavens' azure hue ; — 
 His glancing wing sets leaves afloat. 
 Which, loosed from clinging, drift about, 
 In lazy circuits round and down, 
 Red, yellow, streaked with ruddy brown ; 
 So bright they scarce could be more fair, 
 So light they stir no breath of air; 
 The mystic spell all nature feels, 
 And lies quiescent as it steals 
 Like tender touch of brooding hand 
 That lulls to sleep a weary land. 
 
 Beautiful, rare October days! 
 Earth seems herself one burst of praise ! 
 So brightly hued the fruits and flowers, 
 So tipped with flame the w^oodland bowers, 
 So veiled in shimmering light the sun. 
 So hushed the nights when day is done, 
 So rich with molten gold the streams, 
 Transfigured by the moon's bright beams. 
 So fair the scenes her rays reveal, 
 So softly clear the stars that steal 
 From heaven's far depths as if to see 
 How dainty-sweet earth's face can be! 
 
 £44] 
 
So lieth over all the land 
 The touch of the great Master-hand, 
 While God looks down to smile and bless 
 His own rare work of loveliness 1 
 
 [45] 
 
GATHERING ROSES 
 
 Daintily fair my roses stand, 
 A hedge of bloom on either hand! 
 From their rich depths is sweetly drawn 
 The fragrant incense of the dawn. 
 
 The rare pink bloom with edge of cream, 
 Pale saffron tinged with rosy gleam, 
 Transparent white with heart of gold, 
 And deepest red these full buds hold. 
 
 As down the gay parterre I stray. 
 With winsome airs they nod and sway ; 
 (I wonder if, in days of old, 
 Such beauties sprung from garden mold.) 
 
 So pure and fair my roses stand, 
 I gather them with reverent hand ; 
 Since, though their birth be of the sod. 
 Their blooming is the smile of God. 
 
 [46] 
 
A GRAY DAY 
 
 Gray was the morning, and the noontide gray ; 
 
 Gaunt trees were outHned 'gainst a gray sky- 
 wall; 
 Gray shadows lay o'er earth till twilight fell, 
 
 And night stole on, beneath a grayer pall. 
 
 But denser gray had settled o'er a life 
 
 Than nature's face in darkest hour had worn ; 
 
 A slanderous word, beclouding truth, had shut 
 The light out; and that soul knew night at 
 mom. 
 
 [47] 
 
COMPENSATION 
 
 Crimson and gold and amber, 
 
 Waves of color that flow 
 And rise and fall to the breezes, 
 
 Setting the woods aglow! 
 Rich 'broidery of autumn 
 
 Wrought over shrub and tree. 
 Earth's compensating beauty 
 
 Ere winter's gloom shall be. 
 
 Laughter and song and frolic, 
 
 Sweet sounds of childish play, 
 Calling, through field and woodland. 
 
 The world to holiday! 
 Young, sunny life inspiring 
 
 The soul whose age draws nigh ; 
 The compensating beauty 
 
 Of cheer that cannot die. 
 
 [48] 
 
STRAWBERRIES 
 
 (A reminiscence of Philadelphia, where the strawberry- 
 venders carry large trays of berries on their heads.) 
 
 When the night is lost in morning, 
 
 And the red dawn lights the street, 
 I hear — is't a maiden calling? — 
 In tones as a songbird's sweet. 
 So sweet, — 
 " Strawberri-e-e-es ! Strawberri-e-e-es ! 
 Fresh ripe strawberri-e-e-es ! " 
 
 The breath of meadow and garden 
 
 Is borne with her voice along; 
 
 The air is full of their fragrance, 
 
 My heart is full of her song, 
 
 Calling 
 
 " Strawberri-e-e-es ! Strawberri-e-e-es ! 
 
 Fresh ripe strawberri-e-e-es ! " 
 
 Come paint me the scene, O artist ! 
 
 The maiden sonsie and neat. 
 The crimson fruit, the parted lips 
 That thrill the slumbering street. 
 Calling 
 " Strawberri-e-e-es ! Strawberri-e-e-es ! 
 Fresh ripe strawberri-e-e-es ! " 
 
 [49] 
 
The singer may grace your picture, 
 
 With fruit on her head upborne, 
 But what of those notes upsoaring 
 So sweet on the summer morn ? — 
 So sweet, — 
 " Strawberri-e-e-es ! Strawberri-e-e-es ! 
 Fresh ripe strawberri-e-e-es ! " 
 
 [50] 
 
UNFATHOMED 
 
 Blessed sunshine from the skies, 
 Fining earth with glory ! 
 
 Canst thou, of its radiant source 
 Tell, O man, the story? 
 
 Sunshine from God's heart of love 
 Flooding lives with glory! 
 
 Canst thou, heart of man, divine 
 Love's immortal story? 
 
 Earth and sun and man shall pass, 
 Known no more in story; 
 
 Limitless, exhaustless still. 
 Love's unfathomed glory! 
 
 [51] 
 
WHAT DOES EASTER MEAN? 
 
 What glory in Jerusalem 
 
 That first glad Easter shone! 
 
 What light enwrapped the circling hills 
 With beauty all its own ! 
 
 'Twould seem all nature must have waked 
 
 To holy joy that day; 
 As if the very lilies shed 
 
 New fragrance by the way. 
 
 The child who heard the joyous cry, 
 
 " He's risen ! " thrill the air, 
 Knew jubilance of heart that made 
 
 The fair new day more fair. 
 
 Oh, what does Easter mean to us — 
 
 Us of this later time? 
 Still answers earth to that deep touch 
 
 Of mystery sublime? 
 
 Still does it mean a world reborn 
 Of Christ's own deathless power? 
 
 And still holds man the trustful faith 
 That found its birth that hour? 
 
 Ah, this it means: on Love's high plane 
 
 The saint and sinner meet; 
 The " angel " of the city slums, 
 
 The outcast of the street. 
 [52] 
 
It means that in the sordid world 
 Something of good survives, — 
 
 The higher consecrated strength, 
 To lift down-trodden lives. 
 
 It means the tend'rest sympathy 
 Christ's living power to prove; 
 
 It means the deep, exhaustless force 
 Of Love, eternal Love ! 
 
 [53] 
 
THE HIDDEN JOY 
 
 When some great gladness comes to fill the 
 
 heart, 
 Then seek we not to share it, but apart 
 From prying words hold close the secret joy, 
 A precious thing, secure from all alloy. 
 
 O cheated world ! The full heart sings its song 
 Alone, alone! with pulse-beats rising strong! 
 No stray note e'er shall reach e'en thy keen ear ; 
 'Tis heart's joy, all its own! Come thou not 
 near! 
 
 [54] 
 
AT APPLEDORE 
 
 (Home of Celia Thaxter) 
 
 Gray rocks upheaved upon a cold, gray sea, 
 
 Gray mist-forms trailing o'er a rugged shore ; 
 Gray shadows drifting o'er the lonely lea, 
 At Appledore. 
 
 Rough, tortuous paths that reach the farthest 
 bound 
 Where strong waves break with moaning 
 evermore. 
 And echoing crags hurl back the dreary sound. 
 At Appledore. 
 
 Yet here was rest ; here could the poet flee 
 From selfish clamor to a dreamy shore ; 
 " Peace in the air and on the quiet sea," 
 At Appledore. 
 
 But o'er her garden now the briars creep, 
 
 The wild rose sheds its petals at her door, 
 As if in grief it thus would mutely weep. 
 At Appledore. 
 
 Brave heart that welcomed what beyond might 
 be, 
 With sweet " good-by " for all it knew of 
 yore; 
 Now Grief walks hand in hand with Memory, 
 At Appledore. 
 [65] 
 
still rise the grsij, gaunt rocks in paling light, 
 Still, like gray ghosts, the mists trail as be- 
 fore ; 
 But see ! the sun breaks out from coming night, 
 At Appledore. 
 
 Life's blessed symbol! Like dawn's radiant 
 play 
 It bathes in gold the cliffs, the wave-worn 
 shore ; 
 Grief's long, dark night is lost in Hope's new 
 day, 
 
 At Appledore. 
 
 Hark! From the sky, the sun-tipped heights, 
 the shades, 
 A Voice ! " Behold, I take, but I restore ! " 
 While God draws nigh, before whom all else 
 fades 
 
 At Appledore. 
 
 [56] 
 
WAITING 
 
 « A SONG IN THE NIGHT " 
 
 Waiting — just a little while — 
 Free from fret and care, 
 
 While love's tender ministries 
 Are falling everywhere. 
 
 Waiting — just a little while 
 
 Through life's twilight dream, 
 
 While beyond the homeland waits, 
 And the home lights gleam. 
 
 Waiting — just a little while — 
 As toward the gates of Day 
 
 The aged press with halting feet, 
 The children turn from play. 
 
 Waiting — just a little while — 
 
 In God's borderland, 
 Till I see the shadow fall 
 
 Of His beck'ning hand. 
 
 Waiting — just a little while — 
 
 At the evening glow. 
 In the pastures green and fair, 
 
 Where still waters flow. 
 
 Waiting — just a little while — 
 
 By the " tideless sea " ; 
 When my little bark sets sail 
 
 My Lord will cross with me. 
 [67] 
 
WILD ROSES 
 
 The summer mom was fair and cool, 
 When, wandering by sequestered pool, 
 I chanced on clumps of wild-rose sweet, 
 Half hidden in the dim retreat. 
 Each uncurled bud, with dainty air. 
 Showed just a hint of rose-bloom fair; 
 Each ripened flower its petals threw 
 Wide open to the crystal dew. 
 While on the breeze a quiet flood 
 Of scent rose up from bloom and bud. 
 
 Shy, lovely things in nature's plan I 
 
 God's " little ministers " to man ! 
 
 I would to all the bearer be 
 
 Of happy speech they had for me. 
 
 Ye winds that spread the rare perfume, 
 
 Play softly o'er that perfect bloom; 
 
 And when, 'neath summer's older sky. 
 
 They delicate and fading lie, 
 
 Lift their pure forms with careful breath, 
 
 And lay them gently to their death. 
 
 [68] 
 
ANSWERED 
 
 He prayed at early dawn, "I ask 
 
 A day of sacrifice; 
 Give me, O Lord, some noble task. 
 
