(LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY or 
 CALIFORNIA 
 . SAN OIEGO 
 
 >
 
 POEMS OF 
 HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE
 
 POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 HARRY RANDOLPH BLTTHE
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY LUCILE EDSON BLYTHE
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE 
 
 WITH LOVE AND DEVOTION 
 BY 
 
 HIS WIFE 
 LUCILE BODWELL BLYTHE 
 
 To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.
 
 " /// should meet a man whose face was more 
 arresting than Napoleon s, sterner than Bis 
 marck s, serener than Raskin s, milder than 
 Emerson s, more spiritual than Drummond s, 
 and sadder than Lincoln s; a man whose face 
 showed that he possessed at once the chained 
 rage of Vesuvius, the indefinable reserve of 
 mountains, the vast peace of oceans, and the 
 fathomless resource of all nature; a man whose 
 lineaments of expression made one know that 
 he understood the titanic struggle of the poor, 
 the fierce remorse of the sinner, the despair of 
 the lonely, the intense longings of the helpless, 
 the great joy of the virtuous, and the liberating 
 enthusiasm of the repented; if I should meet 
 such a man on the streets of a great city in this 
 generation, I would pause before him in rever 
 ent silence, believing that I stood in the presence 
 of Him whom prophecy tells us is to come again 
 the beloved Son of Man." 
 
 H. R. BLYTHE.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH . . rrii 
 
 MODERN LIFE 
 
 A RAILROAD YARD AT NIGHT 3 
 
 AFTER THEATER ... 4 
 
 IN AN AEROPLANE 
 
 THE OMINOUS TIMES 6 
 
 TO WAR 7 
 
 WE HAVE DREAMED TOO MUCH OF GOLD .... 8 
 
 ACROSS THE CITY 10 
 
 FLOWER DAY H 
 
 A WRECKED LOCOMOTIVE 12 
 
 LANDING AT DAWN 13 
 
 MAN MUST DO MORE FOR MAN 14 
 
 THE CITY 18 
 
 TO LABOR I 7 
 
 SOUNDS OF THE CITY 18 
 
 THE ANSWER OF BOSTON 19 
 
 SONG OF THE SUPERMAN 21 
 
 MIRACLES 22 
 
 ON THE NIGHT EXPRESS 23 
 
 ix
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 AN OCEAN GREYHOUND 24 
 
 TOY DAY 25 
 
 A TVESTEBN WASTE 26 
 
 LOVE S WORD 27 
 
 THEODORE ROOSEVELT 28 
 
 THE FINAL WAR 29 
 
 AT A SEACOAST TAVERN 31 
 
 ADMIRAL EVANS 32 
 
 THE UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT .... 33 
 
 JAMES BARR AMES 34 
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE 35 
 
 LOVE AND SENTIMENT 
 
 PETITION 39 
 
 DEATHLESS LOVE 40 
 
 HIS VICTORY 41 
 
 IF LIFE WERE PASSING 42 
 
 THE WIND OF NOVEMBER 43 
 
 TO AN ABSENT FRIEND 44 
 
 TO A FRIEND 45 
 
 THE DAWN OF EVENING 46 
 
 THE COMING 47 
 
 PETITION 48 
 
 SING A SONG 49 
 
 X
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 TO AN OLD SWEETHEAET 50 
 
 THE MEANING 51 
 
 COMPENSATION 52 
 
 THE WATERS OF LETHE 53 
 
 FORGET-ME-NOTS 54 
 
 THE LOST LOVE 56 
 
 THE DREAM GIEL 57 
 
 WHERE SHE HAS GONE 58 
 
 A SONNET TO YOU! 59 
 
 RECOGNITION 60 
 
 IN AN ANCIENT LAND 62 
 
 CUPID IN AMBUSH 64 
 
 DISCOVERY 65 
 
 A MEMORY 67 
 
 TO MY SWEETHEART 68 
 
 WHERE IS ARCADY? 69 
 
 TO ELIZABETH 70 
 
 THE MISTAKE 71 
 
 THE BLUNDER 72 
 
 UP TO ME 73 
 
 SPIRITUAL AND RELIGIOUS 
 
 FOR THE SOUL S KEEPING .77 
 
 AWAKENING 78 
 
 xi
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE SOUL 79 
 
 AD ASTRA PER ASPERA! 80 
 
 MESSAGES 81 
 
 I WOULD NOT HAVE IT SO 82 
 
 THE FLOWERS OF ETERNITY 83 
 
 VALUES 84 
 
 OUT OF DARKNESS 85 
 
 THE TRUCE 87 
 
 RESERVES 88 
 
 THE FOOD OF THE SOUL 89 
 
 THE BATTLE MUSIC 90 
 
 RESIGNATION 91 
 
 THE VEIL 92 
 
 THE SOUL-PATH 93 
 
 YEARNING 96 
 
 GOD IS NOT MOCKED 97 
 
 SHEKLA: A VISION 98 
 
 THE PATIENT WAYS 105 
 
 THE TALENTS 10P 
 
 A SONG OF SALVATION 107 
 
 HE WILL GIVE ME POWER 108 
 
 I WILL HAVE FAITH 109 
 
 RELEASE 110 
 
 xii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE SHRINE 112 
 
 THE GLORY OF ISRAEL 113 
 
 THE LOVE THAT PURIFIED 114 
 
 THEIR EASTER AND OURS 115 
 
 TIME 117 
 
 THE MODERN JUDAS 118 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE 119 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE 
 
