THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE INEVITABLE AND OTHER POEMS BY SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON Author of "Social Studies in England" "Stories from Life' "From Heart and Nature" (poems) "Famous Types of Womanhood " " Famous Voyages and Explorers " " Famous Leaders among Men" etc. etc. NEW YORK: 46 EAST I4TH STREET THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY BOSTON: 100 PURCHASE STREET Copyright, 1895 BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY pa To THE MEMORY OF Two NOBLE WOMEN JHartfja SHebster AND JHattlla Sopfjta 530lt0n 904173 CONTENTS. PAGE THE INEVITABLE .... 1 TENNYSON 3 THE MOONLIGHT .... 5 WHAT is BEYOND ? . . . 6 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL . . 8 A CONTRAST 10 A QUEEN'S UNDYING LOVE . . 12 THE BATTLE OF CUZZOLA . . 17 THE LADY KUKACHIN ... 21 GIORGIONE 24 HENRY HUDSON .... 27 LEAVING ST. PETERSBURG . . 31 EASTER HYMN 33 HER CREED . 35 vi Contents. PAGE THE UNFINISHED STOCKING . . 37 THE TIDE is IN . . .39 NEVER THE SAME .... 41 CHANGE 43 THE FUTURE 45 BLESSINGS NEAR AT HAND . . 47 FAITH 49 FROM LIFE 51 BROKEN MEASURES .... 54 THE NEW ERA .... 57 CHESTNUTS GO WHEN CHESTNUTS FALL ... 61 I WONDER 63 A SUNSET WALK .... 65 BECAUSE I LOVE You G7 A SONG 69 MARBLEHEAD NECK ... 71 A SONG 73 MY ROBIN . 75 Contents. vii PAGE THE COLORING OF THE GRAPES . 77 ON COLLAMER HILLS ... 79 THE BLOOMING TIME ... 81 OUR HORSE-CHESTNUT TREES . 83 THE TIME TO LOVE ... 85 NOT FOR OURSELVES ... 87 His MONUMENT .... 89 MENCIUS 91 Now 93 BE WHAT THOU SEEMEST . . 95 AT TWILIGHT 97 Do YOUR WORK EARLY 99 POEMS. THE INEVITABLE. I LIKE the man who faces what he must, With step triumphant and a heart of cheer ; Who fights the daily battle without fear ; Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust That God is God ; that somehow, true and just His plans work out for mortals ; not a tear Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear, i The Inevitable. Falls from his grasp : better, with love, a crust Than living in dishonor ; envies not, Nor loses faith in man ; but does his best, Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot, But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest To every toiler : he alone is great, Who by a life heroic conquers fate. TENNYSON. AT dead of night, By full moonlight, A stately ship sailed out to sea, From surge and tempest free. She carried out, From pain and doubt, A soul as grand as earth has known, To meet its own. He lingered long To bless with song Nations that, yet unborn, shall praise The beauty of his lays. 3 Tennyson. He lived and loved, And, dying, proved How greater than his finished line Is man : well-nigh divine. He walks no more By wood or shore, Along the dunes of Farringf ord : He tarries with his Lord. THE MOONLIGHT. WHAT is the moonlight to me ? An infinite rest ; The subtle and sweet melody Of song unexpressed. What is the moonlight to me ? The peace of a river : Companionship of a sea That surges forever. What is the moonlight to me ? Satisfaction completest ; A precious and dear memory Of all that is sweetest. What is the moonlight to me ? A tryst and a union ; A promise for futurity ; A soulful communion. 5 WHAT IS BEYOND? THE blue sky and the blue lake Meet together In sunny weather, But what, oh ! what is beyond ? I know this side the horizon line, With its purple hillsides, broad and fine; But the country beyond has it lakes like ours, And trees of grandeur, and fruits and flowers ? What, oh ! what is beyond ? The gray sky and the gray lake Meet together In sombre weather, But what, oh ! what is beyond ? 6 What is Beyond? I know these homes, with their loves and woes, Their buried hopes from which patience grows ; Are these broken affections united there ? Will fruition come to their hope and prayer ? What, oh ! what is beyond ? The black sky and the black lake Meet together In stormy weather, But what, oh ! what is beyond ? I know the currents that thrill the earth, And flash the sky at the thunder's birth ; But what of the circuit far souls between, And the central power in the Great Unseen ? What, oh ! what is beyond ? JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. THE great trees murmur at the midnight hour, The birds in silence wait ; A soul is passing to the Fount of Power Elmwood is desolate. Lover of nature, lover of his race, Learned and true and strong ; Using for others with surpassing grace The matchless gift of song. When clouds hung darkest in our day of pain He prophesied the light ; He looked adown the ages for the reign Of Brotherhood and Eight. 