 And strength for high emprise." 
 
 A crying child outside his door 
 Had strayed from mother's care; 
 
 He bore it home ; that deed so poor 
 Was yet his answered prayer. 
 
 [69] 
 
OUR GRANDSIRES 
 
 If we could stand upon some height sublime 
 And backward look adown the stream of Time, 
 If, as the throng of ancient life passed by, 
 We could upon them gaze with searching eye, 
 Could scan each figure, note each feature well, 
 And whether fair or brave or mean could tell. 
 Think you we could, by wisdom's aid, divine 
 Whoi 'mong them trod in our ancestral line? 
 Could choose them out by sign in face or form. 
 And re-invest with life and color warm? 
 
 I trow not; yet, by nature's fixed decree. 
 
 What in them lay may be in you or me ; 
 
 What turn of mind, what trick of hand or 
 
 speech 
 Down to our modern line unchanged may reach ? 
 What base or lofty sentiment that swayed 
 Some ancestor may be in us displayed? 
 What heritage of dullness or of wit 
 May e'en have reached this rhyme to fashion it ? 
 
 Methinks I call one long since gone to rise 
 And live again his life before mine eyes. 
 Upon the tossing outbound ship he stands. 
 In fortune's hazard bound for new found lands ; 
 With spirit high he hails the favoring breeze 
 That bears him onward o'er the billowy seas ; 
 
 [60] 
 
Hope's white wings flutter o'er the land that 
 
 waits ; 
 With welcome open wide its city gates. 
 " Farewell, dear England ! " thus his young 
 
 heart cries — 
 " My youth's sweet home, so lovely in mine eyes ! 
 Thy fair green fields, thy still, reposeful hills, 
 The softened sunlight on thy babbling rills ! 
 Thy cottage homes, with gardens set between, 
 With color all aglow, like rainbow sheen! 
 I love thee, oh, I love thee ! Yet afar 
 There lies a land 'neath freedom's guiding star ! 
 For its new, quickening life I leave e'en thee. 
 And choose my home, America, the free ! " 
 
 Such were the fathers — ay, the mothers, too 
 
 From whom our homes and varied culture grew ; 
 From whom sprang men of sturdy zeal and 
 
 might — 
 Their courage staunch when warring for the 
 
 right — 
 Who tyranny denounced with scathing tongue, 
 The while with vigorous blows the anvil rung; 
 Who held in hand the Bible and the sword. 
 And wielded either as the law of God; 
 Who, fierce in battle for a righteous cause. 
 Yet left their children mild and peaceful laws, 
 Gave them broad acres, trades and schools as 
 
 well, 
 A heritage whose value none may tell, 
 £61] 
 
A sturdy race has followed in their line, 
 Whose well kept record needs no word of mine ; 
 Whate'er their faults — and faults there must 
 
 have been — 
 They slip from sight beneath my partial pen ; 
 Whate'er their virtues, these we emulate; 
 What service theirs in nation or in state. 
 What deeds of enterprise on sea or land, 
 Whate'er they wrought by aid of brain or hand, 
 What works of love for God or human-kind. 
 These in our grandsires' histories we find. 
 
 But on, still on, speed fast th' increasing years ! 
 With them, our lives, of checkered smiles and 
 
 tears. 
 Who may set bounds to time? Who reach his 
 
 hand 
 To stretch the measure set by God's command.'' 
 Or who bring up the past and wake again 
 The echoes of the centuries that have been? 
 O Time, unwearied agent of that Power 
 Whose work has stayed not since earth's primal 
 
 hour. 
 All-conquering Time, we launch on thy wide sea, 
 We smile, we love, we weep and cease to be ! 
 
 [62] 
 
But stay ! Live we not countless lives in one ? 
 And does life cease when this brief race is run? 
 He who has placed the reins in man's weak hand 
 To use his powers at his own command, 
 Has He not given more? Who can define 
 The limit of transmitted force? Divine 
 How far some light, enkindled ages back 
 May send its beams along the future's track? 
 Here, flashing out in gleam of wisdom's gold, 
 And there displayed in fancy's lighter mold. 
 In sweet-strung measures from the poet's lyre, 
 In gems of art aglow with genius' fire. 
 In these our grandsires have not died, nay, still 
 They breathe in every breath of ours ; their will 
 Reanimates the scions of their race. 
 And shows its power yet in form and face. 
 
 Ah, could we summon our ancestral dead. 
 And re-instate the times so long since fled. 
 Seek some old household by its fireside bright. 
 Whose happy cheer shuts out the somber night. 
 What links of " auld acquaintance " might we 
 
 find. 
 What sure familiar touch of mind with mind ! 
 What flash of kindred thought from eye to eye ! 
 What quickened currents through the pulse 
 
 might fly, 
 What subtle thrill, what flame of answering fire 
 Might bid us recognize some ancient sire ! 
 
 [63] 
 
Call not the past a dead past ; nay, its powers 
 
 Its hopes, its strength, its weaknesses, are ours ; 
 
 Ours to engraft upon the future mind. 
 
 Or ours to check as harmful to our kind. 
 
 Be this our care — to pave life's ways with 
 
 cheer ; 
 For they no victory win who yield to fear; 
 To emulate our grandsires while we live 
 In all the best the old times had to give ; 
 And then, bej^ond our own swift-flying years, 
 Crowded with landmarks, set with joy or tears. 
 To join those gathering ranks of young and old 
 That Love shall welcome to its waiting fold, 
 In mansions raised ere yet the morning stars 
 Thrilled heaven's spaces with their tuneful bars ! 
 
 There shall none weep o'er tale of changeful 
 
 days. 
 There shall no landmarks stand along the ways. 
 There present, past and future all shall be 
 Lost in the space of one eternity, 
 One grand, unlimited and deathless age. 
 Where none but God shall keep the record-page. 
 
 [64] 
 
LITTLE MAID 
 
 Little maid with happy eyes, 
 
 Brow where not a shadow hes — 
 
 Eyes of candid innocence, 
 
 Brow where lurks no false pretense — 
 
 Many hearts have prayed, I trow. 
 
 That they ever be as now ! 
 
 That no lines of sordid care 
 
 E'er may leave their impress there ! 
 
 Little maid with dreamy eyes, 
 
 Cupid loves a gentle prize. 
 
 And he aims his darts unhid; 
 
 'Neath his specious ways are hid 
 
 Oftentimes deceit and guile. 
 
 Be thou wary of his smile; 
 
 Hearts too soon may yield their throne; 
 
 Better go thy way alone ! 
 
 Little maid with tender eyes. 
 Looking toward Love's paradise, 
 Cupid draws his bow unseen. 
 But his darts are swift and keen. 
 Often tipped with gold's bright lure. 
 Sometimes with a love that's pure. 
 
 Love be thine, but, oh, beware ! 
 Little maiden, have a care! 
 
 [65] 
 
MY LITTLE LOVER 
 
 I HAVE one little love more dear than all others, 
 And oft in the day he comes running to me, 
 
 His lips, overflowing with sweet baby-laughter, 
 Silently begging my lover to be. 
 
 My love's no Adonis; I'm sure he is sweeter! 
 
 And his round rosy cheek is clear as the 
 peach ; 
 His eyes are as blue as the azure of summer, 
 
 With a bit of a smile in the corners of each. 
 
 My dear little lover — for who can be jeal- 
 ous ? — 
 Is straightway uplifted and placed on my 
 knee; 
 Ah, Cupid nor Psyche knew moments more 
 blessed 
 Than those that are granted to baby and me ! 
 
 Some time — and my lover will grow into man- 
 hood; 
 And sometime, perhaps — it is hard to con- 
 fess — 
 My lone heart must yield its dear place to an- 
 other ; 
 One nearer, not truer, will claim his caress. 
 
 [66] 
 
O shadows that hover! O parting that may 
 be — 
 For the great world is waiting with smile to 
 allure ! — 
 The world that makes havoc with sweet love of 
 childhood, 
 And offers us nothing so holy, so pure. 
 
 [67] 
 
THE SCHOOLHOUSE 'NEATH THE 
 HILL 
 
 TO MY OLD SCHOOLMATES 
 
 Yes, long ago 'twas built there, but 'tis not the 
 
 same dear place, 
 The goal we sought with childish zeal in our 
 
 short school-day race ; 
 Though in dreams I see the benches, and the 
 
 children in a row. 
 They are but shadows of the ones we knew in 
 
 years ago. 
 
 One small room held us gathered, we were such a 
 little band. 
 
 But big with marching orders — " On, to con- 
 quer learning's land ! " 
 
 eager souls ! how many a one that passed that 
 
 schoolroom sill 
 Has found a higher wisdom than was taught be- 
 neath the hill! 
 
 1 see the cedar by the fence; I catch its scent 
 
 again — 
 The fragrant tree with berries blue, so bright 
 
 in summer rain ! 
 The elms that sheltered us from heat, the broad, 
 
 flat stones that lay 
 All ready for a game at " quoits," when we went 
 
 out to play. 
 
 £68] 
 
Do jou remember, too, the ice outside the low 
 stone wall. 
 
 Where oft we rushed " to have a slide," and 
 oftentimes a fall? 
 
 And do JOU still in memory's dream " tread cir- 
 cles " in the snow, 
 
 That we might " hunt the squirrel " — that 
 merry game, you know? 
 
 There was the long, steep hillside, where we took 
 our noonday coast. 
 
 (And was it going down or up we really loved 
 the most?) 
 
 'Twas a venture for the bravest, but few did 
 courage lack, 
 
 And if we took the dizzy ride, 'twas fun to clam- 
 ber back. 
 
 And there, high up, in summer time the wild 
 
 strawberries grew; 
 More luscious treat no mortal tongue or gods 
 
 Olympian knew; 
 While out on sloping eastern side, in those dear, 
 
 care-free days, 
 The " big boys " shook the chestnuts down 
 
 through golden autumn haze. 
 
 'Twas from that hilltop, lifting high, with grand 
 
 view stretched below. 
 We gained our first broad outlook on this wide 
 
 old earth, I trow; 
 
 [69] 
 
And though from near or distant hills our 
 
 pleased eyes yet may roam, 
 We'll see no fairer fields than those around our 
 
 schoolday home. 
 