 UNINITIATED 123 
 
 THE VANISHED MOUNTAINS 124 
 
 APPREHENSION 125 
 
 NIAGARA 126 
 
 CASTLES OF THE SEA 127 
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 129 
 
 THE DEMON DAWN 131 
 
 ON THE BEACH AT EVENING 132 
 
 FANCY-LAND 133 
 
 THE BIRTHPLACE OF DREAMS 134 
 
 A VILLANELLE OF SPRING 135 
 
 A NIGHT FANCY 136 
 
 THE HAPPY LAND 137 
 
 THE WHITE EAGLE 138 
 
 THE VALLEY 139 
 
 xiii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BESIDE THE SHORE ROAD 140 
 
 THE PIRATEER 142 
 
 SONG OF THE WHITE COMPANY 143 
 
 THE RANGE OF BEAUTY 145 
 
 CAPTIVE 146 
 
 DARTMOUTH 
 
 THE LADS THAT ONCE I KNEW 151 
 
 THE PEACE OF COLLEGE 152 
 
 A VILLANELLE OF COLLEGE 153 
 
 MISSING 154 
 
 WE GATHER BACK 155 
 
 THE SONG OF THE LIGHT-HEARTED 156 
 
 DARTMOUTH 157 
 
 THE GREEN GRENADIERS 158 
 
 FIGHT 159 
 
 THE CHRISTENING OF THE STADIUM 161 
 
 THE WORLD S RECORD 163 
 
 NO MORE DREAMING 164 
 
 THE SPIRIT IS TRUE 165 
 
 PLAINT OF A YOUNG LAWYER 167 
 
 TO WEBSTER 169 
 
 THE DEPARTED 171 
 
 THE ANCIENT THREE 172 
 
 xiv
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 INAUGURATION SONNETS 174 
 
 CLASS POEM 178 
 
 THIRD REUNION POEM 18 o 
 
 THY DREAMS ARE THE DEEDS OF MEN .... 183 
 
 THE LAST MAN ... 185
 
 THIS little book is published in the memory of one 
 whose life was cut off in the vigor of young manhood. 
 These pages give expression to his ideals, ideals 
 which he never suffered to depart from him, and 
 which he has left behind him in the hearts of his friends. 
 It was in his own heart to give his life to poetry; it 
 was his hope to write at some time songs to which 
 the world would listen. We cannot tell what he might 
 have done. Behind his dream was faith and energy 
 and accomplishment. Intensely and persistently he 
 dedicated himself to high conceptions and to their 
 expression. His life might have realized his dream, 
 for only the dreams of those light sleepers who dream 
 faintly are futile. He entertained no vague and doubt 
 ing ambition. His hopes were high; his faith was 
 strong; there lay in his very persistence, if not in these 
 verses now given to the world, the promise of success. 
 
 Harry Randolph Blythe was born in the little town 
 of Kirkwood, Illinois, June 12, 1882. He was the son 
 of James Clinton Blythe and Laura Anne Randolph. 
 He attended the public schools of Kirkwood, and upon 
 removal of his family to Aurora, Illinois, he entered 
 the East Aurora High School, from which he gradu- 
 
 xvii
 
 HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE 
 
 ated in 1901. He matriculated at Dartmouth College 
 on September 22, 1903, and received the degree of 
 Bachelor of Science with the class of 1907. 
 
 It was at Dartmouth that he first gave expression 
 to his literary talent. He won the Undergraduate 
 Prize for Fiction in 1904, and the Pacific Coast Alumni 
 Prize in American Literature in 1905. He won the 
 Lockwood Prize in 1906, with an essay of superior merit 
 entitled, A Comparison of Keats and Shelley. He also 
 won prizes for oratory. Aside from his studies, he gave 
 most of his attention to what was then known as the 
 Dartmouth Literary Magazine. Because of his earnest 
 endeavor and delight in literary work, the Magazine 
 regained its former place of dignity as the medium of 
 undergraduate literary activity. He was a constant 
 contributor and was elected to its board of editors, 
 rising in his senior year to the position of editor-in- 
 chief. Many of the poems that appear in this book 
 were first published in the Dartmouth Literary Maga 
 zine. He was responsible also during his connection 
 with the Magazine for several stories which were en 
 tertaining but of little value. His talent did not lie in 
 that direction. 
 