8 James Russell Lowell. Proud of his country, helping to unbind The fetters of the slave ; Two worlds their wreaths of honor have entwined About an open grave. Great in his simple love of flower and bird, Great in the statesman's art ; He has been greatest in his lifting word To every human heart. He lived the lesson which Sir Launfal guessed Through wandering far and wide ; The giver must be given in the quest He gave himself and died. A CONTRAST. Two men toiled side by side from sun to sun, And both were poor ; Both sat with children, when the day was done, About their door. One saw the beautiful in crimson cloud And shining moon ; The other, with his head in sadness bowed, Made night of noon. One loved each tree and flower and singing bird On mount or plain ; No music in the soul of one was stirred By leaf or rain. 10 A Contrast. 1 1 One saw the good in every fellow-man, And hoped the best ; The other marvelled at his Master's plan, And doubt confessed. One, having heaven above and heaven below, Was satisfied ; The other, discontented, lived ifi woe, And hopeless died. A QUEEN'S UNDYING LOVE. JOANNA, daughter of the noble queen Whom all Castilians worshipped, whose white hand Sent out Columbus on his glorious quest, Had married Philip, of the Austrian court, Gay, brilliant, handsome, with no heart of love For her who reigned beside him. Like a child, Who, in its helpless fondness, clings and loves Even the hand that strikes it, so the queen Knelt to her idol ; sought by voice and eye To know his every wish; thought night and day Upon her hopeless love and loved the more. 12 A Queen's Undying Lome. 13 When Philip journeyed into other lands, And welcomed beauty from a thousand eyes, Joanna's face grew pale with agony, And never brightened till she followed him, And stood beside her faithless, recreant king. Broken in heart, for her long-suffering child, Queen Isabella died, and Ferdinand Wept, with the world, for her who well deserved The homage of her race. Then Philip, glad, In youthful pride, sat on Castilian throne, Sad-faced Joanna silent at his feet. In three short years the tragedy was closed ; Philip, at twenty-eight, lay white in death. 14 A Queen's Undying Love. Joanna thought not of her crown or child ; Like a fond mother whose intensest love Centres in one who passes from her sight Unmindful of her prayers and bitter tears, So the young queen cared only for the lost. Like one benumbed she gazed upon his face; Shed not a tear while coffin-lid was closed, And he, the only precious thing on earth, Was borne away forever. Ah ! not so ; For she had read how once a famous king Had come to life through love's all-potent charm ; And Philip should come back, and death give way Before her homage. To her queenly bed She brought the buried king, so pale and cold. A Queen's Undying Lome. 15 Should not love warm him, make his heart's blood flow ? Should not her eyes, by some unconscious power, Unclose the eyelids she had often kissed ? With jealous care she bent above her dead, Allowing none to touch the hallowed form. Days passed, and weeks, but Philip an swered not. A little child was born beside the dead ; His baby Catharine, but he did not see. Joanna waited, with a pallid face, Till, finally, as a lamb in wind and sleet, Lost from the flock, lies down to wait the end, So, covering her dead from mortal view, She sadly waited till her life should close. Years came and went, till half a century Had made the girlish queen gray-haired and old; 1 6 A Queen's Undying Love. The precious coffin never left her side ; The dead was Philip still, her best beloved. With her great son, the Emperor Charles the Fifth, She ruled the Spaniards, loyal to their queen. They pitied, while they loved and rever enced, The wife and yet the sovereign ; proud at heart That Spain could show a woman's death less love. THE BATTLE OF CUZZOLA. WITH pennons flying, and with trumpets' blare, And noise of pipes, Venetian galleys swept Into the Adriatic, Dandolo, In stately flagship leading ; Genoa, Proud, hating Venice, eager for the fight, Was ready when the Sunday sun should dawn, To meet the foe; on came the brilliant fleet, The morning sun bathing them all in gold, Hurling their crossbows at the Genoese ; And back came showers of arrows, iron, fire-tipped, 1 8 The Battle of Cupola. To blaze among the rigging, and quick-lime To blind their eyes as though a dagger's point Had pierced them ; but so furious the at tack That ten brave galleys of the Genoese, All red with gore, were captured. Doria, The friend of Genoa, famed in peace and war, Stood watching the dread conflict, sick at heart, That Italy's best blood was spilled in vain. At the forecastle stood his eldest son, Octavian, worthy of his noble line, Fearless and foremost in the rain of spears ; When lo ! an arrow entered the young heart, And, horror-stricken, every face grew pale. What need to battle longer with the foe ? The Battle of Cupola. 