PS 3537 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE STANDARD UPHELD AND OTHER VERSES HE STANDARD UPHELD AND OTHER VERSES BY MORGAN SHEPARD PUBLISHED BY ELDER AND SHEPARD, SAN FRANCISCO MCMII Copyrighted by Elder & Shepard TO MY FRIEND TOM WATKINS 862782 CONTENTS Shall I Cast Down the Standard of My Life ? i The Child and the Cross 5 Morning 6 Sowing 8 The Seed and the Word 9 Into My Crystal World 10 The Smile n The Cat xa A Feather from the Wing of Time .... 13 The Reed 14 Years and Tears 15 White and Red 16 Barriers 17 Out of the Heart . . . , 18 Mary. 19 To Phoebe 20 Suggested by XXXVI (Poems of W.E.Henley) 21 The Red Bead 23 A Thought 24 My Fancy 25 The Little World 26 Through the Trees .... 29 THE STANDARD UPHELD AND OTHER VERSES ft* *%> ft* t* ft* SHALL I CAST DOWN THE STANDARD OF MY LIFE? HALL I throw down the Stand ard of my Life, And bend beneath the clutch of circumstance? Through trembling fingers shall I view the strife Hid by the wings of some un certain chance? Tossed on the wave, or battered in the moil Of striding days whose heavy hands Press my face deep into the bloody soil, Or cast my hopes across the desert sands, Whirled by the rush and current of the flood Shall I sweep passive stripped of mine own will Self-pitying? Shall wounds or dripping blood, Or little tears, a weakling's chalice fill? When night comes down upon the trodden field And day's last touch streaks my horizon red With promise of new wounds to go unhealed Shall I cry "Done" and wait with craven head And eyes cast down a turning of the wheel ? Or shall I wait the breaking of a morn Whose hand is soft, beneath whose touch I kneel, And smile, and hope and murmur prayers forlorn ? Or shall I laugh in bitterness complete, And turn my back with sneers upon the strife; Or look for tracks made plain by braver feet; And drop to Earth the Standard of my Life ? The Tides cease not to rise and backward sweep; The Sun will burn upon his destined track, The Rocks unmoved stand grim beside the deep. The Living Wave what might shall strike it back To silence dead? Ye Gods and Men, shall I Bend low beneath the random soulless hand Of fate ? Or quail to see the blackened sky ? All these are great, but I will fearless stand An Atom to defy a sharp Comparison. And laugh with joy, and wait with teeth close set, And stretch my arms toward the smiting Sun: And hold my Standard close without regret 'Tis mine! 'tis mine! though torn and bat tle rent; And who shall claim its Legend for his own ? Not Man, nor Gods, nor Angels heaven sent ' Tis mine ! ' tis mine ! each word upon it grown Out of the roots of my advancing Soul. Legend of Blood, and wounds and loss and sweat, Legend of Hope no Knell of doom shall toll The death of such. Nor coils of vain regret Hide its escutcheon plain from watching Gods. No envious hands, or small suspicious sneers Shall drag it low. ^ No scourging of the rods Upon my head and heart, shall force the tears Beyond a dimming of my human sight. E'en were I blind (blood falling 'neath the thorn) Still forward will I lean my head upright, And count the scourging naught, when so well borne. My Standard shall be held above the swirl And backward rush of disappointment's flood. Held to my breast, when fiercest is the whirl Of bitter doubts oft tremblingly withstood. Little or great, my Standard is my all: In forward rush, in fall precipitate, In backward rout; beneath the heavy pall Of crippled faculties inadequate. Outward 'tis held, defying circumstance, Upward ' tis held, to hide the sins of birth, Inward ' tis lock'd, to foil the web of Chance, Wrapping me close, to meet the glaring dearth Of fitting mail. ' Tis mine ! for all ' tis mine ! Deep in the Vale of my obscurity, Or on the heights where close ambitions shine Up to my eyes in near maturity. E'en though I stand before the Door at last, Bloody and worn, and panting from the Strife, Even should then the powers fiercely cast Me back again the Standard of my Life Shall wave above the torrent of my woe No ! no ! and no ! I will not cast it down ' Til Death shall come then shall its Legend glow Outwards and up "This Standard is my own." 4 THE CHILD AND THE CROSS H LIGHT breaks into the dark today, Soft with a touch of love Alight spreads over the shadows gray From open doors above Into the Night the Night. A Song sweeps over a silence vast Turning the darkness still, Awaking to song a hopeless past Hymn of a great good will - Anthem of Love of Love. New Hope blooms fresh from the bed of Night Blooms with a luster mild, And spreads to gather the gentle