 At college his many and varied interests revealed 
 his versatility and popularity. He engaged extensively 
 in athletics, representing his college upon the field and 
 track, as a pole-vaulter and broad jumper. He was 
 elected president of his class in his freshman year, and 
 xviii
 
 HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE 
 
 vice-president in his senior year. He also took part 
 in debating and football. In his studies he ranked with 
 the upper half of his class. His inclination led him to 
 specialize in English and Literature, and in the many 
 courses which he took in these subjects he was re 
 warded with high rank. He was a member of the Delta 
 Tau Delta National Fraternity and of the Masonic 
 Lodge of Lebanon, New Hampshire. 
 
 The part that Dartmouth College played in his life 
 is reflected by the poems found on the closing pages 
 of this book. His acknowledged debt to his Alma Mater 
 is expressed in the class poem read at his graduation. 
 No man was more sincere than he in his loyalty to his 
 college. The associations that clung about his life in 
 the little town of Hanover were dear to him, and his 
 literary gift colored those associations and wove about 
 them a charm upon which he liked to dwell. His Dart 
 mouth verse thrills with the pride that he felt in the 
 athletic victories of his college. It portrays the life and 
 the spirit of the undergraduates as he experienced 
 them in his daily intercourse. It strikes the chord of 
 the democracy of which he was a part, and expresses 
 the vigor and virility of the New England College of 
 the North. Even when he left Hanover, the spell was 
 upon him. He looked back in reminiscence. He saw 
 the old halls, "The Ancient Three," in one of which 
 he had lived, standing on the rise of ground above the 
 campus in the full red glow of the setting sun; and 
 
 xix
 
 HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE 
 
 opposite them, facing the east, the New Dartmouth, 
 symbolized in Massachusetts Row. For him 
 
 " The moon o er the hills to-night, 
 The setting of Youth s delight " ; 
 
 and though his lot was cast, "where bitter conflicts 
 rage," there was ever with him that repose under the 
 "hills and giant elms," which he so sympathetically 
 expressed in "The Peace of College." And one may 
 gather the depth and breadth of his friendships from 
 the little poem that opens the brief collection relating 
 to Dartmouth in this book. There are but twenty-two 
 of these poems. Their literary value may not be great, 
 but they represent what he had already accomplished 
 in the realization of one of his greatest desires, the 
 publication of a book of Dartmouth verse. 
 
 Upon graduating from Dartmouth in 1907, Harry 
 Randolph Blythe entered the Harvard Law School. 
 He received the degree of LL.B. in 1910, and was ad 
 mitted to the bar of Massachusetts in August of the 
 same year. He associated himself with the Boston 
 law firm of Hallowell & Hammond, and was still with 
 them at the time of his death. 
 
 On October 12, 1912, he was united in marriage to 
 Miss Lucile Edson Bodwell, of Lynn, Massachusetts. 
 He established his home in Swampscott. Happy in his 
 marriage and in the promise of a successful legal career, 
 looking forward to the time when he might devote 
 
 xx
 
 HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE 
 
 more and more of his life exclusively to literature, 
 he died very suddenly in the quiet and contentment 
 of his little home on February 27, 1913, after an illness 
 of a week. He was buried at Lynn, Massachusetts, 
 and there gathered about his grave the sorrowing 
 friends who only four months before had smilingly 
 waved him godspeed on his wedding journey. 
 
 Since death removed him so suddenly, it is of course 
 to be expected that this volume contains many verses 
 which he cannot be said to have finished. There are 
 doubtless many lines which he would not have given 
 to the world before they had been tuned to more 
 rhythm, or imbued with more beauty of expression. 
 And there are whole poems upon which he seemed 
 already to have passed adverse judgment. Yet there 
 are others which will be familiar to the readers of the 
 Springfield Republican, the Boston Transcript, and 
 other Boston newspapers. In the Watchman also has 
 appeared much of his work, while the Outlook has pub 
 lished a poem entitled "A Railroad Yard at Night." 
 Several legal poems which appeared in the Green Bag 
 have not been included in this book. 
 
 The religious tenor of many of his poems may come 
 as a surprise to some of his friends. Yet they will 
 understand when they remember that it is sometimes 
 what a man feels most deeply that he withholds from 
 those with whom he is most intimate. What Harry 
 Blythe kept back in personal conversation, what lay 
 
 xxi
 
 HAERY RANDOLPH BLYTHE 
 
 beneath his quiet reserve, he has revealed to us in 
 poetry. He had religious faith. He was obedient to 
 spiritual impulses. He had assurance that somehow he 
 would be guided to an understanding and apprecia 
 tion of vast mysteries of which men knew little. He 
 loved the mystical and tried to give expression to it 
 in his poetry. 
 