 [70] 
 
AFTER THE SHOWER 
 
 Come Love, the west wind 
 
 Blows clear and sweet; 
 Velvety greensward 
 
 Waits for our feet; 
 Scent of wet roses 
 
 All the air fills; 
 Hid in the tree-top 
 
 The brown thrush trills. 
 
 Glistening rain-gems 
 
 Dot the fields o'er; 
 Jasper and emerald 
 
 Strew the green floor. 
 Opals lie twinkling, 
 
 All hues alight. 
 Flashes of beryl 
 
 And topaz unite. 
 
 Come Love, the wind flings 
 
 Drops o'er your hair, — 
 Nature's gems crowning 
 
 My May-queen fair ; — 
 Come, while the sunshine 
 
 Lingers, we'll rove; 
 Right after raining 
 
 Come away, Love ! 
 
 [71] 
 
THE ANGELS IN THE CLOUD 
 
 On the dome of an old cathedral, 
 
 By a skilful master planned, 
 A fresco of double meaning 
 
 Was placed by the artist-hand — 
 A semblance of fleecy cloud-form, 
 
 Azure-tinted and white, 
 But with heavenly faces hidden 
 
 Beneath its veil of light. 
 
 A passing glance at the painting 
 
 Discerned but the cloud-like form, 
 But, if one gazed intently. 
 
 It grew with color warm. 
 And down from the vaulted ceiling, 
 
 Through the rosy-tinted air. 
 Looked eyes, with soft light beaming. 
 
 From faces of angels fair. 
 
 'Twas a beatific vision. 
 
 Framed in the depths of blue. 
 Each face with the soul's rare beauty, 
 
 Forever and ever new! 
 But only they discerned it 
 
 Who gazed with steadfast eye; 
 The dull and weak and thoughtless 
 
 Saw naught but the clouded sky. 
 
 [7^] 
 
So dim is our spirit's eyesight, 
 
 So human are we at best, 
 We do not look for the angels, 
 
 God's envoys to the blest. 
 Sweet Patience — we thrust her from us 
 
 Hope spumed, calls not again; 
 We turn from Faith's clear pleading, 
 
 And Love's dear smile is vain. 
 
 We lay our gifts on the altar, 
 
 Sometimes with a cheerful grace, 
 But often with fretted spirit. 
 
 And bowed and saddened face; 
 We bend 'neath toils and burdens. 
 
 To the Father's promise blind. 
 And lose the half-hid vision 
 
 That our lifted eyes might find. 
 
 'Twere well did we heed the lesson 
 
 That runs through our simple strain; 
 Though the day be dark with shadow. 
 
 And heavy with mist and rain, 
 Yet above the cloud and darkness 
 
 Lifts ever the dome of blue, 
 And he whose gaze is steadfast 
 
 Sees the angels looking through. 
 
 Though the world's sharp voices clamor. 
 Though the rain of injustice fall. 
 
 And the winds of hate and contention 
 The stoutest heart appall, 
 [73] 
 
Let us still, through storm and tempest, 
 
 Gaze into the upper air. 
 Till the clouds dissolve in glory 
 
 And show us the angels there! 
 
 [74] 
 
THE BIRDS' MORNING CONCERT 
 
 Waking at early dawn 
 
 Out of calm sleep, 
 Greets me the cheery sound, 
 
 Mother-bird's peep. 
 
 Hear the bright call! 
 
 " Wake birdlings all ; 
 
 Out of the night 
 
 Creeps the red light; 
 
 Sing, one and all ! " 
 
 Hark ! as from tree to tree, 
 
 Now here, now there. 
 Rise the sweet quavering notes 
 
 Threading the air. 
 
 Now floats the trill 
 
 Toward eastern hill. 
 
 Slow sway the trees; 
 
 Soft stirs the breeze; 
 
 " Sing? Sing we will! " 
 
 Oh, what a choir it is ! 
 
 Song-sparrow first! 
 Out flow the rippling notes, 
 
 Such an outburst! 
 
 Bluebird, redbreast 
 
 Join in with zest; 
 
 Oriole gay. 
 
 E'en the blue jay 
 
 Doing his best. 
 [75] 
 
Up to the blue of heaven 
 Rise the pure songs. 
 
 See'st thou not, my soul, 
 Where praise belongs? 
 Up from thine ease! 
 Let morning breeze 
 Thy song upbear! 
 Let thy lips share 
 Such notes as these ! 
 
 [76] 
 
GROSBEAK'S SONG 
 
 Grosbeak joined our choir with zest; 
 Preened his rosy-feathered breast; 
 From the top of highest tree 
 Poured his sweet love-melody ; 
 All the flowers smiling round 
 Understood the ardent sound; 
 Violets in their haunt serene 
 Looked up shyly through the green; 
 Tall Rhodora from its bed 
 Held erect its crimson head ; 
 From the Daffy's golden heart 
 Heard we tender love-sigh start ; 
 Lilies-of-the-Valley rung 
 All their bells, and fragrance flung; 
 Plumy lilacs fluttered low 
 O'er the Pansies' mottled glow; 
 And — is it so strange a thing? — 
 Every flower that heard him sing, 
 (That bright Grosbeak on the tree,) 
 Said, " He sang that song for me ! " 
 
 Early laborer on the street 
 Lighter felt his toil-bound feet, 
 Lifted felt his heavy load, 
 Saw no more the weary road; 
 As the clear notes floated free, 
 Said, " He sang that song for me ! " 
 
 [77] 
 
Happy bird, to sing joy's song, 
 Helping o'er the cares that throng! 
 Happy we, could we but sing, 
 Every morn, so fine a thing! 
 So some gladdened heart might say, 
 " That was sung for me to-day ! " 
 
 [78] 
 
AN AUTUMN DAY 
 
 Rare, still autumnal morning! 
 
 Life's tumults cease; 
 Earth, robed in fair adorning. 
 
 Lies all at peace. 
 Airs of the summer hover. 
 
 Wafting farewell. 
 While waves of crimson cover 
 
 Hillside and dell. 
 
 Passeth the radiant dawning, 
 
 Day's early boon, 
 Glow of the later morning, 
 
 Warmth of clear noon ; 
 Yet brilliant hues entrancing 
 
 Light nature's face. 
 Each lovely tint enhancing 
 
 Her wonted grace. 
 
 Now twilight, slowly creeping. 
 
 Veils the bright scene; 
 From clouds the young moon peeping 
 
 Smileth serene; 
 Night comes from all-day hiding; 
 
 Noise steals away; 
 In peace all things are biding, 
 
 As dies the day. 
 
 [TO] 
 
DREAMING 
 
 Where the broken, flickering shadows 
 
 On the meadow lay, 
 Slowly tracing faint mosaics 
 
 In their wand'ring play. 
 Where the brooklet, softly creeping, 
 
 Played a pensive tune. 
 Where no bird had sung or flitted 
 
 Since the sultry noon, 
 
 Lay an idler vaguely dreaming; 
 Fancies of illusive seeming 
 Held his soul with raptured vision 
 Of enchanted fields elysian. 
 Fair as far, whose cloistered gardens. 
 Tended e'er by gentle wardens, 
 Yet might open welcome portal 
 To the feet of weary mortal. 
 
 Dreaming lay he, sweetly captured. 
 While his senses, all enraptured. 
 Caught an ever new revealing 
 From the vision o'er him stealing. 
 Hark ! from hazy distance ringing 
 Floated notes of siren singing. 
 Calling with a soft repeating. 
 Like a plea of love entreating: 
 
 [80] 
 
" Come mortal, here thy weary feet 
 May find a rest, a still retreat. 
 Here are no shadows, here no night. 
 No scorching heat, no frigid blight, 
 No frenzied haste ; here haunteth peace ; 
 Here sordid care and work shall cease ; 
 Here is no wasting ill, no pain, 
 No bitter strife for selfish gain ; 
 Here is no want unsatisfied. 
 No dear desire, no wish denied ; 
 
 " And the long bright day 
 
 Shall ever smile. 
 As the glad souls roam 
 
 Or dream the while ; 
 And the fragrant airs 
 
 Shall ceaseless flow, 
 While the softened light 
 
 Glides to and fro, — " 
 
 The dreamer woke with shuddering start. 
 O idle vision ! O foolish heart ! 
 A change had passed as he dreaming lay. 
 And swept the light from the sunny day. 
 No more did the slow-paced shadows 
 
 pass; 
 No longer drowsily waved the grass ; 
 But deep and ever deepening shade 
 Flung darkness o'er the patterns made; 
 
 [81] 
 
And the brook that purled o'er pebbled 
 
 stone 
 To a tossing mass of foam had grown ; 
 Black clouds piled up in the frowning 
 
 west, 
 And lightning rifted its ebon breast. 
 
 O dreamer! idling in the way 
 Of storms where human passions play ! 
 No place is thine for day dreams here, 
 No soothing airs for sleep dulled ear ; 
 Yet wilt thou dream while the tides of life 
 Toss the sad wrecks from the world's 
 
 mad strife 
 To thy very feet? Still wilt thou lie 
 Supinely lost to a brother's cry, 
 While the dark shape of a deadly sin 
 Strives with his soul and strives — to 
 
 win ? 
 Shalt thou sleep off thine old-time ire ? 
 With dreaming stifle the high desire 
 To crush the " terror that walks by 
 
 night," 
 And rid the land of a ruinous blight? 
 Shall weak ones call for thy help in vain 
 While evil gloats o'er their cry of pain? 
 And ever down the centuries rolls 
 Sin's fierce demand for its wage of souls ? 
 
 [88] 
 
Dream on, O dreamer 1 But know that 
 
 when 
 Earth sounds a call for her strong, true 
 
 men, 
 No burst of clamor will greet thy name ; 
 Unsought the lair of thine idle shame, 
 Thine ears will hear but the sad, sad cry, 
 " He is but a dreamer ; pass him by ! " 
 
 [83] 
 
THE SUNNY DAY IN WINTER 
 
 (Written in time of war) 
 
 The cold earth dons with summer's grace 
 A gown of shimmering light to-day, 
 
 While, with each gentle step she takes, 
 Life wakes to play. 
 