19 But Lamba Doria sprang across the ship, And raised the dead young soldier to his breast, Still warm beneath his armor : " Ah ! my son, If thou hadst died at home thou couldst not have A burial place more splendid than the sea ;" And pressing close the one he idolized, He cast the body to the seething waves, And saw it sink forever. Then he bade His weeping comrades seize their spears again, And fight the braver for Octavian's death. Woe turned to fierceness, and with wildest zeal, And recking not whether they lived or died, They slew Venetians till the sun went down. 20 The Battle of Cupola. Seven thousand men were captured and in chains ; Venice was humbled ; one, in proud despair, Her leader, Dandolo, refused to live, And ended his existence ; Genoa gave A noble burial to her valiant foe. The battle of Cuzzola conquered peace Between the two Eepublics ; many gifts Of palaces and honors for his line Were given Lamba Doria, but his gift, With love of country burning in his heart, Exceeded all his state could offer him : The life of his beloved Octavian. THE LADY KUKACHIN. (Tear 1291.) SAD and lonely was Arghun Khan For the loss of Khatun Bulughan, His best beloved, who, dying, left A tender message for him bereft, That one of her blood should fill her place, Pure and fair from the Mongul race. So he sent his courtiers among her kin, And they chose the Lady Kukachin, Gentle, yet able, though scarce seventeen, Fit to rule as the Persian Queen. 21 The Lady Kukachin. Thirteen ships and eight hundred men Sailed from a port in Fokien, Bearing the bride that was to be ; For two long years, in the Indian sea, Stopped sometimes by the deadly breath Of the hot monsoon, they sailed, till death Had spared but eight of the valiant throng Who started gayly, with hope and song. Arghun Khan had passed away Before his bride had left Cathay : His brother reigned, and his son Ghazan Guarded the passes of Khorassan, With sixty thousand of Persia's pride ; Thither they brought the fair young bride. The Lady Kuhachin. 23. He was learned and noble, and fit to win The hand of the Lady Kukachin ; So with music and dancing she wed Ghazan, Instead of the gray-haired Arghun Khan. For two brief years did the sweet girl-wife Brighten the courtly Persian life ; But when June roses began to fade, A royal and costly tomb was made, And with breaking hearts they laid therein The beautiful Lady Kukachin. GIORGIONE. LONG years ago, when Venice ruled the sea, Two youths together lived, and worshipped art, Titian and Giorgione ; both had learned The mastery of color, and one sang Upon the lute the songs his poet-soul Wrought out in measure, sad, intense, and strong, Like his own shadowed life. Both painters loved, And grew diviner by the power which love Alone can give ; sweet Violante's face Lives in the Sleeping Venus through all time, 24 Giorgione. 25 And Giorgione made Cecilia queen, And gave her homage, fervent, true, and deep. Without her, life was naught, and with her, all. Work was but pleasure if she gave it praise ; And night was day if brightened by her smile. Morta da Feltri, from his Eoman home, Came to the young Venetian; was his friend, And shared the comforts of his generous board. Weeks passed, as day by day, in friend ship's guise, Morta sought entrance to Cecilia's heart. He too had found the idol of his dreams ; 26 Giorgione. He too had seen the counterpart of soul That makes or mars forever ; so he took From Giorgione's roof the one bright thing That was his life. The painter's lips grew still ; His hands refused to work, the power was gone; Despair made havoc with the youthful brain ; Death came, and Titian stood alone in art. Venice was bowed with grief, and Morta fled, To die alone on Zara's battle-field. What of Cecilia, she who wrecked two lives ? Three centuries are silent of her fate. HENRY HUDSON. (Summer of 1611.) AT daybreak, on the frozen Hudson's Bay, Shut in from mortal view, The ship "Discovery" at anchor lay, With her disheartened crew. All winter long, starvation at the feast Had been a constant guest ; The northwest passage to the favored East Seemed like an idle quest. 27 28 Henry Hudson. They murmured at their leader, brought to feed The fishes of the deep ; And murmuring grew to hatred: they decreed He in their stead should sleep In the cold waters which his name should bear His monument and grave ; They seized and bound him in their mad despair, And none was near to save. Into the shallop Henry Hudson stepped, His darling son beside ; And six poor wasted seamen near him crept, To stem that frozen tide. Henry Hudson. 29 The dawn was breaking on that ice-clad world, When drifted out to sea, The sport of icebergs, by the currents whirled, That starving company. What was the end ? Who lingered last of all In that lone voyage of death ? Who in delirium would faintly call, With his expiring breath, For wife and mother on the English shore ? Who strain his glazing eyes In hope of succor that could come no more ? Then prays and faints and dies. 30 Henry Hudson. Their noble leader gone, the murderous crew Set sail for native land; For months they wandered, growing gaunt and few From want and savage hand. At last, too weak to steer, their vessel ran Into an Irish bay; Each one, unwelcome to his fellow-man, Dishonored, passed away. And when the ship " Discovery " was sent To learn of Hudson's fate, Only the