light, Gift of the Holy Child, Peace and good will good will The light breaks into each hidden place Of sorrow, death and loss. The Love of the Child a Human Face Reflection of the Cross Love of the Child The CHILD. MORNING XTHE morning, when the mists of Night ling to my Soul, and dim a needed sight; ' When scattered wide I see the threads of power, Which I would hold to guide me at that hour ; When all in doubt I stand Do thou then raise thy hand And show me where the Sun has kissed the hills, And say a light the mist-robed distance fills. Then love me much, and start me on the way, Bid me be brave to tread the Path that Day - Such help canst thou give me O, how I look to thee ! AT NOON-TIDE, when beneath the smiting sun I gaze with sickness, on the little done When all the Way, floats 'neath a warning heat, When crushed by cruel hands, Hope at my feet Lies low a fallen thing Then do thou solace bring, 6 And point to virtues, where my heart saw naught, And say my skill has some fair semblance caught Of noble things my work was not in vain, And thou shalt quicken Hope so, Love, again At noon-tide thou shalt be Great solace unto me. AT NIGHT when Darkness casts Her heavy pall O'er my past day, enfolding closely all The humble things which I in fear have wrought, And blotting out a lesson learned or taught Hard striven for and lost Ah ! none shall know the cost. Then do thou stoop and bless me by the gift Of thy deep love, and with thy dear hand lift The cloak of Fear, which Night has cast on me, Then were no night and I shall plainly see Thou, dear, shalt be my light At morn mid-day and night. SOWING OSEEKEST thou fair Fruit where thou hast cast The seeds of Thought or Good into the Soil? Or dost thou sigh, when ripened days at last Show Fruitage strange, or weeds to pay for toil? O, lookest thou for Blossoms in a Heart Which thy fond hand hath tilled with fearful care? Thou weepest sore, when unrepaid thou art. The love-tilled Heart lies blossomless and bare O, sowest thou with Love and Fears, O, reapest thou with Sighs and Tears? REAPING The Planting of the best thou hast to give Moved some dull mould to bloom with Fruit age fair. Love, Hope and Fear may show no Fruit, yet live In places new to thee, and blooming there Perfected grows the Blossom vainly sought. The Heart love-tilled holds worlds to thee unknown, 8 Fields shining bright with Flowers of thy Thought Seek thou that place and pluck the Fruit there grown. O, hast thou sown with tears of Love ? Thy Blossoms touch the Skies above! THE SEED AND THE WORD GHE planted seed By hearts and hands, Wins it a meed 'Mid stones and barren sands? The living word From earnest tongue Is it oft heard On the strings of hearts tight strung ? The sacred dew (Tears from a soul,) Are there too few To weave a chaplet full? Love, love cold dead, Killed by the Night What lives instead To touch ux Days with Light ? INTO MY CRYSTAL WORLD O MY Crystal World I gaze; Sun and green water and blue a mystic coil of days Spun from the Sun and thoughts of you, Sun and green water and blue Deep in my Crystal World. Far in the deeps I faintly see Clouds and hills, meadows and streams A fair white hand held out to me. My world is small and the distance seems But little over the meadows and streams, Over my Crystal World. I'll hasten into my World full fair Sun and green glistening Sands Straight to the place, my sweet Love, where You wait for me with outstretched hands. The sun has kissed my Crystal Land, Kissed my Crystal World. 10 THE SMILE a SMILE is a Flower blooming fair- Its petals often cover Sighs in the heart or places where The wings of Sorrow hover. A smile is a Bird whose hopeful wing Gleams thro* the sky of Sorrow. At night in the dark I hear it sing. A Joy awaits the Morrow! A smile is a Brook that finds its way Through desert Hearts and dreary. Drink of the Brook ! Its Waters may Give strength if thou art weary. A smile is an easy thing to build Before our Cares or after And smiling once, we often gild Our sombre woes with laughter. Then why not smile, for the Day is brief; The Night has many hours! Then why not smile and hide a grief Beneath a wreath of Flowers ? THE CAT *^^*'VE known thee long, but still I know thee not; Full faith I have, which hath no trust begot; Deep in thine eyes both old and new I see; In thy still gaze is Simple Mystery. Ask I for aught, thy "Yea" oft means a "Nay." Hast thou a heart? O, Who on Earth can say? For a caress, what coin wilt thou return? When thou art found, what new thing shall I learn? Stay I or go hast thou one small