 The hills show through a mist of blue, 
 
 The glory of a warmer time; 
 The south wind passes humming low, 
 
 As if in rhyme. 
 
 day, hast strayed from haunts of peace? 
 O glorious day, that art to me. 
 
 Though storm may yet thy beauty mar, 
 A prophecy! 
 
 A joyful prophecy of rest 
 
 And freedom in a happier time. 
 
 When Peace from War's benumbing shock 
 Shall rise sublime! 
 
 1 see her watch-fires' kindling flame, 
 A light that never shall go out. 
 
 I hear the opening prison-doors, 
 The captives' shout! 
 
 So, sunny day, though winter's chill 
 Be lurking yet behind thy charm, 
 
 I hail thy heralding of truce 
 From war's alarm! 
 
 [84] 
 
THE " BLESS-YOU-LADY " 
 
 She was aged and bent and lonely ; she worked 
 
 for her daily bread. 
 The burdens that youth bore lightly bowed 
 
 down her good gray head ; 
 Yet how few that passed her toiling, or met her 
 
 on their way, 
 But bore away her smiling, " God bless you," 
 
 for the day! 
 
 Bound by the old traditions the land of her 
 
 childhood knew. 
 She brought their burdens with her, brought 
 
 sturdy purpose, too ; 
 And so the " Bless-you-lady " — a name we often 
 
 gave — 
 Went her humble way among us, contentedly 
 
 and brave. 
 
 No hovering shadow w^arned us she neared the 
 
 heavenly shore; 
 She spoke her last kind " Bless you " more 
 
 kindly than before ; 
 Then one fair morn we missed her; a tender 
 
 silence lay 
 O'er homestead paths where lately her feet were 
 
 wont to stray. 
 
 [85] 
 
Sometimes we're led to wonder if on the golden 
 
 -street 
 She has a loving " Bless you " for angels she 
 
 may meet ; 
 But even more we wonder, if one word makes us 
 
 glad, 
 Why learn we not the kindness the " Bless-you- 
 
 lady" had? 
 
 [86] 
 
THE CHOICE OF THE STAR 
 
 A QuivEU ran through the earth ; 
 
 The land stirred and the sea, 
 When the powers of nature woke 
 
 To that Glory yet to be. 
 
 Then the hills broke forth with song, 
 
 And the great trees clapped their hands, 
 
 As they caught the winds' glad call 
 Blown over exultant lands. 
 
 " What shall we give to our Lord? 
 
 And who shall the message speak? " 
 " Fain would I go," said the flower, 
 
 " But I am too small and weak." 
 
 " And I," said the mountain vast, 
 
 " How gladly such praise would bear ! 
 
 But bound are my feet to earth; 
 Quiescent the joy I share." 
 
 Then the river's voice uprose, 
 
 A paean of love; and it said, 
 " I will sing His praise as I speed 
 
 Over my rocky bed; 
 
 " But I cannot change my course ; 
 
 Listen, ye powers of earth! 
 Let us choose a free-winged star 
 
 To welcome Messiah's birth ! " 
 [87] 
 
Mount, forest and stream rejoiced, 
 The flower smiled on its stem, 
 
 While the glad star through the sky 
 Bore their praise to Bethlehem. 
 
 [88] 
 
THE CROWNING GIFT 
 
 The Christmas Angel knocked 
 At my closed door one day. 
 
 I flung it open wide; 
 
 " Come in, come in, I pray ! " 
 
 He entered ; in my face 
 
 He looked with deep, sweet eyes, 
 As one might who had brought 
 
 Their light from Paradise. 
 
 " I bring three gifts," he said, 
 
 " From which thou may'st choose one 
 
 Wealth to give ease and power. 
 Fame that shall yet be won, 
 
 " Love that has blessed the world 
 
 Since on Judea's plain 
 The Christ-child first drew breath, 
 
 And died, thy heaven to gain." 
 
 I reached my hand for wealth ; 
 
 It seemed a precious boon. 
 It slipped from out my grasp; 
 
 It failed me, oh, so soon! 
 
 I wept to see it lost; 
 
 But fame hung glittering nigh. 
 ** This, then, is mine," I said, 
 
 " To crown me by and by." 
 [89] 
 
The angel turned to go. 
 
 My hand had grasped the prize ; 
 
 vain elusive gift, 
 
 It shrunk before my eyes I 
 
 Small and yet smaller grew 
 
 The boon I thought so great. 
 
 And must my gifts all fail 
 And leave me desolate.'' 
 
 " Angel, come back to me ! " 
 I cried, with sobbing breath; 
 
 " Oh grant me love to keep. 
 That outlives loss and death." 
 
 He turned, with tender eyes 
 
 That searched my spirit's core, 
 
 And gave the love I knew 
 Was mine for evermore. 
 
 1 clasped it close — the gift 
 My eyes had failed to see; 
 
 And lo, it grew and veiled 
 The angel's form from me! 
 
 Oh wondrous, crowning gift! 
 
 In that glad hour I found 
 Fame, Wealth and Love untold. 
 
 In threefold beauty bound! 
 
 [90] 
 
Riches that multiply 
 
 When used in love's control, 
 Fame fully satisfied 
 
 To reach love's blessed goal! 
 
 [91] 
 
THE FLOWER OF SORROW 
 
 The Lord, intent of purpose, walked 
 
 Among His flowers one day. 
 And each one to the other said: 
 " Lift up, hft up with joy, your head! 
 
 The Master comes this way ! " 
 
 Save one alone; with stricken mien. 
 
 It shrunk within the shade; 
 It drooped upon its fragile stem; 
 " I have no power to smile like them," 
 
 The Flower of Sorrow said. 
 
 The Master stayed His gentle step 
 
 To catch the voice so faint. 
 And in His eyes a pitying flame 
 Of love and sympathy there came, 
 
 As rose the flower's plaint. 
 
 Then the fair Flower of Joy he placed 
 
 By Sorrow bruised and torn, 
 With tender charge : " Thou, Joy, shalt 
 
 spring 
 By Sorrow's side for comforting. 
 
 True Joy, of heaven born." 
 
 Again the watchful Master comes 
 
 Into His garden fair. 
 And lo ! A miracle of grace ! 
 The flower that erst had hid its face 
 
 Is blooming brightly there. 
 [92] 
 
Sa close intwined with Joy it grows, 
 Each takes more beauteous form; 
 
 With chastened hght shine Joy's bright 
 eyes ; 
 
 Sorrow looks up in tranquil guise, 
 Serene in sun and storm. 
 
 Well the once suffering Master knew 
 
 Joy springs divine from Pain ; 
 Now in its heavenly atmosphere 
 Pale Sorrow blooms with holy cheer. 
 And sees its Lord again ! 
 
 [93] 
 
THE NIXIE 
 
 (From a Swedish legend) 
 
 There's an ancient Swedish legend (I would 
 
 here rehearse it truly), 
 Of a soul once barred from heaven, lost through 
 
 ways and deeds unruly. 
 Wandering o'er earth's desert mountains, 
 
 blighted by eternal snows. 
 And through deep ravines and chasms where the 
 
 dreadful ice-wind blows. 
 
 Once the Spirit left those barrens ; sought the 
 lowland's warmth and radiance, — 
 
 'Twas a day of tender sunlight, full of color 
 and of fragrance ; 
 
 Oh, the earth was bright and gladsome ! Might 
 he not yet find salvation? 
 
 Why should he not hope for pardon, for an- 
 gelic restoration? 
 
 " Surely," said he, " to be cheerful is but mine, 
 as others' duty " ; 
 
 Wiped the tears his wan cheeks staining, 
 smiled upon the summer's beauty. 
 
 Dropped his black-hued veil and mantle — 
 shaking down his ringlets yellow — 
 
 Tuned the unused harp he carried to a plain- 
 tive strain and mellow. 
 
 [94] 
 
Now, a ^traveler by the river his lone way was 
 slowly wending, 
 
 Where the banks were rich with verdure, trees 
 with lovely blossoms bending; 
 
 Caught his ear the sound of music, tender, 
 plaintive, broken, flitting; 
 
 Looking down, he saw the Nixie, on the water- 
 lilies sitting. 
 
 Spoke the traveler, mildly chiding, meanwhile 
 on his worn staff leaning, 
 
 " Spirit, why dost touch thy harp-strings? 
 life for thee hath no glad meaning; 
 
 Better hie thee to the mountains, there lament- 
 ing morn and even. 
 
 Sooner shall my dry staff blossom than thou 
 shalt re-enter heaven ! " 
 
 Answering to the sore rebuking, woke again the 
 Spirit's wailing; 
 
 Cast he down his harp despairing — naught his 
 penitence availing; 
 
 And the traveler journeyed onward, all his soul 
 with pity throbbing, 
 
 As he heard grow faint behind him sobbing, sob- 
 bing, hopeless sobbing. 
 
 [95] 
 
Passed a long hour dull and slowly, and again 
 the traveler halted; 
 
 Something in the air about him called up feel- 
 ings strange, exalted. 
 
 Once more on his old staff leaning he would fain 
 enjoy the hour. 
 
 What ! did sight deceive him ? did that dry staff 
 bud and flower .f^ 
 
 Pitying Father ! It did blossom ! that dry staff 
 
 did bud and blow ! 
 Emerald leaves and snowy roses up and down 
 
 its length did grow ! 
 Quickly sped the traveler backward, found the 
 
 Spirit weeping yet, 
 On the water-lilies sitting, harp-strings rudely 
 
 torn and wet. 
 
 " Spirit ! Spirit ! " called he gladly, " rise ; pre- 
 pare to wear thy crown ! 
 
 Lo! my withered staff has blossomed, my old 
 staff so dry and brown ! 
 
 Pardon, joy and rapture wait thee; there is 
 One who thee forgiveth! 
 
 Rise, oh rise ! and weep no longer ! Lo, thine 
 own Redeemer liveth ! " 
 
 [96] 
 
Slowly rose the Spirit, doubting what the blessed 
 words might mean ; 
 
 Were they but a cruel mocking spoken in de- 
 ceitful dream? 
 
 Wondrous miracle! he saw it! Joy awoke and 
 vanquished pain ! 
 
 Truly as the dry staff blossomed, hope had 
 bloomed for him again! 
 
 Then he drew his harp unto him. Lo, it seemed 
 transfigured, too. 
 