 And yet such dreaming did not make him forget 
 the life around him, the sheer delights and glories of its 
 struggle. He had experienced them and could write 
 of them. He had lived in the clamoring vitality of the 
 city. He tried, even if he did not succeed, to interpret 
 the murmur that rose from its steel-braced canyons and 
 from its hurrying crowds. The opening poems of this 
 book tell of his outlook upon the life around him. 
 
 It was while at college that he wrote many of the 
 poems included under the title, Love and Sentiment. 
 They show a lighter vein. They please and entertain 
 like happy trifles. They represent, most of them, the 
 first chords that he struck upon his lyre. They reveal 
 the facility of his pen. The gift which he had, seemed 
 easy hi application. So easily did he write that there 
 was danger that he would not choose and discriminate. 
 This fault, if it was a fault, he labored with. As he ma 
 tured, he sought more and more deeply the underlying 
 significances. That he would have measured in time 
 the depths and heights that only poets measure, one 
 cannot doubt. 
 
 xxii
 
 HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE 
 
 It is pleasant to call back into vision the person of 
 Harry Blythe. There was friendliness and goodness 
 in his large deep eyes, in his slowly breaking smile and 
 subdued laughter. The black hah* brushed back from a 
 white, prominent brow gave him added height. His 
 frame was stalwart and athletic. He had the carriage 
 and grace of one whose body was trained to exercise. 
 There was an unconscious dignity or distinction in the 
 repose of his face. His features seemed to suggest a 
 serenity of soul. 
 
 But it was his real personality and not his physical 
 characteristics that endeared him to people. He had a 
 quiet charm in which there was something fascinating. 
 He never knew deceit. He was always warm-hearted 
 and charitable. Frank, open, and honest with all, he 
 kept back nothing but the high resolve that one day he 
 would realize his hope, that his mind like a searchlight 
 would pierce the incomprehensible mysteries of which 
 dim intimations came to him, and his pen would trans 
 late their meaning to the world. "For," he said, "the 
 greatest poem of all ages is yet to be written."
 
 MODERN LIFE
 
 A RAILROAD YARD AT NIGHT 
 
 FAINT forms of giant buildings in the night 
 Across the flat, steel spider-web are seen, 
 While like strange stars the lamps of red and green 
 Hang in the ebon air at every height 
 In placid peace with all the lamps of white. 
 Beyond the bridge the weary cars convene, 
 Sunk in a slumber soundless and serene, 
 Wrapped well in robes of darkness recondite: 
 But here the trembling engines thunder by, 
 Drawing their trains of peopled palace cars, 
 The great black beasts of beauty sing and sigh, 
 The whistles cut the air like scimitars, 
 And these much-traveled tracks of traffic lie 
 Gleaming of silver underneath the stars.
 
 AFTER THEATER 
 
 INTO the exit-ways the winter air 
 Surges in tides as bracing as the brine, 
 It swirls around the carriages in line 
 And plays upon the plumes that women wear; 
 This is the grim, old grinding world of care, 
 How hard its lamps upon the pavement shine! 
 Fate fashioned it no fairy-land divine 
 Such as we saw beyond the footlight s flare, 
 But it has joy no world of dreams can give. 
 Hark to the horses hammering down the street! 
 List to the murmur where the many meet ! 
 These are the lips of life demonstrative, 
 Here are the human hearts which really beat, 
 And here the place where dreams and dramas live.
 
 IN AN AEROPLANE 
 
 MERGED in a moving picture earth goes by, 
 Shriveled, and shorn of sound. Its lakes and streams 
 And mighty ocean float but toy triremes 
 Which have the pace of snails when viewed on high. 
 Like children s jumbled blocks the cities lie, 
 While men are but an emmet-race which teems 
 Throughout their lace-like labyrinth of dreams, 
 Watching our white-winged ship go down the sky. 
 Ah, here is freedom, freedom vaster far 
 Than Triton s salt-whipped leagues of liberty. 
 Now we are comrades to the moon and star, 
 The azure pioneers of realms to be, 
 For we can go in this frail mounted car 
 Close to the confines of eternity.
 
 THE OMINOUS TIMES 
 
 OMINOUS are the times. They seem to be 
 A restless ocean neath a sky of gloom 
 On whose horizons bolts of thunder boom, 
 Portending storm, while pale humanity 
 Is huddled in a ship which breasts the sea, 
 Ploughing for some fair port where there is room 
 For all to flee the dreaded cloud of doom 
 Which marches on them now so fearfully. 
 Yet this stout ship is manned by men of steel, 
 And there are cool, courageous hearts aboard; 
 What though the thunder break with mighty peal 
 And livid lightning flash its trenchant sword! 
 There shall be ballast still to right the keel, 
 And pious lips to pray unto their Lord.
 
 TO WAR 
 
 O DEMON War! thou hast been absent long. 
 
 In dusty caverns thou dost bide thy time, 
 
 Girding thy strength in that Plutonian clime 
 
 For fiendish coming forth with savage song. 
 