regret? All this is so my heart tells me and yet I must love thee Thus mending shall unmend, And questioning I learn naught in the end. 12 A FEATHER FROM THE WING OF TIME * PLUCK'D a feather from Time's beat- ing wings I crushed it in my hand, ^ I pressed it to my eyes Blindly I hastened o'er the shadow land Blindly I hastened through the glowing skies To where a white bird sings. Voiceless I press the feather to my face And wait and hold and cast And speed my Soul away; And thrust my heart far back into the past And forward into some still unborn day, Some as yet unseen place. Each day I seek an answer in my heart. (The feather pluck'd for you! The Soul thrust into space!) I hold the hours and Time shall not undo The woven web, nor distance hide your face. A singing bird thou art The plume was pluck'd for you. THE REED GHOU art the Child, and I the weary Man, Thou art the Bud, and I the broken Reed; Thy years reach out to cover in their span Things all unform'd or some unname'd meed To make thy days complete, Dear Marguerite. Each day new born is one fair petal turned, Then then, I look the deeper in thy soul And find there hid some precious lesson learned By thy young heart to build the perfect whole So is the Flower sweet, Dear Marguerite. And I, the Reed, breathe low a prayer for thee, Hopes without words, O might I point the ways Which I know true or lead thee happily Till thou could'st see the best of coming Days Waiting thy willing feet, Dear Marguerite! 14 Bent though I be, and broken in the strife To gain some goal or touch some hidden end, May I not point all bended to a Life Open to thee may I not counsel lend That is with love replete, Dear Marguerite ? Come then to me, thy youth will bless my age; Look, look to me, thy Life may lift my eyes To gaze with thee, upon the open page All fair for thee. Then will I see thy Skies, And catch thy fragrance sweet, Dear Marguerite. YEARS AND TEARS ^^T* SEE the Years cut deep into the mould, I see new tears, and seeing them, ^1 grow old. ^ Each smile new born, a moment briefly gleams. All Hopes at morn are shadows of my dreams. Youth youth has fled, a ragged cloak I wear. Time makes no bed. The weight of days I bear. 15 WHITE AND RED **^lf" GAZED with cold eyes into a Flower's heart ; My life-worn soul had whispered low to me, " Go, cast thy power and thy perfected art Into the Flower's soul, and note what thou shalt see." Then looked I coldly into the Blossom's heart, Rose there a white smile, that touched the piercing light Of eyes that fell not, but slowly forced apart Doors that were better shut to a Sun so bright. Then fiercely I kissed the white heart of the flower, That instant it grew beneath my heart's cold breath A thing changed blood red, slipping lower and lower Into its petals, touched with the mark of death. Then struck I sharply on the Blossom door, Might there not again a fan* white smile arise White out of silence, where pure it slept before I awoke it by the still, cold gaze of my eyes. No whiteness shone through, or light of purity Fell on the darkness of the place where I stood, But through a half-closed door I could plainly see A red light that glowed, like sunlight through Man's blood. BARRIERS TDARE not look too long, dear, in thine eyes, For fear that sight too clear should come to mine ; For fear that I should see, thin- veiled, hi thine Something I dread to find, but know would rise Like sea mists creeping o'er the Summer skies. ' Tis better far to sip than waste the wine, Wiser to hope unbid, than to repine, Sweeter to weave a web than sever ties. Mayhap my heart which hides its burning light, Doth ask no more than that its flame may glow Warm in my soul until my Lamp will show Some sacred places, where my love and sight Will hold secure the little that I see, Which I may think is mine, and kept for me. OUT OF THE HEART REEN and simple blade of grass A humble blossom hidden A human breath upon a glass brown bird heart-full bidden To grow and gleam, To bloom and beam, To spread and die, To sing and fly, Out of the heart all from the heart. A sigh for joy a cry of pain, An answer unexpected The clouds, the clear, the sun, the rain, The smiles or tears reflected All in a day, All by the way, All vivid hours, All from the bowers Of one young heart alas grown old ! 