 And a chord of deep soul-yearning from its love- 
 tuned strings he drew. 
 
 All enwrapt he floated upward, upward through 
 eff^ulgent air. 
 
 And — 'tis said — mysterious music often 
 echoes faintly there! 
 
 £97] 
 
ON MIDNIGHT WIND 
 
 The night-wind bears it through my half closed 
 door — 
 
 A sound like sighing of a wounded breast ; 
 Some soul is out upon the dreary moor 
 
 In hopeless search of pity or of rest. 
 
 The trees outside my window slowly fling 
 
 Their boughs against it with a creeping 
 sound, 
 
 Like cautious steps of some uncanny thing, 
 Feeling for entrance on its stealthy round. 
 
 Again that sigh ! It rises to a moan. 
 So wretched, woful, as in pain or fear; 
 
 'Tis some lone spirit, finding not its own, 
 And its strange moaning reaches human ear. 
 
 " Sad soul, what seekest thou on midnight wind.'' 
 Or art thou lost with none to succor thee? 
 
 I pray thee enter; mayhap thou wilt find 
 My fireside-cheer may some small comfort be. 
 
 " Would I had power to hush that grievous 
 moan — 
 From my heart's peace pour into thine its 
 fill!" 
 Ah, is there not a change in that sad tone ? 
 A lighter note.? Yes; and the wind is still! 
 [98] 
 
MY DEBT 
 
 I AM a debtor. 
 
 Whom do I owe? 
 A great world round me 
 
 Lying in woe. 
 Debt unrecorded, 
 
 Heavy indeed! 
 Payment is surely 
 
 The moment's need! 
 
 I am a debtor. 
 
 Ah me ! earth's poor 
 Ever are waiting, 
 
 Close at my door; 
 Quickly they gather ; 
 
 Motley the crowd. 
 Calling for succor, 
 
 Crying aloud ! 
 
 I am a debtor. 
 
 What shall I bring.'' 
 Coin of love only 
 
 Hath a pure ring. 
 Currency honored 
 
 Where'er men rove, 
 Shall I withhold it, 
 
 Largess of love.'' 
 
 [99] 
 
THE RAINBOW IN THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 "You cannot see it, unless you stand in just the right 
 place." 
 
 It gleamed through the mist-veil — • 
 
 The rainbow's bright sheen — 
 A change in the view-point, 
 
 No bow could be seen! 
 One moment we caught it, 
 
 Elusive and fair; 
 We moved — and the vision 
 
 No longer was there ! 
 
 Hope makes a bright rainbow 
 
 To prove our grief vain; 
 And joy shines in teardrops 
 
 Though falling in pain; 
 But the true point of vision 
 
 Must be near the throne ; 
 Then the symbol of blessing 
 
 Becomes the heart's own. " 
 
 The bow's in the fountain, 
 
 The arch in the mist. 
 When luminous sunbeams 
 
 The spray-drops have kissed; 
 So light shines through trouble, 
 
 Illumines all ill. 
 When we look to our Father 
 
 And trust in His will. 
 [100] 
 
" IN LANDS AFAR " 
 
 'Tis misty morning here, but there the light 
 Of sun celestial never yet has failed; 
 
 And in its fullness may appear most bright 
 What here is veiled. 
 
 Here reigns dull ignorance, but there heaven's 
 lore 
 
 Shall be diffused like its pure, sacred air ; 
 No fruitless search for wisdom on that shore ; 
 
 We shall know there ! 
 
 'Tis dusky evening here, but there no shade 
 Of gathering twilight dims the wide spread 
 lea; 
 
 For earth-tired eyes is light supernal made ; 
 There we shall see ! 
 
 Here weeds of error choke the pilgrims' way ; 
 
 There, feet set free shall walk with joy elate; 
 Here paths wind long, and far off seems the day ; 
 
 But we can wait! 
 
 [101] 
 
LOST — THE CHILDREN! 
 
 Once I lost her from my side 
 
 My wee girl — and far and wide 
 
 Searched we meadow, field and wood, 
 
 All along the winding road. 
 
 Till we found her in a nook. 
 
 Bending by the purling brook. 
 
 Wet grass streaming o'er her knees, 
 
 Pulling wild anemones. 
 
 Tears and laughter had their way. 
 
 Ah, how fast she grew that day! 
 
 Life had called to her, you see. 
 
 And she ne'er came back to me. 
 
 Swift the years of youth have flown ! 
 Heart-joy, heart-ache, held their own; 
 From the citadel of life 
 Pulsed through all its outer strife ; 
 Till — ah me ! — one fair June day 
 My grown girlie slipped away 
 With one manly, strong and true. 
 As all mothers' girls will do. 
 
 One bright morn my small boy brave 
 Longed unconquered fields to have; 
 Ran away with laughing joy, 
 Dragging little rattling toy; 
 
 [102] 
 
Yes ; that day he crossed the line — 
 Baby-boy, no longer mine — 
 Line between the baby's fears 
 And the child's enchanted years. 
 
 Life kept opening — oh, so fast ! — 
 Bringing joys too dear to last; 
 Till, one day, he came to me — 
 My young son? Nay ; man was he ! — 
 Proudly leading by his side 
 Gentle maid, to be his bride. 
 Where those earlier years, oh Time.f* 
 Vanished, like the sun-kissed rime. 
 
 Are they gone — my boy and girl — ? 
 
 Gone to mingle in life's whirl? 
 
 My small son, my laughing maid? 
 
 Why, e'en now, out in the glade, 
 
 Where the tall laburnum tree 
 
 Waves its plumes so gracefully, 
 
 I am sure I see a boy 
 
 And a tiny girl — oh joy ! 
 
 Has a veil slipped from the years ? 
 
 Eyes, keep back these starting tears; 
 
 Hark! sweet voices calling me, 
 
 " Grandma, grandma, come and see ! " 
 
 £103] 
 
A DAY AT WINDERMERE 
 
 We reached the vale; at early morn the sun 
 Had not freed earth from an enswathing robe 
 Of mist; but now he peered through rifting 
 
 clouds 
 At her blurred charms, relenting, and earth 
 
 smiled 
 Like trustful child that gives back love for love, 
 And lifts its face, expecting to be kissed. 
 
 Then the sun kissed her, setting all her gems 
 A-dancing; in the garden plots, the flowers 
 Shook out belated perfume ; on the mead 
 The tender grass held up its emerald spears, 
 Waving a triumph ; bird and bee whirled by 
 In gay abandon, dizzy with the joy 
 Of one bright, perfect day. Hast seen one 
 
 such — 
 So rare in England — when the sun bursts out 
 In radiance unshadowed, crystal-bright. 
 When a clear wind from off th' outlying seas 
 Brings richest ozone, and through all the day 
 The wonder of unclouded sunshine stays. 
 And nature basks in one long, sunny dream.'' 
 Such was that perfect day at Windermere. 
 
 [104] 
 
How flashed the lake, as broke the sun's rare 
 
 smile 
 Across its level blue! Our small launch woke 
 A stream of brilliants following as she rode, 
 With glory sprinkling all her track ; the shores 
 Now reaching low, an edge of vivid green. 
 And now receding in a crown of hills, 
 Made upon either side a fair mirage. 
 The shafts of light that played through noble 
 
 trees 
 And woke resplendent gleams from ivy vines 
 That clambered up in tangled disarray. 
 Reveled and rioted in twinkling jets 
 Of color from the nearer hill-tops down 
 To the fair lake, that quietly absorbed 
 The bright effulgence ; yet, absorbing, gave 
 Back three-fold beauty, holding us entranced 
 At such rare meeting of the sun and wave. 
 In still delight we sailed and gazed and sailed. 
 All else unheeded; naught to us was time. 
 So perfect was that day on Windermere. 
 
 [105] 
 
CREATION'S SILENCE 
 
 " The silence of primeval worlds." 
 
 What silence held the firmament 
 
 When first the spheres on nothing hung! 
 
 What awe held God's creation mute, 
 Ere morning stars together sung! 
 
 How still the worlds from chaos rose, 
 
 Each to the orbit God ordained ! 
 Ere he pronounced His labor good 
 
 An angel's whisper had profaned ! 
 
 Silence of silence ! awful depths 
 
 Of soundless ether, whence on high 
 
 The homage of the primal worlds 
 Went up, without a sound or cry ! 
 
 But what transcendent rapture bore 
 
 Their praise, once loosed, to heaven's ear! 
 
 What melody like rivers flowed 
 
 In wave on wave, from sphere to sphere ! 
 
 What majesty is Thine, our God, 
 
 Not e'en the angelic host may know! 
 
 From darkness Thou hast brought forth light, 
 From silence, hast made music flow! 
 
 [106] 
 
NANTUCKET 
 
 Fair island home ! Quaint town beside the sea ! 
 
 Whose tranquil shores the playful waters lure 
 To soft embrace ; — thou liest on ocean's breast, 
 
 An emerald gem in azure setting pure. 
 
 Here slopes the beach where merry bathers play ; 
 
 There rising cliffs the rolling waves caress ; 
 Till earth and sea one in the other merge, 
 
 And heaven bends down to seal their loveli- 
 ness. 
 
 In stately measure from the inner bay 
 
 The white yachts lead the way to outer seas ; 
 
 With careless grace they spurn the dancing 
 wave, 
 Or trim their sails to catch the fitful breeze. 
 
 Inclined by soothing day to sweet repose, 
 The town by night with life is all aglow ; 
 
 And mingling crowds on merry quest intent 
 Beneath the swinging lights pass to and fro. 
 
 On northern shore the wave-washed pathway 
 leads 
 To long sand-stretches, solemn, white, and 
 lone; 
 No sound ascends save note of piping bird. 
 Or beating of the sea with measured moan. 
 [107] 
 
Far out from town, the great moors reach away 
 With flower-grown tracks of road to 'Scon- 
 set's shore, 
 
 Where the deep billows on the southern side 
 Roll in their foaming surf with rush and roar. 
 
 Here Sankoty, from rocky, sea-girt cliffs. 
 
 Far o'er the watery plain sends flashing light. 
 
 Ah, wo to him whose storm-imperiled bark 
 Sees not this warning in the dangerous night ! 
 
 Dear island home ! Quaint town beside the sea ! 
 