 Thy red hand is but hid. It waxes strong, 
 
 While Peace, the minstrel maid with voice sublime, 
 
 Drowns out thy mutterings with silver chime, 
 
 Enchanting all her worship-blinded throng. 
 
 She yet shall sing for many a dulcet day 
 
 In honied notes her soft, inspiring bars, 
 
 But when thou comest, War, a wild dismay 
 
 Shall seize her heart at sight of thy old scars; 
 
 And she will flee, her hair in disarray, 
 
 While thy fierce thunder mounts unto the stars.
 
 WE HAVE DREAMED TOO MUCH OF GOLD 
 
 WE have followed the monster Mammon on the broad 
 
 way far too long, 
 With lilt and gilt we have worshiped him with many 
 
 a ribald song, 
 We have drunk of wine too deeply and dreamed too 
 
 much of gold, 
 Till our dearest idols are broken and our heroes are 
 
 ages old; 
 Sheer to the shrine of our temples the money-changers 
 
 call, 
 The glitter of gold hath driven us mad, and still made 
 
 us cowards all; 
 Yet still in American meadows the daisy nods and 
 
 blows, 
 And still in the lovelit gardens blossoms the summer 
 
 rose. 
 
 We are out on the brazen highway where the Roman 
 
 rabble went, 
 Pursuing a phantom happiness with no thought to 
 
 repent; 
 It is hats off to the captain, whose treasuries hold the 
 
 most, 
 
 8
 
 WE HAVE DREAMED TOO MUCH OF GOLD 
 
 Though he has ground the glint of them out of a human 
 
 host; 
 We have crowned the man of Mammon with a golden 
 
 aureole, 
 But have made no move or mention to ask if he hath 
 
 a soul; 
 The people are grim applauders at the nation s gilded 
 
 show, 
 While out in the lovelit gardens the lonely roses blow.
 
 ACROSS THE CITY 
 
 I STOOD upon a dizzy roof which towered 
 Above the serried city s chimneyed miles. 
 The canyons of the streets, like narrow aisles, 
 Stretched far away to where the cloud mists lowered; 
 I, gazing, felt the nerve fright of a coward, 
 So small was I, so great the plain of tiles 
 Which sheltered all those steel-supported piles; 
 My senses shook, with vastness overpowered. 
 But not alone from danger of the height, 
 Nor from that scene s immense, gray mystery 
 Did tremblings come. There swam before my sight 
 The roofs of Babylon which used to be 
 As stanch as these. Yet now the morning light 
 Reveals but mounds of vanished majesty. 
 
 10
 
 FLOWER DAY 
 
 ON Flower Day the gardens came 
 In close, baked city streets to bloom, 
 Dark alleys drank the sweet perfume; 
 The roses reddened many a room 
 On Flower Day. 
 
 Unnumbered children without name 
 Were cheered and charmed by fragrant flowers 
 Fresh from the unknown garden bowers 
 Ay! there was balm for countless hours 
 On Flower Day. 
 
 Love s spark was fanned into a flame, 
 The city paused its sordid greed, 
 The latent God in man gave heed 
 Unto a poor child s soulful need 
 On Flower Day. 
 
 11
 
 A WRECKED LOCOMOTIVE 
 
 IT lies upon the rocks, a shattered thing, 
 
 Here where the valley flood ripped up the rails, 
 
 No more the hound that on these modern trails 
 
 Leaped at the whipping steam s fire-furied sting, 
 
 And scented toward the cities as on wing; 
 
 Unwarned, unchecked, with weird, half-human wails, 
 
 As some cliff-driven beast of ancient tales, 
 
 It plunged to ruin past all reckoning: 
 
 And on the heap, his face unfrowned by fear, 
 
 Calm as a man of marble and as white, 
 
 Gripping the throttle, lies the engineer 
 
 Who fell to sleep on his last, frantic flight; 
 
 While overhead the solemn stars appear 
 
 And this thin gloaming thickens into night. 
 
 12
 
 LANDING AT DAWN 
 
 I SAW the soundless city, couched in charm, 
 Before the booming traffic was begun, 
 It lay at dawn as peaceful as a nun 
 Asleep beside the sea s gigantic arm. 
 It seemed a silver haven shorn of harm, 
 Wherein humanity, with battlings done, 
 At last the ages dream-lit peace had won, 
 Never to wake at Mammon s mad alarm; 
 But as the ship sped nearer to the shore, 
 I saw the smoke above the chimneyed plains; 
 The sun-kissed walls a sterner visage wore, 
 I heard the traffic tramp the canyon lanes, 
 And landing there amid the rising roar, 
 I knew Prometheus still tugged at his chains. 
 
 13
 
 MAN MUST DO MORE FOR MAN 
 
 IT has taken the ages to teach us, 
 Long struggles through error and pain, 
 Too slow was the truth to reach us, 
 Though the truth was always plain; 
 But we know at this latest hour, 
 As the wisdom of God s great plan, 
 If the race shall grow into power, 
 Man must do more for man. 
 