18 MARY STAY Child a moment with me here Close, close by me ; You do not know how precious - O ! how dear Your waiting is to me. You saw a tear Slip down upon my cheek Ah ! do not fear, You shall not see Another such besides, how could I cry When I am gay ? No, dear, that was not quite a tear, but my Great love for you, like sea waves mounting high. One drop of Love out of the sky To bless the day. I wonder, dear Child, could I ever tell What made that tear, The tear that came and down my hard cheek fell? Ah ! no, I cannot, but this do I know well For riches great I would refuse to sell That moment dear. TO PHCEBE ^*^EAR Phoebe, could I only touch your \ eyes Not with my lips, But with the tips Of fingers that are burning with a deep and holy yearning. A shadow sweetly lies In your eyes. Dear Phoebe, there's a flower on your lips, A flower Word, Will it be heard Beyond the green and growing, where the winds of youth are blowing ? A bird of longing sips From your lips. Dear Phcebe, there's a white cloud on your brow Drift from the skies Of your pure eyes. The cloud is softly drifting, and a light is gently lifting The dream of wonder now From your brow. 20 Dear Phoebe, I would fathom your deep eyes With sympathy, Then might there be An instant's sight exposing, all the bloom of Dreams reposing Down where one flower dies In your eyes. Suggested by XXXVI (Poems of W. E. HENLEY) DUSK when the mists or sadness Slip over the dull gray sea, A song floats out on the silence A sacred memory. At night when the Woman passes Over the place of tears, She crushes a blood-red blossom But none of the song she hears. She smites with a wanton blindness The stem and the broken leaves, Her robe and her knees are bloody But none of the wreck she sees. ai Each scar of the Woman's smiting, Each print of her passing feet Creeps up on the misty stillness To join in a hymn complete. The eyes of the Woman wanton Seek that which she may not find; For the heart she bruised and tortured Sings sweet to the evening wind. For the living notes that gather To make a chain of song Reach not to the ears of the Woman Who passes unblessed along. THE RED BEAD OGIVE me back the gathered chain of days: It once was mine, I've kissed it oft in prayer! One blood-red bead upon your bosom stays - And grows more red because it lingers there. Is it a bead, or blood upon your breast ? Your blood or mine, that burns your bosom bare? It lies content but is it painless rest? Or gleams it plain, a day of red despair? Fair is the place whereon it makes its bed : ' Tis sadly fair and white with purity. But with each breath heart-drawn a living red Mounts with your breast in pulsing misery. O, give me back the glowing sacred chain Of gathered days, for I would count them through My hands, and touch the blood-red one, and stain My lips with it, my eyes with it, for you Have worn it long upon your neck and breast! My chain of Days lacks one to make complete 23 A broken strand. Give back the Day-chain lest All gathered days fall scattered at your feet. The red day fades, gone is the ruddy stain, But through its depths your gleaming breast I see ; The fading day will ne'er gleam red again, And still there gleams the star of misery. A THOUGHT KOM a wordless soul a Thought was born Part of a Wordless Whole ) i he light of the sun at early morn Blinded the Silent Soul. It hid its face from the glare of day, Seeking a shadow where it lay. Who shall console, Who shall console? Gather ye flowers at even* sought, Flowers of souls and lives, Scatter them over the wordless Thought, Over the Soul that strives To give a new garland to the light, Plucked from the meadows of speechless night. New buds it gives, New fields it gives. 24 Under the shadows the blossoms lie ( Blossoms lovingly brought ) Mark how they fade and wither and die; Where are the words ye sought ? Fled to the Home of the waiting Soul, Where words bloom not, where thoughts console. Death of a Thought, Life of a Thought. MY FANCY GHE round hills gleam and quiver A soft and full-ripe yellow The canyon is a river Of flowing green; and mellow Is all the Earth. The canyon river wanders And meets the distant ocean. The day its treasures squanders In thoughtless dream devotion The day's sweet dream. A Soul sleeps near a mountain Where hearts and hopes are taken, Where flows unchecked a fountain When shall the Soul awaken ? For it is Day. 35 THE LITTLE WORLD mY Little World has hidden Behind the mists of thought Where none save One is bidden Where none save One is sought. My World lies all uncertain, For oft it flows and drifts Behind a gauzy curtain Which waves in hazy rifts. But when the mists have lifted I seek my little land And see my fancies sifted All gold upon the sand. The little waves slip smiling Upon a silver beach ; The Hills of Thought lie piling Soft blue within my reach. The forest waves in billows Of deep and velvet green Beside a stream the willows All languorous careen. 