 As oft thy shore we tread or sail thy bay. 
 The garnered sweetness of thy pure air yields 
 
 Its healing balm, and dull care flees away. 
 
 [108] 
 
AN ANNIVERSARY 
 
 There's a day in every twelvemonth, 
 
 Kept as a day apart, 
 When tender memories gather, 
 
 And flood the mother's heart. 
 
 And not one mother only 
 
 Bears chastened heart that day. 
 
 But many a one whose children 
 Have slipped to heaven away. 
 
 In our house-garden growing, 
 
 We had one lily fair, 
 That slowly came to blooming. 
 
 Though watched with zealous care. 
 
 But one bright morn we gathered 
 Round it with shining eyes ; 
 
 The opening of the petals 
 Was such a glad surprise ! 
 
 One little hand outstretching 
 
 Would stroke the cream-white folds, 
 
 As one caresses mutely 
 
 Some prize his fond hand holds. 
 
 Another's ready chiding 
 The eager fingers stayed; 
 
 " We must not touch it rudely, 
 Or it may droop and fade. 
 [109] 
 
" It needs a gentle tending 
 
 To make it bloom more fair; 
 
 It cannot be so perfect 
 Without our loving care." 
 
 We turned to varied labors ; 
 
 The children went to play; 
 And I — I wandered, missing 
 
 A little one all day. 
 
 'Twas of our Father's giving, 
 Ours but to keep for Him; 
 
 Our hands, perchance, were careless. 
 Our eyes, perchance, were dim, 
 
 So we had missed the lessons 
 
 He set to train it by. 
 And our weak, unwise leading 
 
 Through danger-fields might lie. 
 
 And could we give our Father, 
 Claiming His gift so rare, 
 
 A dwarfed or ruined blossom 
 That should have been so fair? 
 
 " 'Tis well," my heart keeps saying. 
 Albeit with pain and tears, 
 
 " Our hands had soiled its whiteness. 
 Our poor care marred its years. 
 
 £110] 
 
" But since to higher watch-care 
 
 The Httle hfe is given, 
 It must unfold more perfect, 
 
 And stainless pure, in heaven." 
 
 I know in every twelvemonth. 
 
 In many a mother's heart, 
 The day God called the children 
 
 Stands sacred and apart. 
 
 But there'll be — please God — a morn- 
 ing, 
 
 When with glad, shining eyes. 
 We'll follow their sweet leading 
 
 To gates of Paradise. 
 
 [Ill] 
 
BEYOND 
 
 O DEEP, tender blue of the arching sky ! 
 Fain would we know what beyond doth lie ; 
 What beautiful realm, outdoing compare, 
 Than earth's fairest spot more wondrously fair. 
 
 Is the lily more sweet by life's crystal tide? 
 Doth a purer gleam in its white chalice hide? 
 Blooms the amaranth fairer beyond the veil? 
 Doth an angel's breath from the rose exhale? 
 
 Do the airs of that land course wide and slow. 
 With a fragrance no garden of earth can know? 
 Doth a mystic light on the gold-paved street 
 Touch with resplendence all entering feet ? 
 
 What melody rings through that radiant 
 
 sphere? 
 What unwritten harmony thrilleth the ear? 
 Doth it rise a majestic, a lofty refrain? 
 Doth it sweep soft and low the heavenly plain? 
 
 O questioning heart! Nor prophet, nor seer 
 Can give seeing eye, can grant hearing ear. 
 Shall mortals the grand revelation compel? 
 Divine " hidden things " which no seraph may 
 tell? 
 
 [112] 
 
But hear " a great Voice " from the clear silence 
 
 say, 
 " Behold ! God shall dwell with His people al- 
 
 way; 
 No pain there shall be and no death ; for these 
 
 stings 
 Are all passed and o'ercome, as terrestrial 
 
 things." 
 
 " No candle they need and no sun's great light ; 
 The presence of God is its radiance bright ; 
 And the gates are ne'er shut of that city serene, 
 For there the world's glory and honor con- 
 
 [113] 
 
A THOUGHT 
 
 Life's truest beauty 
 Waits him whose duty 
 Is done toward others 
 As well loved brothers ; 
 Who gives full measure 
 Of his own pleasure, 
 All bounty sharing, 
 For self not caring ; 
 In love's fair-dealing 
 E'en heaven revealing. 
 
 [114] 
 
TRUE AND FALSE 
 
 The truth alone can bear the strong search- 
 lights 
 Of earth's long ages. Since that Voice first 
 
 spoke 
 Proclaiming, " I am He that was, and is, 
 And ever shall be," so long since has man 
 Wrestled with eager questioning and doubt. 
 Yet still has never yielded up his trust 
 In an immortal life. Could a false hope 
 Have lived at all beyond the critic's sneer ? 
 Nay ; only truth can bear continuous doubt 
 And hold its way triumphant, unafraid. 
 Beneath the search-lights of the ages' quest. 
 
 [115] 
 
OUR TREES 
 
 Magnificent and firm they stand, 
 Our trees, — a towering shield, 
 
 A Kving rampart round the home. 
 The garden and the field. 
 
 When fickle airs around them play. 
 They answer, swift or slow; 
 
 In rhythmic measure following 
 The winds' uncertain flow. 
 
 High up in air the great oaks breathe 
 
 A reverent, lofty psalm; 
 Below, the fir trees softly croon 
 
 A note of happy calm. 
 
 The elms against a peaceful sky 
 Swing lightly to and fro; 
 
 The maples woo to restful shade 
 Beneath their branches low. 
 
 O glorious trees ! In distant lands 
 Where soon our feet may roam. 
 
 The music of your wind-tossed leaves 
 Will be a call to home. 
 
 [116] 
 
THE STORY OF BROTHER BROWN 
 
 Brother Brown, the new member of Hopetown 
 
 church, 
 Was a man never known to be in the lurch. 
 When credit was needed or cash in demand, 
 His purse, freely opened, was ever at hand; 
 " For of me," quoth he, " it shall never be told 
 That I joined the good cause, but withheld my 
 
 gold." 
 
 He stirred up the people to put up a spire. 
 And added more money to raise it still higher; 
 The carpet was banished for one bright and new ; 
 He placed a new psalm-book in every pew; 
 The platform he furnished with new carved 
 
 chairs. 
 He covered with matting the entry and stairs ; 
 He added new lights ; and, with zeal mounting 
 
 higher. 
 He paid a " soprano " to sing in the choir. 
 
 At length it appeared there was no more to do ; 
 The meeting-house really looked quite like new. 
 Brother Brown complacently nodded his head; 
 " With all I have done I am pleased," he said. 
 " The people did well to give me the reins. 
 For to run a church right takes money and 
 brains ; 
 
 [117] 
 
A model church they'll have in this town, 
 And they'll owe all to me," said proud Brother 
 Brown. 
 
 Time glided along as it ever has done. 
 But this model church no converts had won ; 
 The choir had quan-eled ; young sister Bethune, 
 With a voice as pure as the lark's in June, 
 Who had earned the treble, was driven away 
 By Brother Brown's leader, who held full sway; 
 The meetings lacked power, the church-pulse 
 
 was low; 
 Things seemed to be moving most mournfully 
 
 slow; 
 The parson looked sober, but kept on to pray. 
 And preached, though in vain, of the heavenly 
 
 way; 
 For how could the saints (and the sinners much 
 
 less) 
 Toward the " mark of their calling " fervently 
 
 press 
 When pride of the heart and pride of the eye 
 Were barring their path to the mansions on 
 
 high? 
 
 Brother Brown had been down to the meeting 
 one eve, — 
 
 'Twas near that glad day when we give and re- 
 ceive, — 
 
 And had offered to place in the tower a bell ; 
 [118] 
 
Already in fancy he heard the notes swell 
 On the clear air of Sabbath over the town, 
 " And they'll owe it to me," thought rich 
 Brother Brown. 
 
 But just as the Brother had taken his seat, 
 And just as the Parson rose to his feet, 
 There breathed a low voice not far from their 
 
 side : 
 " Remove from us. Lord — the sin of our pride ; 
 For we have forgotten to give Thee the praise. 
 And starved are our souls for thy heavenly 
 
 grace. 
 Restore unto us the joy of thy love. 
 And grant us no gift but Thyself from above." 
 
 A hush, as of heaven, gently fell down. 
 
 And silence made answer to rich Brother Brown. 
 
 That night, by his fire, Brother Brown sat and 
 
 mused ; 
 'Twas a new thing for him to have gifts refused ; 
 When, all on a sudden, there stood at the door 
 A person he surely had ne'er seen before; 
 He tried hard to rise, but his limbs were weak ; 
 He groped after words, but he could not speak ; 
 While slowly the figure moved near and more 
 
 near. 
 Till the rich man shivered with nameless fear. 
 
 [119] 
 
" I have come," said the stranger, who drew as 
 
 he spoke 
 A curious object from under his cloak, 
 " To show you a wonderful pair of scales ; 
 They've been well depicted in old-world tales ; 
 To quote the old words, ' You shall presently 
 
 see 
 That these scales were not made to weigh sugar 
 
 or tea. 
 Oh, no ! for such properties wondrous have they 
 That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they can 
 
 weigh, 
 Together with articles small or immense. 
 From mountains of granite to atoms of sense.' 
 Just let me place here, to show you their worth, 
 On this side a soul, on that side the earth." 
 He poised it in view of the dazed Brother 
 
 Brown — 
 Lo! the scale with the soul went suddenly down, 
 While the earth, with its wealth, strange though 
 
 it may seem, 
 Went up with a jerk, soon striking the beam. 
 " And now. Brother Brown," spoke the stranger 
 
 again, 
 " Though it's not my desire to cause you such 
 
 pain, 
 My duty it is to truthfully show 
 What indeed — there's no doubt of it — you 
 
 ought to know, 
 
 [120] 
 
That your multiple proud and vainglorious 
 
 gifts 
 Outweigh not one prayer that a Christian heart 
 
 lifts. 
 With this purpose in view, you see I have laid 
 Your recent large gifts in the scale to be 
 
 weighed." 
 
 As he spoke, Brother Brown stood aghast to be- 
 hold 
 
 All his gifts to the church in the scale with his 
 gold ; 
 
 The paint he had furnished, the new carved 
 chairs. 
 