icebergs heard the sad lament Of friends who came too late. LEAVING ST. PETERSBURG. UNFURL the sails, put out to sea, Farewell to fleet and gilded dome ; Fair Petersburg, as queenly she, And proud, as ancient Rome. Built on the wave by Peter's hands, With lives he counted naught ; His monument to-day she stands, His best and grandest thought. Weighted by rule of Church and State, Yet in her infancy ; A century shall make her great, Her press and people free. 32 Leaving St. Petersburg. Railways shall open to the light Her jewels rich and old, Her marble and her malachite, Her silver and her gold. Open your doors to every name, 0, mighty Russian throne ! That land is greatest which can claim The world's best blood its own. EASTER HYMN. Tune " Jerusalem, the Golden." GLORIOUS Easter morning ! day of peace and light ! One precious name adorning With, lilies pure and white. A gladsome message bringing Of love that knows no fear ; The sweetest anthem singing, " The risen Christ is here." He comes with gifts of healing For wounded hearts that moan ; A sunlit path revealing, A world with pain unknown. He comes with life eternal, With hope, and joy, and peace ; 33 34 Easter Hymn. O happiness supernal, When want and woe shall cease ! He gave His life for others, Alike for you and me ; He counts us as His brothers, All one, nor bond nor free. The bands of sin are broken; The poor and the oppressed Hear the sweet gospel spoken, " Come unto me and rest." glorious Easter morning ! day of peace and light ! One precious name adorning With lilies pure and white. A gladsome message bringing Of love that knows no fear ; The sweetest anthem singing, " The risen Christ is here." HER CREED. SHE stood before a chosen few, With modest air and eyes of blue ; A gentle creature, in whose face Were mingled tenderness and grace. " You wish to join our fold," they said " Do you believe in all that's read From ritual and written creed, Essential to our human need ? " A troubled look was in her eyes ; She answered, as in vague surprise, As though the sense to her were dim : " I only strive to follow Him." 35 36 Her Creed. They knew her life ; how oft she stood, Pure in her guileless maidenhood, By dying bed, in hovel lone, Whose sorrow she had made her own. Oft had her voice in prayer been heard, Sweet as the note of any bird ; Her hand been open in distress ; Her joy to brighten and to bless. Yet still she answered, when they sought To know her inmost earnest thought, With look as of the seraphim, " I only strive to follow Him." THE UNFINISHED STOCKING. LAY it aside her work no more she sits By open window in the western sun, Thinking of this and that beloved one In silence as she knits. Lay it aside ; the needles in their place ; No more she welcomes at the cottage door The coming of her children home once more, With sweet and tearful face. Lay it aside ; her work is done, and well ; A generous, sympathetic, Christian life ; A faithful mother and a noble wife ; Her influence who can tell ? 37 38 The Unfinished Stocking. Lay it aside ; say not her work is done No deed of love or goodness ever dies, But in the lives of others multiplies : Say it is just begun ! THE TIDE IS IN. THE boats lay stranded on the beach, Tangled with seaweed, dank and green j A desolate and dreary scene, Far as the eye could reach ; The tide was out. How changed the view when day was done ; The boats rode gayly on the deep, Their white sails nodding as in sleep, Kissed by the setting sun ; The tide was in. Thus many a life, in want or woe, Lies stranded on a barren shore ; But God is God f orevermore ; Take courage, for we know The tide comes in. 39 40 The Tide Is In. And lifted from the rocks and shoals, We sail upon a sunlit sea ; Night opens on eternity, Sweet rest for weary souls, The tide is in. NEVER THE SAME. NEVER again the same rich purple sunset, Or golden afterglow; Never again the same sweet day of summer Thy life shall know. Never again the same rainbowed illusions That come alone to youth ; Never perchance such beautiful ideals Of love and truth. Never again the same transcendent moment To lift by kindly word, Or generous act, or smile, the heart of mortal By sorrow stirred. 42 Never the Same. Never the same inspiring high endeavor With which the soul is rife ; Never again the same grand wondrous journey Which we call Life. Never the same ecstatic joy of loving The human or divine : Then seize the present with each fruitful moment Naught else is thine. CHANGE I WATCHED the crocus, purple, white, and yellow, Outbursting in the spring ; The snowy air grew soft, and sweet, and mellow, And birds began to sing. But soon the crocus faded, and I sorrowed ; When lo ! the tulips came, Of brilliant red, and from the sun they borrowed Their glowing hearts of flame. And they, too, passed, but daisies white, and clover, Clustered on hill and moor ; 43 44 Change. And clematis and roses clambered over The homes of rich and poor. "Alas!" I said, "this earth we love and cherish Will fade away in space." Take courage, heart! we change, but do not perish, For heaven will take its place. THE FUTURE. I CANNOT know when grass will grow Above my grave ; What friend will stand, with empty hand, And tears to lave The daisies fair that flourish there I love them best ; I cannot tell if hill or dell Will give me rest. I do not pine for marble shrine Or graven stone, Or fragrant bowers of costly flowers By dear ones sown ; But plant a tree to shelter me, Of nature's green ; The mountain-ash, whose berries flash With ruby sheen. 