 T is the centuries one conclusion, 
 The gift of the blood-drenched years, 
 The dawn from the night s confusion, 
 The hope that is forged from fears; 
 And the words burn now like fire 
 (Though obscured when the world began), 
 If we as a race rise higher, 
 Man must do more for man. 
 
 Dead peoples knew of His sayings 
 And they kept the truth in their creeds, 
 They voiced the truth in their prayings, 
 But they lived it not in their deeds; 
 14
 
 MAN MUST DO MORE FOR MAN 
 
 Self-love and the self s own pleasure 
 Was the rule and the law with men, 
 Now the heart has a broader measure 
 And the race has a larger ken. 
 
 We have come to the clear decision 
 Through the travail of the soul, 
 But at last we have seen the vision 
 Humanity moves as a whole; 
 And we know at this raptured hour 
 That the welfare of all is His plan, 
 And the race shall come into power 
 When man does more for man. 
 
 15
 
 THE CITY 
 
 MUCH have we cursed the city. It has been 
 
 Reviled of old as Mammon s very own, 
 
 A heartless labyrinth of steel and stone 
 
 Devoid of pity, peace and love; wherein 
 
 The gilded gamblers cast the dice of sin, 
 
 And with their wanton wages build a throne 
 
 To Moloch Greed, deaf to the undertone 
 
 Of ominous woe which wails beneath the din. 
 
 Yet have we this dark picture overpainted, 
 
 Remembering not that Faith and Charity 
 
 Walk even in the marts with vices tainted, 
 
 And cities shelter Him of Galilee, 
 
 While there are kindly men whose souls are sainted 
 
 By secret acts of broad humanity. 
 
 16
 
 TO LABOR 
 
 O YE who toil at forges ! 
 
 Or in the factories stand, 
 Ye are the blood and muscle 
 
 Of every mighty land. 
 
 Upon your vast endeavor 
 
 The thrones of greatness rest, 
 
 T is only by your struggles 
 A nation s name is blest. 
 
 What though your lives be troubled, 
 
 And yours laborious days, 
 The glory of a people 
 
 Shall be your meed of praise. 
 
 Out of the endless working, 
 
 Though shrouded seems the goal, 
 
 Shall come the angel Progress, 
 Advancement of the Whole. 
 
 O ye who toil at forges 
 
 Whose thunder drowns your moan, 
 Ye yet shall reap the harvest 
 
 Which rightly is your own. 
 17
 
 SOUNDS OF THE CITY 
 
 FROM where I sit the city s ceaseless roar 
 Surges in tides around my casement sash, 
 The sea of sound heaves now a sudden crash 
 And now a tremble from a distant shore; 
 Soft rumbles sweep my window-railing o er, 
 The muffled booms come in with softened plash, 
 The whistles pierce the panes as though a flash 
 Of lightning had cut through my dwelling s core. 
 Strange messages this restless ocean bears; 
 I catch the blows of labor, whir of wheels, 
 The sob of grief, the ceaseless sigh of cares, 
 The shouts of far applause, the mighty peals 
 Of human battle on the thoroughfares, 
 Whose every hour a tragedy reveals. 
 
 18
 
 THE ANSWER OF BOSTON 
 
 BOSTON! with all thy glory, thy history high with 
 
 praise, 
 What shall ye write for record on the scroll of the later 
 
 days? 
 The floods of time flow swiftly, and the nation s name 
 
 is vast, 
 Shall ye leap to mighty life again or lapse to a pride 
 
 of past? 
 Boston! whose heart was fearless, whose sons were 
 
 sturdy and strong, 
 
 Shall the nation say thou once wert great, but his 
 tory s years are long? 
 From the dream of the ancient greatness to the dreams 
 
 of things that be, 
 Hast thou no vision, Boston, to show to thine own 
 
 country? 
 
 They lie who say that the spirit of thy mighty men is 
 
 dead! 
 The altar flames have smouldered, but the fire hath 
 
 never fled; 
 Behold ! the brands are burning the temple wakes 
 
 with life, 
 
 And the incense of old victories upon the air is rife; 
 
 19
 
 THE ANSWER OF BOSTON 
 
 Out of the ancient greatness comes the dream of things 
 that are, 
 
 And high in the eastern heavens reappears the ancient 
 star; 
 
 The nation hath called for visions, and thou in thy 
 soul-wrung tears, 
 
 Hath pictured the Greater Boston through the fear 
 less, future years. 
 
 20
 
 SONG OF THE SUPERMAN 
 
 I AM the one whose blood has run through all the 
 
 races veins, 
 My soul has slept, my strength has swept on every 
 
 nation s plains, 
 
 No man am I born here to die; with Man I did not fall; 
 I am the Face which leads the Race, I am the soul of 
 
 All. 
 