 The matting that covered the entry and stairs, 
 
 The psalm-books, the carpet, the meetinghouse 
 spire, 
 
 And — yes — the soprano who screamed in the 
 choir ; 
 
 And, strangely enough, on every side. 
 
 They w^ere marked, " Brother Brown, Love of 
 Self, His Pnder 
 
 But what was this placed in the opposite scale? 
 Brother Brown staggered back, his face turning 
 
 pale; 
 For there, writ in letters that sparkled and 
 
 shone. 
 Lay the words that ascended that night to the 
 
 throne, 
 
 [121] 
 
When for once, in the annals of pious Hope- 
 town, 
 
 A prayer had prevailed over proud Brother 
 Brown. 
 
 He looked and he looked through fast dimming 
 
 eyes; 
 The scale with his gifts tilted upward to rise. 
 While the other went down ; he saw no more ; 
 But a voice seemed to call from some far-off 
 
 shore ; 
 He reached out his arms and in agony cried, 
 " Take my gold, O my God ; I relinquish my 
 
 pride!" 
 More near fell the voice, and a heavenly gleam 
 Pierced through the darkness in glinting 
 
 stream. 
 When lo ! he awoke and found all a dream. 
 
 'Twas at the next meeting that humbly he said, 
 " I w^ould truly serve God with heart and with 
 
 head. 
 With prayer more than purse, for the purse 
 
 without prayer 
 Is but empty tribute. We ought not to spare 
 In rightly adorning the house of God's name. 
 Yet shun we the spirit that glories in fame. 
 My gold I shall give for the church at Hope- 
 town, 
 But without selfish pride," so spoke Brother 
 Brown. 
 
 £122] 
 
" Amen ! " said the brethren, " God keep us 
 
 alway." 
 " Amen ! " said the parson, " and now let us 
 
 pray." 
 
 To-day 'tis the godhest church in the place, 
 The largest, the richest in good works and 
 
 grace, 
 The finest outside and the fairest within. 
 With a sweet-toned bell to call wanderers in. 
 'Tis a beacon to all who dwell in Hopetown, 
 " But we give God the praise," says meek 
 
 Brother Brown. 
 
 [123] 
 
RETROSPECTION 
 
 AN AGED MAN'S REVERIE 
 
 I CANNOT rest, these muttering winds 
 So harshly on my senses play ; 
 
 While, 'gainst my feeble will, the hand 
 Of memory leads me back to-day. 
 
 Back from this scene of storm and cloud, 
 
 This ceaseless fall of rain. 
 To where a golden summer smiles, 
 
 And I am young again. 
 
 The earth seemed never half so fair 
 
 As on that clear June even; 
 Perchance the lingering day eked out 
 
 Its hours from store of heaven. 
 
 Ah, heaven was near, when my young hopes 
 Hung on her answering smile! 
 
 Her little hand in my own lay 
 So trustfully the while ! 
 
 O Love ! O Memory ! why remind 
 Of joys that might have been? 
 
 For never since has summer smiled 
 So fair for me as then. 
 
 [124] 
 
'Twas when the days grew short and chill, 
 And earth with storm was rife, 
 
 She learned the mystery we call death; 
 Up yonder it is life. 
 
 She w^ent away ; and when I hear 
 
 The drip of autumn rain. 
 My soul seems full of dripping tears, 
 
 And cries in longing pain. 
 
 Like moan of this drear storm and wind, 
 
 My lost hopes moan to-day; 
 Again I kneel by her low grave. 
 
 And lay my heart away. 
 
 [125] 
 
FOR A LIBRARY 
 
 Spirit of Learning! Who, in ancient time 
 Woke the untutored mind to keen desire, 
 
 Behold ! This temple waits thy power sublime ! 
 Come, kindle here anew th' immortal fire ! 
 
 Thou, who didst guide the rude and unschooled 
 thought 
 
 To cultured speech, expression's purest grace. 
 Who, first, art's crude ideals to beauty brought, 
 
 Who hast inspired the idyls of our race, 
 
 Reign in these courts ; here let thy votaries find 
 Open to all, the living, breathing page; 
 
 Here, undisturbed, shall mind commune with 
 mind. 
 The simple wiser grow, the wise more sage. 
 
 Spirit of Learning ! Free as breath of morn 
 And wide as space, thy benefits extend ; 
 
 The works of rich and poor thy halls adorn ; 
 Alike the high and low thy shrine attend. 
 
 Oh, may thy wakening, ever broadening light. 
 Upon our people in its fullness fall! 
 
 So shall we keep thy name and glory bright. 
 And zeal for thee shall every soul inthrall. 
 
 [126] 
 
And Thou, first Source of knowledge, who hast 
 planned 
 The rolling spheres, and marked their paths 
 on high, 
 Who holdest nations in Thy mighty hand. 
 Do Thou, to sanctify this gift, draw nigh. 
 
 Send unto us the Dove of Peace, to fold 
 
 Her brooding wings upon thine altars here, 
 
 And let no heart a note discordant hold 
 To jar this ever tranquil atmosphere. 
 
 £127] 
 
WAVE HIGH, O FLAG 
 
 For a school flag-raising 
 
 Wave high, O flag! Float free! 
 
 Thou hast a name 
 
 Of deathless fame. 
 Proud emblem of the brave and true! 
 Unstained shall be thy field of blue 
 
 While coming time 
 
 With tread sublime 
 Shall bring new epochs into view. 
 
 Wave high, O flag! Float free! 
 
 Through winter's days 
 
 Or summer's haze 
 Thy silent speech to us shall be 
 Like clarion shout of liberty ! 
 
 The sweetest sound 
 
 The broad earth round. 
 Where man hath learned to make man free ! 
 
 Wave high, flag! Float free! 
 
 Thy clustered stars. 
 
 Thy storied bars, 
 Flung out upon our loyal air. 
 Shall own our children's loyal care; 
 
 Nor traitor's hand 
 
 Nor alien band 
 Shall e'er thy desecration dare ! 
 [128] 
 
THE COMPOSITE PHOTOGRAPH 
 
 For a party of student friends 
 
 Stay ; move you not ; your eyes be centered all 
 
 Upon the camera ; and silent let 
 
 Light's viewless fingers limn the pictured face. 
 
 No more each single type shall lie before 
 The critic's gaze ; no' more the poet's eye 
 By dreaminess affirmed, or scholar's brow, 
 Or genial smile of age, or soulful gleam 
 Of love or mirth, or the distinctive mark 
 Of wit or singer, sage or dauntless youth. 
 Those keen in science or the healing art, 
 Artist or teacher, or the home's fair queen. 
 Or he whose skilled hands fashion for our need 
 The wares of commerce — each and all shall be 
 Merged in a common portraiture ; and thus 
 One face, one figure, shall comprise the whole. 
 
 Ah! take away the veil that hides the plate 
 All quivering, as it were, beneath the stress 
 Of bearing in itself the faces here 
 Portrayed in one. Look, read yourself, my 
 
 friend, 
 Select yourself ! find each his prototype ! 
 
 What a strange face it is ! The bend of head 
 Half forward, while the brows, knit with deep 
 thought 
 
 [129] 
 
Shield eyes that gaze into a future vast ; 
 Nor peer alone beyond, but backward seem 
 To turn, toward ancient records of the past, 
 As searching occult wisdom, long concealed. 
 
 A winter's study did endow that face. 
 
 Good friends, with purpose shown in eye and 
 
 brow. 
 So keen the student-mind to sift the gold 
 Of priceless knowledge from each tempting 
 
 hoard. 
 To claim the eternal birthright of the years — 
 Man's heritage of thought. 
 
 Has now each found 
 Among the many obvious types his own? 
 No? It is strange that curious face should be 
 The " counterfeit presentment " of you all. 
 And yet none find his own distinctive markl 
 
 'Tis a weird thing; but lay it carefully 
 Among your relics ; scan it now and then ; 
 It may be it shall waken some new thought, 
 And this hour's play shall not have been in 
 vain. 
 
 [130] 
 
TO THE HEPATICA 
 
 Brave little flower! I found thee on the slope, 
 
 True bloom of hope ; 
 With the rare blue of springtime's bluest skies 
 
 In thy pure eyes. 
 
 Thou toward the light, from winter's burial- 
 place, 
 
 Hast kept thy face, 
 Like those strong hearts that keep, through 
 earth's defeat. 
 
 An outlook sweet. 
 
 And lo! earth opened for thee! So at length 
 
 To thee came strength, 
 And a still power that drew thee from thy bed 
 
 To lift thy head. 
 
 Crowned with its miracle of blue, to smile 
 
 On us a while. 
 And, in thy smile, to Him sweet witness bear. 
 
 Who made thee fair. 
 
 So fair ! In petal-form and lovely hue, 
 
 Each springtime new! 
 Thy clustered leaves, beneath thy dainty crown, 
 
 Just tipped with brown — 
 
 [131] 
 
Serenely lifted from the frost-bound mold, 
 
 Fearless of cold, 
 And ever sunward turned, with trustful grace, 
 
 Thy cheery face! 
 
 Thou com'st with happy prophecy of spring. 
 
 Bright, winsome thing! 
 Who chances on thee must with reverence say, 
 
 " God passed this way," 
 
 [132] 
 
" LOVE COMES TO STAY " 
 
 " Though God's to give, it is not even His to take away." 
 
 She whispered to her heart, " It may but seem 
 To be what we call love ; perchance a thought, 
 
 A fleeting tremor, born of foolish dream; 
 
 How canst thou be assured, by Love un- 
 taught? " 
 
 And so, though mingling much with pleasant 
 things, 
 She sought forgetfulness of all most dear, 
 And thought Love stilled — or had he taken 
 wings ? 
 One day passed lonely, and she found him 
 near. 
 
 For nature's haunts she left the city's side. 
 Made a lone home 'mong birds and wild things 
 fair, 
 And there long dwelt, with all a stoic's pride ; 
 Until one day she woke — and Love was 
 there ! 
 
 She left her native land for unknown shores, 
 And lost herself in art's engrossing guile ; 
 
 Sought ancient countries and their precious 
 stores. 
 And lo ! Love met her in a flower's smile ! 
 