45 46 The Future. And come, sometimes, when sunset chimes Their chorus ring ; And with the birds your loving words In concert sing. And I shall hear the notes of cheer From worlds above ; For heaven is nigh to those who die With hearts of love. BLESSINGS NEAR AT HAND. WE look too far for blessings ; We seek too far for joys ; We ought to be like children Who find their chiefest toys Ofttimes in nearest attic, Or in some dingy lane ; Their aprons full of weeds or flowers, Gathered in sun or rain. Within the plainest cottage Unselfish love may grow ; The sweetest, the divinest gift Which mortals ever know. 47 48 Blessings Near at Hand. We ought to count our joys, not woes ; Meet care with winsome grace ; For discontent plows furrows Upon the loveliest face. Hope, freedom, sunlight, knowledge, Come not to wealth alone : He who looks far for blessings Will overlook his own. FAITH. IF I could feel my hand, dear Lord, in Thine, And surely know That I was walking in the light divine Through weal or woe ; If I could hear Thy voice in accents sweet But plainly say, To guide my groping, wandering feet, " This is the way," I would so gladly walk therein, but now I cannot see. Oh, give me, Lord, the faith to humbly bow And trust in Thee ! 49 50 Faith. There is no faith in seeing. Were we led Like children here, And lifted over rock and river-bed, No care, no fear, We should be useless in the busy throng, Life's work undone ; Lord, make us brave and earnest, true and strong, Till heaven is won. FROM LIFE. THE rich man sat in his costly store, After the work of the day was done, Thinking and planning with eager heart How could more gold be won. Twilight softened the city's din, Lessened the crowds along the street, Shaded the face of a pale young girl, Who passed with hurrying feet. A timid knock at the merchant's door : " Come in ! " with a cold, ill-natured grace. " I read that you needed help," she said, " And could I fill the place ? " 52 From Life. " You seem too young, and your hands too white ; You have worked before to-day, you said. Has your life been right and free from stain ? No sin upon your head ? " " I am well and strong for my every task, You shall find me honest, and just, and true; The past is buried with me, and God ; And can I serve for you ? " " A woman must be above reproach, No matter what she has power to be ! " And he turned the door on the trembling girl Into that human sea. From Life. 53 The years went by, and the merchant's child, Grown to womanhood fair and sweet, Trusted and nursed with her virgin soul A viper at her feet. The rich man, broken in heart and home, Thought of the girl he had turned away : " I would she might come again," he said, " For my heart is kind to-day ! " BROKEN MEASURES. BOY and girl they played together, Pure and shy of speech : She as fair as purple heather Bending in the summer weather Far as sight can reach. Like an angel to his vision Seemed the maiden's face ; Then he walked in fields elysian, Thinking in a sweet revision Of each word and grace. Worship is not always spoken ; Love is often dumb ; And the days gave her no token That his young heart would be broken Should another come. 54 Broken Measures. 55 Vows were said for woe or weal On a glad spring morn : Joy that was complete and real Sorrow for a lost ideal In two hearts were born. Like the crescent moon she lighted Up one lonely way ; Like the sun her rays delighted One the other's path was blighted Like a sunless day. Life is full of broken measures, Objects unattained ; Sorrows intertwined with pleasures, Losses of our costliest treasures, Ere the heights be gained. Every soul has aspiration Still unsatisfied ; 56 Broken Measures. Memories that wake vibration Of the heart in quick pulsation, At the gifts denied. We are better for the longing, Stronger for the pain ; Souls at ease are nature wronging ; Through the harrowed soil come thronging Seeds, in sun and rain ! Broken measures find completeness In the perfect whole ; Life is but a day in fleetness Richer in all strength and sweetness Grows the striving soul. THE NEW ERA. IT is coming ! it is coining ! The day is just a-dawning When man shall be to fellow-man a helper and a brother ; When the mansion, with its gilded hall, its tower and arch and awning, Shall be to hovel desolate a kind and foster-mother. When the men who work for wages shall not toil from morn till even, With no vision of the sunlight, nor flow ers nor birds a-singing ; When the men who hire the workers, blest with all the gifts of heaven, Shall the golden rule remember, its glad millennium bringing. 