 In every age with fiery rage I Ve flung the battle sign, 
 The ancient foe too well they know that victory 
 
 is mine. 
 The foes of men must fight again and ever more with 
 
 me, 
 Till stars shall fade and life abrade, and salt shall leave 
 
 the sea. 
 
 I gave the word which prophets heard that conquered 
 space and time, 
 
 I am the Will which yet shall fill the world with Free 
 dom s chime; 
 
 I am the dreams, the sentient gleams that point the 
 perfect goal, 
 
 From senseless clod I rise to God, I am the Races 
 Soul. 
 
 21
 
 MIRACLES 
 
 THE miracles are past, you say. 
 
 Look in the eastern sky; 
 Old Daedalus soars there to-day 
 
 With his white wings on high, 
 
 And Icarus follows after him 
 
 On toward the golden sun. 
 Swift on aerial tides they swim, 
 
 Faster than horses run. 
 
 They left the labyrinth below 
 
 Their freedom to regain; 
 Now past the mountain peaks they go, 
 
 And down the clouded lane. 
 
 If this was counted wonderful 
 
 In Crete, for men to fly, 
 We, then, should call it miracle 
 
 When white-winged ships go by.
 
 ON THE NIGHT EXPRESS 
 
 CLICK-CLACK, click-clack, shouts the trampled track 
 
 To the warm wheel s creak and cry, 
 We skim on the strand of fairy-land 
 
 As the twinkling towns go by; 
 From these soft seats the star-eyed streets 
 
 Of the cities shrink and flee, 
 The night-trod trails are the shining rails 
 
 And the cities their scenery. 
 
 With crash and roar down the shrouded shore 
 
 The steel-stung noises fall, 
 While the tearing train through a moonless plain, 
 
 Like an arrow cuts the pall ; 
 Then straining sight at the flying night 
 
 Only the glooms we see, 
 The night-trod trails are the shining rails 
 
 But the cities their scenery.
 
 AN OCEAN GREYHOUND 
 
 FREE from the harbor this huge beauty swings 
 With prow poked seaward to the sunrise lands, 
 The old world with its commerce-clanging strands, 
 Its castle-ruined hills, its courts of kings, 
 Its marts yet steeped in lore of ancient things. 
 How swiftly slips the greyhound from our sands ! 
 Out in that choppy sea how strong she stands 
 Defiant of old ocean s thunderings! 
 She rides her thousand leagues of pounding brine 
 As trim as Cossack rides a lawless steed. 
 Behold! in her doth Science give the sign 
 Of perfect mastery, safety, comfort, speed, 
 And she in bridging Neptune s dread confine 
 Links old to new and meets the nations need.
 
 TOY DAY 
 
 NOT dreams, not fairy tales, but deeds 
 These are the things the sad world needs, 
 The deeds whose kindness stirs the mart 
 And binds the wounds of the city s heart, 
 The deeds whose mighty virtue can 
 Bring us together, man to man, 
 Wipe out old wrongs, uplift all men, 
 And bring Christ s kingdom back again. 
 
 I hold that such were done to-day 
 
 Here in the city s clanging way, 
 
 By those who went from door to door 
 
 Where dwell the children of the poor, 
 
 And left with them their Christmas toys 
 
 For all those countless girls and boys 
 
 Whose lives are pitiful because 
 
 They have no bounteous Santa Glaus. 
 
 Oh ! age by age we more slowly climb 
 The hill-stairs of the better time 
 For, year by year our greed grows less 
 Man really hates his selfishness, 
 Though struggling oft in vain, he wins 
 A conquest sometimes over sins, 
 And on those days the visions rise 
 Of what shall be the Paradise. 
 25
 
 A WESTERN WASTE 
 
 OLD rails like twin steel ribbons stretch away 
 O er endless acres seldom kissed by rain. 
 This is the wide un watered waste of plain, 
 Our arid pastures spread with sterile clay; 
 Here bounteous nature feared to flaunt display 
 Knowing her rich reserves were called in vain, 
 And man within his now-luxurious train 
 Sees cheerless distances and scorns to stay: 
 Thus lies it lonely, lost to fruit and flower, 
 To labor s wand and capital s vast dream; 
 And it shall still be barren to that hour 
 When we shall rise resolving to redeem; 
 Then will it bloom in magic grace and power 
 Fair as a farm by some lowan stream.
 
 LOVE S WORD 
 
 HE came unto a throbbing mart 
 
 And saw a soul in need; 
 His reason argued with his heart, 
 
 "Turn not this call to heed." 
 
 But ere he passed his pulsing way, 
 Love whispered soft this word 
 
 Turn thou about" and on that day 
 A city s heart was stirred.
 