26 The sky stoops low and kisses The eyelids of the hills The hills where sleeping bliss is Where memory fulfils Each wish of my heart yearnings. Lost links to fill a chain. Cool spots in deserts burning, Forgetfulness of pain. My world of Fancy beaming Beneath perfected thought, Beneath the luster gleaming Of fancy fully caught ' Tis mine, 'tis mine entire From hill to sleeping plain ; Perfection of desire Till come the mists again. And there I sit and ponder Or sing into the wind ; Or through the meadows wander Until my love I find. I wait, for sweet is waiting The moments tremble past, Their beauty naught abating. Then comes my love at last. 27 I see the light in showers Of gems about her feet, Where gleam the speechless flowers In worship all complete. She treads the happy grasses, Her robe across them slips They sigh sad when she passes Beyond their loving lips. My little World completed j My World of will and thought My Dear World, oft repeated, For there my love is sought. THROUGH THE TREES OMES my Love beneath the trees, Blossoms rise to kiss her knees, All a-quiver are the leaves, Lest too loud the song shall be Of the love they hold for her Of the homage greater far Than the deep sky or the sea. Grasses lift their green to meet Each dear burden of her feet Perfumed breezes shyly greet Spots of sun and flowers sweet. For the breeze would gently show How the wind of Love may blow : Passing by would kiss her brow, Passing by might touch her feet. Comes my Love all robed in green, One red flower in her hair Flashes pride for being there. One red flower never seen Lifts and falls upon her breast, Blooms content in lang'rous rest, Flower of a sacred quest. Comes my Love along the way, Shines the wonder of the day 29 On her face and on her hair, On her soft neck witching white Neck and breast of lovely might Floods of joy and laughter gay Light shines in her maiden eyes. Notes she aught save loving skies Sun and blossoms, birds and trees, Grasses green that kiss her knees ? Comes she then with parted lips Touching with her finger tips Tender buds or dry rose-hips. Is there aught my dear Love sees Save the Love she passes through ? Seeing her the Love which grew, Grew and blossomed while she stood Sweet with splendors of the Wood, Fresh as flowers wet with dew. Comes my Love close where I stand Armour locked and lance in hand. Visor closed o'er cloud-dark face. Floods the wonder of her grace Spreads the spell of this dear place. Speeds the shadow from the land Fades the evil from my brow. Stops my dear Love then to show 30 Her sweet face to leaf and bough. Bud and flower, twig and green, Have a sacred vision seen. Looks my dear Love where I stand Armour cased and lance in hand. Comes she then, eyes looking through Trees and hills into the blue In sweet peace awaiting her Stops she then, a moment where Steel weighs down the yielding mould. Sun of Glory, Time of Gold, Do thou here my dear One hold Till I lift the closing steel, Till I kiss her waiting feet, Till rejoicing much I feel Joy is caught, my Love is won From the trees and from the sun. Takes she now the flower rare From her breast all gleaming bare, Drops she then the flower where Weight of armour, weight of steel Press in mould an iron heel Passes then my love along Paths of joy and spots of song. Passes she with smiles between Hanging boughs and places green ( Fairer places ne'er have been ), Gleams her dress a moment bright - Shines the flower in her hair Sadness holds my body there, Sadness mounting to despair. Comes a time when straining sight Sees no more her beaming face Making sacred all the place. Look I then through visor bar At a red spot lying near Weight of iron, strength of steel Pressing down a cruel heel. Look I then upon a star Gleaming hot up to my face Pass I then beneath the trees, Smiting with unknowing knees Green and flowers of the place. Flower red and robe of green ! Fairest blossom ever seen ! Pass I o'er a dead delight ' Neath the trees into the Night. OF THIS BOOK FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES HAVE BEEN MADE OF WHICH FIVE HUNDRED ARE FOR SALE. Jt * * PRINTED FOR PAUL ELDER AND MORGAN SHEPARD, SAN FRANCISCO J ^ J BY THE STANLEY-TAYLOR CO. J* .* ^ NOVEMBER, MCMH THIS BOOK IS NUMBER := 2-L This book is DUE on the last date stamped below RtC'O LO-JJRU t FEB27H969 PEB2 lOm-ll, '50 (2555)470 1969 P3 ^hepard - 3537 The standard S533s upheld PS 3537 S538s A 001 248046 3