57 58 The New Era. The time is coming when the man who cares not for another Shall be accounted as a stain upon a fair creation ; Who lives to fill his coffers full, his better self to smother, As blight and mildew on the fame and glory of a nation. The hours are growing shorter for the millions who are toiling, And the homes are growing better for the millions yet to be ; And the poor shall learn the lesson, how that waste and sin are spoiling The fairest and the finest of a grand humanity. The New Era. 59 It is coming ! it is coining ! and men's thoughts are growing deeper ; They are giving of their millions as they never gave before ; They are learning the new gospel, man must be his brother's keeper, And right, not might, shall triumph, and the selfish rule no more. CHESTNUTS. THREE together in soft, brown nest ; The prettiest nest that ever was seen : Shut in a ball of thorny green, Close and warm are the wee things pressed, Till by and by in the autumn sun Four petals open, and one by one They fall on a cushion of leaves below : Ah ! who shall tell of their destiny ? One takes root for a stately tree ; One squirrels garner before the snow ; And one is the gift of a bright, young boy To a blue-eyed maiden, fair and coy : Each has its place who shall say which is best For three together in soft, brown nest ? 60 WHEN CHESTNUTS FALL. WE gathered chestnuts, you and I, Under a blue and cloudless sky ; The brown leaves rustled to our tread, The brown burrs opened overhead, When chestnuts fall. We lingered long in happy quest ; The sun swept down the glowing west, Leaving the soft, pink afterglow On tower, and tree, and vale below, When chestnuts fall. What matter if hands touched that day, Under the leaves where chestnuts lay ? What matter if love's story old By heart and eye anew was told, When chestnuts fall ! 61 62 Wlien Chestnuts Fall. We wondered what the years would bring, When chestnut burrs were opening In other autumns you and I, Under some blue and cloudless sky, When chestnuts fall. I WONDER. HE kissed a child along the street " How rich and full is life to me ! How fair is every flower and tree ! The song of birds is doubly sweet. "The sky is bluer overhead; My heart grows tender to all men;" A smile lit up his face, and then, " I wonder is this love ? " he said. She kissed a purple cluster, sweet, Culled from a rich wistaria vine : "This is his precious flower, and mine ; " And passed along the busy street. 63 64 / Wonder. "How warm the sunlight overhead! I hear soft music in the air, As though the angels called to prayer ; I wonder is this love ? " she said. A SUNSET WALK. Do you remember That sweet September When sky was golden and sea was blue, We two together In love's own weather Walked at sunset the woodland through ? The great trees, rifted With sunlight, lifted Their sturdy boughs to the upper air ; Each vista seeming Like happy dreaming Of vales in Paradise most fair. 65 66 A Sunset Walk. The birds were calling, And nuts were falling From squirrels who sprang from limb to limb, While over the bridges And moss-green ridges We walked together till twilight dim. No word was spoken That could betoken The inner thought of us two that day. To meet and sever ! Ah ! shall we ever Walk again in the dear old way ? BECAUSE I LOVE YOU. " I CANNOT bring you wealth," she said ; " I cannot bring you fame or place Among the noted of the race ; But I can love you, " When trials come to test you, sweet, I can be sunlight to your feet ; My kiss your precious lips shall greet, Because I love you. "When daylight dies along the west, You will come home to me for rest, And I shall sleep upon your breast, Because I love you. 67 68 Because I Love You. " If sickness comes, beside your bed I will bend low with quiet tread, And pray God's blessing on your head, Because I love you. " As dew clings to the violet, Making the fragrant chalice wet, So my life into yours is set, Because I love you. " Only myself, my all, I bring ; But count it, sweet, a precious thing To give my life an offering, Because I love you. " I bow before no other shrine ; If I go first across death's line, I will return to claim you mine, Because I love you." A SONG. IF I could have the sunsets, dear, And have you too ; The mellow light of coming night, And have you too ; If I could have the moonlight, dear, And have you too ; Its loving face and tender grace, And have you too ; If I could have the song of birds, And have you too ; The quiet nook and murmuring brook. And have you too ; 69 70 A Song. Your sympathy and cheering words, Like fragrant flowers ; The daisies sweet, beneath our feet, In summer hours ; Then life would be complete for me, A cloudless day ; Not wealth nor fame, but one dear name To bear for aye. MARBLEHEAD NECK. THE waves beat idly, with a