 [133] 
 
And finding so that true love comes to stay, 
 She seeks no more from one dear life to part ; 
 
 So strong the bond no power can rend away, 
 That now she asks no questions of her heart. 
 
 [134] 
 
A HEART-SONG 
 "WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN" 
 
 My ship is on the ocean! 
 
 My ship brings treasure home ! 
 O bear her safe, ye billows, 
 
 And swift, o'er tossing foam ! 
 Ye changeful winds and currents, 
 
 Unquiet day and night, 
 O sea that never wearies. 
 
 Bring quick my heart's delight ! 
 
 My ship is in the offing! 
 
 My ship is at the pier! 
 She brings no gold or silver; 
 
 Far richer gifts are here! 
 She's laden with love's jewels; 
 
 No fairer gems there be ! 
 True love is all her cargo, 
 
 True love her freight for me! 
 
 £135] 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 i 
 
 On Saxony's rock-girdled heights 
 We stood and viewed the plain; 
 
 The placid Elbe winding slow 
 By fields of yellow grain; 
 
 By red-roofed hamlets clustered nigh, 
 Clear-shadowed on its breast; 
 
 By ancient castle, gray and worn, 
 Upon the green hill-crest. 
 
 By towering cliffs, through forest lanes, 
 Dim aisles where deer roam free, 
 
 Its never-halting way it takes 
 Toward the waiting sea. 
 
 Unconscious servant of mankind! 
 
 Fair river flowing wide! 
 It bears the burdens of the land 
 
 Upon its willing tide. 
 
 Now from its side the rocky crag 
 Springs sharp and steep and high, 
 
 Uprearing spires and pinnacles, — 
 Strange shapes, — against the sky. 
 
 Wrinkled by storm and shock they rise 
 
 Into the clouds' blue haze : 
 O ancient rocks and hills, what tales 
 
 Have ye of olden days.? 
 [136] 
 
 i 
 
Tell us, as from jour lordly height 
 
 Ye watched the Elbe flow, 
 What race of men its waters sailed. 
 
 In ages long ago? 
 
 Ye stone-walled chasms, down whose depths 
 
 We gaze in wondering awe. 
 Tell us the secrets of your years, 
 
 Tell what the young earth saw ! 
 
 O time-scarred temples — Nature's courts, — 
 Where hosts might gathered be. 
 
 Tell us what worshipers here trod. 
 Or bowed the reverent knee. 
 
 Tell us what mighty builder planned 
 
 Your altars and your halls ; 
 Whose hand these mossy traceries wrought 
 
 Upon your rugged walls. 
 
 Tell us what master raised your spires. 
 
 Huge fingers pointing high ; 
 Whose art, whose name do they record, 
 
 As age on age goes by.? 
 
 Hark! From the crags, the spires, the 
 hills. 
 
 From wilds man never trod. 
 In grand accord the answer comes. 
 
 One Name ! That Name is God ! 
 
 [137] 
 
BEAUTIFUL WORLD 
 
 Beautiful world, of thee we sing ! 
 Beautiful world, to thee we cling! 
 World of clear suns and tender moons, 
 Bright morns that grow to dreamy noons ; 
 World with rare sunsets all alight, 
 World of dear hearts to bless at night; 
 Beautiful world, to thee love clings. 
 Though heaven hath store of fairer things. 
 
 Beautiful world of flowing seas. 
 Of mountain peaks, of grassy leas, 
 Of icy glaciers that seem 
 The crystal castles of a dream ; 
 World of enchanting isles that sleep 
 In beauty on the tropic deep. 
 World of upheavals, grandeur wild, 
 Of mighty winds, of zephyrs mild. 
 
 Beautiful world of springtime-blue. 
 Of summer-rain, of autumn-hue, 
 Of dainty bloom and odors sweet 
 That rise beneath our straying feet; 
 White sailing clouds and singing birds, 
 Whose carols need no human words. 
 World where day-long the children play, 
 Wliile their pure laughter cheers the way. 
 
 [138] 
 
Beautiful world of joy's domain, 
 Beautiful world of Love's blest reign — 
 Love, whose holy fervent moods 
 Exalt to new beatitudes ; 
 God speaks to us through tender calms. 
 While nature chants her grateful psalms 
 Whose music is of heaven's own, 
 Its airs upborne in vibrant tone. 
 
 Beautiful world, when our last day. 
 Clothed in such beauty, dies away ; 
 Or when, in some long watch of night, 
 The call floats down for our far flight. 
 What shall we find in sun or star 
 More perfect than thy glories are ? — 
 Save that celestial joy shall be 
 Perennial, our God, through Thee! 
 
 [139] 
 
A VOICE 
 
 A SOUL that faltered on the mount of hope, 
 Long vexed by doubt, had ta'en the downward 
 
 slope. 
 When through the ambient air a voice there 
 
 came, — 
 A voice with living message " in His name ; " 
 A voice that rung w^ith such assuring cheer 
 It seemed a clarion note from higher sphere. 
 It lifted heart-pain that had burdened life. 
 And brought a victory out of inward strife. 
 The soul for such strong leading so had yearned 
 That it but heard the voice, and, hearing, 
 
 turned. 
 
 O when, in world to come, of higher bliss, 
 God shall complete the harmonies of this. 
 When in that grander range of sense and 
 
 thought 
 Our powers reach the goal that here we 
 
 sought — 
 Through Him they will — then shall a glad 
 
 soul know 
 Again the voice that thrilled it here below. 
 In ecstasy uplifted, sweet and clear 
 With holy triumph, — since to God so near, — 
 More glorious through love divinely wide, 
 More pure in heaven's service fitly tried. 
 
 [140] 
 
CONSECRATION 
 
 My life would know a deeper faith, 
 A stronger trust in Him who saith, 
 In words that all my being wake, 
 " 7 am\ my glory none shall take." 
 And I would lay before His throne 
 All that I am, all that I own. 
 All I can do, all I can be. 
 In time or in eternity. 
 
 No measure hath my gift ; for Time 
 Hath brought me where I hear its chime 
 Of truthful bells that tell my years 
 Nigh finished with their joys and fears. 
 Eternity? I seem to stand 
 Within its bound ; on either hand 
 Its space appalls ; the surging waves 
 Of memory whelm ; the yawning graves 
 Wherein past deeds, stripped of vain show 
 Lie, with conceits and pleasures, low. 
 All these are round me; with hot tears 
 I see the record of my years ; 
 Yet, even as I weep, my eyes 
 Turn toward one wondrous sacrifice; 
 Its truth flames o'er my troubled sense, 
 Like flame of kindling fire intense, 
 A truth that sets my whole soul free. 
 So full it is, O Lord, of Thee ! 
 And love-compelled, I reverent fall 
 Upon my face, to give Thee all, 
 [141] 
 
My Father, I would at thy throne 
 
 Lay all I am, all that I own. 
 
 All I have been, or yet may be 
 
 Throughout Thy vast eternity. 
 
 I give my blindness ; send Thou sight ; 
 
 My lack of service ; give new might ; 
 
 I yield my weakness; send Thou power; 
 
 My doubts ; grant faith's assuring dower ; 
 
 And, of my best, I yield Thee all 
 
 That holds my vagrant heart in thrall. 
 
 A speck am I upon time's sea. 
 
 Yet great through Thine immensity ; 
 
 And, losing hold of lesser things, 
 
 I find in Thee life's deepest springs. 
 
 [142] 
 
SACRED COMPANIONSHIP 
 
 When I walk abroad in the busy street, 
 
 With its surging tide of souls, 
 Though I speak with none, no one a friend, 
 
 One thought like an anthem rolls 
 Through all I see, where'er I move. 
 Surcharged with tender, sacred love ; — 
 One Friend is ever nigh; 
 Nowhere alone am I. 
 
 When I tread the aisles of the forest groves, 
 
 So solemn, so grand and free, 
 My spirit bounds at the call of the wind. 
 
 For it speaks from Him to me; 
 And when the swaying pines rejoice, 
 I hear the echo of His voice ; 
 I know the Lord is by ; 
 In all things good He's nigh. 
 
 Though cumbering cares oppress the day. 
 
 His presence comforts me ; 
 He smooths the path for stumbling feet. 
 
 The soul perplexed sets free; 
 In Him how deep and full my rest ! 
 In Him I am completely blest. 
 No other need have I ; 
 He doth all help supply. 
 
 [143] 
 
I sit where the people of God are met, 
 
 And Hsten to prayer and psalm, 
 While a Voice divine through the organ 
 breathes. 
 Through the sacred hush and calm. 
 Though human voice the air may thrill, 
 It does but bring One nearer still. 
 
 " God speaks," is my heart's cry ; 
 " My soul, make swift reply ! " 
 
 Oh, tell me not 'tis a misplaced trust, 
 
 Or fevered fancy's play; 
 Deceptive dream of impulsive mind. 
 
 That, passing, fades away. 
 Since love divine with living flame 
 Hath laid my errant soul in claim. 
 Earth reaches near the sky. 
 And God is ever nigh. 
 
 [144] 
 
THE UNFINISHED HYMN 
 
 Once I began a hymn of praise 
 To God, my Father, Friend; 
 
 But 'mid the crowding mercies sent 
 My words could find no end. 
 
 So may it ever be, my Lord; 
 
 My praise-full hymn shall rise 
 Unfinished on Thy lower earth, 
 
 Unended in the skies! 
 
 [145] 
 
DEC 19 1913 
 
 HEART-REST 
 
 Beyond the realm of doubts and creeds, 
 M J soul with freedom flies ; 
 
 To primal Source of perfect love 
 Unhindered doth it rise. 
 
 No more by lesser lights I seek 
 
 To find my way to Him, 
 Nor trusting human help I grope 
 
 By devious paths and dim. 
 
 No more vain questionings disturb 
 The heart's supremest rest; 
 
 Nor vainer sophistries combine 
 To vex my troubled breast. 
 
 Clear as the sun's full shining cleaves 
 The shadows of the night. 
 
 So clear God's glory cleaves the dark 
 And pours o'er all its light. 
 
 Above the cloudy doubts and creeds 
 Shines truth's divinest ray ; 
 
 I follow where its radiance leads. 
 And heart-rest crowns each day. 
 
 [146] 
 
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