ceaseless roar, And to and fro the seaweed bends to me, Kissing the great red rocks along the shore, But thou, beloved, art not here to see. The sun goes down in glory in the west, Bathing in crimson every flower and tree, The white sails redden on the ocean's breast, But thou, beloved, art not here to see. 7* Marble head Neck. The twilight gathers and the moon rides high; I watch its silver track and think of thee ; God keep thy path as bright from earth to sky, When I, beloved, am not here to see. A SONG. ALL the sky is blue above me, And the leaves with graceful motion Bend themselves to soothe and love me; For my heart is on the ocean. And the moon shines out so clearly, Tenderly my woe discerning For the one I love most dearly, And to whom my heart is turning. Tell him, stars, my thoughts are o'er him ! Kiss him, winds, in sweet devotion ! Murmur, waves, that I adore him, That my heart is on the ocean ! 73 74 A Song. Tell him time nor sea can sever Hearts that into one are blended! Tell him love is love forever, After life itself is ended ! MY ROBIN. WHEN I was a child, beside our door, In a green and spreading sycamore There sung each morning, with note as clear As a crystal brook, and full of cheer, A robin. I watched his plumage -in childish glee, And fancied he sung his song for me; And the melody lingers in heart and brain, Making me often a child again, My robin. 75 76 My Robin. I look for his coining in early spring, When the crocus opens, and maples bring Their crimson tassels to kiss the breeze, And the sunshine dallies with new-leaved trees, My robin. I hear him sing as the sun goes down, And the stars come out o'er the silent town ; But there's never a harsh or mournful note, That wells afresh from the warbler's throat, My robin. And I learn a lesson of hope and cheer That carries me on from year to year ; To sing in the shadow as in the sun, Doing my part till the work is done, My robin. THE COLORING OF THE GRAPES. DAY by day we watched them taking on the purple, Toying with the sunshine in a golden mist, Sending out their fragrance with a royal bounty, Happy in their beauty simply to exist. Through the long, dry summer, broad, green leaves had shaded Tiny growing clusters from the parching heat ; Gathering from earth and sky, food and air and moisture, Bathing them in evening dew, thus to make them sweet. 77 78 TJie Coloring of the Grapes. Ked and white and purple globes of won drous texture, Grown and sealed and colored by no mortal hand ; Types of peace and plenty nature's per fect working Blessings on the vineyards of our favored land! ON COLLAMER HILLS. TREE-COVERED hills, crossed by a deep ravine ; Yonder a lake of blue, Shaded to crimson hue When rays of sunset bridge the vale be tween. i Then stars come out, led by the crescent moon ; Afar the city sleeps ; All night the cricket keeps Its constant monotone, a plaintive croon. Then morning breaks on the horizon line ; The hill-tops are aglow ; The vineyards purple grow ; The dew-drops like a million diamonds shine. 79 8o On Collamer Hills. Then all day long the clouds their pictures trace On broad and varied sky ; The weeks slip noiseless by ; Ah ! life is sweet with nature face to face. THE BLOOMING TIME. WHERE do you hold your fragrance, lilac buds, Set in your leaves of green ? The air is burdened with your rich per fume, Entrancing, yet unseen. One dreams of music where no word is sung, To break the mystic spell; The shoreless future murmurs in one's ear; The ocean in the shell. 81 82 The Blooming Time. Nature is vocal with her bursting bloom ; Even the stately trees; The chestnuts and the oaks in gladness swing Their tassels to the breeze. The elms are covered with their fleecy tufts. The new spruce decks the old ; The maples drop their ruby wings upon The dandelion's gold. The buttercups lift up their shining heads, The earth is full of bliss ; The roses too are budding: God be praised For such a world as this ! OUR HORSE-CHESTNUT TREES. WE have planted on our hillside Three graceful chestnut trees, Which will swing their pink-white clus ters To every passing breeze Long after he who gave them, And we who love their shade, Shall be on yonder hillside Among the silent laid. Perhaps beneath their branches Some child will sing at play ; Perhaps some lover's tale be told Some golden autumn day, 83 84 Our Horse-Chestnut Trees. When the grapes are growing purple, And the far-off lake is blue, And two are enough in all the world, Forever old, yet new. And here some man or woman, White-haired and bent with age, When the moon comes over the hilltop, And floods the closing page Of the book of life, near finished, May rest in well-earned ease, And thank his God and the giver For the noble chestnut trees. THE TIME TO LOVE. I WATCHED a youth and maiden by the sea: The white foani dashed upon the rocks. in spray, As sportive as fair children at their P la y; It kissed her cheek and brow, from care as free As birds in summer ; smiling tenderly, He took her hand in his in manly way. The picture lingered with me many a day: " Youth is the time to love," it said to me. 85 "86 The Time to Love. I watched them later, when the youth had grown To man's estate, and little ones were led By gentle hands; her face with gladness shone : " Ah ! manhood is the time to love," I said. Sweet love! without thee age itself were lone; Life and eternity by love are wed. NOT FOR OURSELVES. DOWN to the Nile, with instinct sure and true, The Egyptian beetle winds its measured way; There lays its eggs, and in the moistened clay Enrolls its treasure ; then, as if it knew The widening waters to a deluge grew, Braces its feet, and backward, through the gray And slipping sand, to safety bears away Its still-increasing burden; and, when through With constant labor, dies, content to see Another life, with all its cares, begun, 87 88 Not for Ourselves. Its joys and hopes, its purposes and fears. Not for itself, but for its progeny, It has unceasing toiled from sun to sun, And taught its lesson through a thou sand years. HIS MONUMENT. HE built a house, time laid it in. the dust ; He wrote a book, its title now forgot ; He ruled a city, but his name is not On any tablet graven, or where rust Can gather from disuse, or marble bust. He took a child from out a wretched cot, Who on the State dishonor might have brought, And reared him in the Christian's hope and trust. The boy, to manhood grown, became a light To many souls, and preached for human need The wondrous love of the Omnipotent. 89 9 His Monument. The work has multiplied like stars at night When darkness deepens; every noble deed Lasts longer than a granite monument. MENCIUS. THREE centuries before the Christian age, China's great teacher, Mencius, was born : Her teeming millions did not know that morn Had broken on her darkness ; that a sage, Reared by a noble mother, would her page Of history forevermore adorn. For twenty years, from court to court, forlorn He journeyed, poverty his heritage, And preached of virtue, but none cared to hear. 92 Mencius. Life seemed a failure, like a barren rill; He wrote his books, and lay beneath the sod : When lo! his work began; and far and near Adown the ages Mencius preaches still: Do thy whole duty, trusting all to God. NOW. FORGET the past and live the present hour; Now is the time to work, the time to fill The soul with noblest thoughts, the time to will Heroic deeds, to use whatever dower Heaven has bestowed, to test our utmost power. Now is the time to love, and, better still, To serve our loved ones ; over passing ill To rise triumphant; thus the perfect flower 93 94 Now. Of life shall come to fruitage ; wealth amass For grandest giving ere the time be gone. Be glad to-day, to-morrow may bring tears ; Be brave to-day, the darkest night will pass, And golden rays will usher in the dawn; Who conquers now shall rule the coming years. "BE WHAT THOU SEEMEST." To Tuscany, upon a rocky steep, To build a home among the beasts of prey, St. Francis of Assisi came one day; And when his weary comrades fell asleep, Leaving the saint in agony to weep Over a sinful world, so prone to stray, He preached to birds the true and living way, Whose tiny hearts with joy began to leap. 95 96 "Be What Thou Seemest." A peasant came, and meekly reverent stood : "Art thou St. Francis of Assisi?" "Yes." "Ah, then, take heed, and be in truth as good As all men count thee, lest their faith grow less; Be what thou seemest, without vain deceit." St. Francis knelt and kissed the peas ant's feet. AT TWILIGHT. I STOOD at twilight by the shimmering lake, And watched the shadowy, autumn- tinted leaves, Inverted, swaying in the evening breeze, And the red tower above the boat-house make A picture that no future years can take From out my memory; shadows such as these The beautiful unreal make oases In every earnest life : we dream and wake 97 98 At Twilight. To nobler duties from such times of rest : Earth seems a paradise reflecting heaven ; Love floods the soul with colors richer far Than even nature in the glowing west; The hopes of youth come back; new strength is given, As through the twilight breaks the evening star. DO YOUR WORK EARLY. BESIDE my window, in the early spring, A robin built her nest and reared her young; And every day the same sweet song she sung Until her little ones had taken wing To try their own bird-living; everything Was done before the summer roses hung About our home, or purple clusters swung Upon our vines at autumn's opening. Do your work early in the day or year, Be it a song to sing, or word to cheer, 99 zoo Do Your Work Early. Or house to build, or gift to bless the race; Life may not reach its noon, or setting sun; No one can do the work you leave undone, For no one ever fills another's place. This book U DUE on the last date stamped below. REMINGTON RAND INC. 2O 213 (533) THE LI15KAKY 17NIVFRSITY OF UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 001 372 308 5 PS 110? B66i