 THEODORE ROOSEVELT 
 
 IRON is in his blood. He lives to fight, 
 
 To yield not, fear not, nor retreat; 
 
 Give him the giant odds that mean defeat 
 He still fights on ! Whatever he deems right 
 He guards with the reserve-corps of his might; 
 
 Swiftly he strikes. His triumphs are complete; 
 
 He has no flag of truce. The foe must meet 
 Him face to face, or safety find in flight. 
 
 More men like him we need ! Who dare to face 
 The odds he craves, and give their very blood 
 
 For sake of principle. The groping race 
 
 Through such as he finds better brotherhood; 
 
 There lives no foe that ever can erase 
 The record of his battles for the good.
 
 THE FINAL WAR 
 
 OH, East and West shall know not rest and the seas 
 
 shall run blood-red, 
 When the fierce war-dogs of the world break loose from 
 
 the thrall of their resting bed, 
 There s a sign in the North and a sign in the South 
 
 that blood shall flow no more, 
 But the signs of the stars say, too, that Mars must have 
 
 his glut of war. 
 
 O God! what a hell the signs foretell of the final clash 
 
 of the Powers, 
 When the great steel ships which their sons have built 
 
 shall go to their testing hours; 
 Then blood in the North and blood in the South and 
 
 blood in the West shall flow, 
 And the old white priest of the hoary East shall reap 
 
 blood as his woe. 
 
 We have set our seal on the might of steel, and the steel 
 
 some test must find, 
 Ere we cast away the grim old dream and know that 
 
 our eyes were blind, 
 29
 
 THE FINAL WAR 
 
 There is but one door that leads to the light and Mars 
 
 knows that right well, 
 He will give the word when his wrath is stirred which 
 
 will loose his hounds of hell. 
 
 Then East and West shall know not rest, and the flags 
 shall dip in the red, 
 
 And the seven seas shall open wide to engulf the na 
 tions dead, 
 
 And the stars shall smoke and the sun grow dark till 
 the mighty carnage cease, 
 
 Then over the world shall be unfurled the one white 
 flag of Peace. 
 
 30
 
 AT A SEACOAST TAVERN 
 
 WE sat at drinking with our merry host 
 And saw them pass, the mighty ships of Mars, 
 In single line, flying the Stripes and Stars, 
 Sweeping to southward off the Gloucester coast; 
 Our prattle ceased; an old man called a toast, 
 
 Pledge Uncle Sam, his guns, his gallant tars!" 
 We drank and sat to silence and cigars, 
 While our gray gentleman made bold a boast: 
 
 Earth s greatest clash of arms is yet to be, 
 Some day the steel will ring around the world; 
 Then these vast forts of force, with flags unfurled, 
 Like flame-tongued demons shall patrol the sea, 
 And all their stores of hot rage shall be hurled 
 For honor s sake, for truth and liberty." 
 
 31
 
 ADMIRAL EVANS 
 
 THE wide seas search for him. But vain their quest 
 Through anxious hours the great steel ships among; 
 They find him not. The thousand tides that sung 
 The glories of his war-steeds prancing west 
 Have hushed their trumpets. Him they loved the best. 
 Their lord unvanquished, still gay-voiced and young, 
 Though Pain, his foe implacable, has flung 
 Him helpless to the shore and robbed his rest. 
 
 His kingdom, then, is lost? Because no more 
 
 His glance shall sweep the sunburst leagues of seas, 
 
 What folly thus to speak of glory gone ! 
 
 Strife is his kingdom that sea has no shore 
 
 The gods gave not this man the path of ease, 
 
 They fashioned him to fight still fights he on I
 
 THE UNITED STATES SUPREME COURT 
 
 THEY stand like sentries at a country s gates, 
 
 Guarding the mighty realm lest in should come 
 
 The alien things to poison and benumb 
 
 The sovereign heart. Where this tribunal waits 
 
 There dwells the ancient power of the fates 
 
 Which sways our destinies. Not rolling drum 
 
 Or cannonade their means, all such is dumb 
 
 Before these peaceful arbiters of states. 
 
 They wield one battle-blade, the country s law; 
 
 And each man is an intellectual king, 
 
 Whose work shall last till Time s clear eyes are dim: 
 
 It is but meet we look on them with awe, 
 
 Who can by weight of words such forces swing, 
 
 While men have no appeal except to Him. 
 
 33
 
 JAMES BARR AMES 
 
 TWIN soul of Coke! A peerless master, he 
 Sent forth to bench and bar enlightened men 
 Whose work was his reward, for in his ken 
 His own star had no lustre, could he see 
 Its radiance in others. This one plea 
 He ever voiced by spoken word or pen, 
 That only learning can redeem again 
 For modern law its place of majesty. 
 He was the patient Prince whose gracious ways 
 Impulsively made each one call him friend; 
 The Nation shall not pass him by; in days 
 Now far remote, when other men shall bend 
 O er legal tasks, their lips shall break in praise 
 Of him whose work endureth to the end. 
 
 34
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE 
 
 O COUNTRY mine! thy golden age shall be 
 Fulfillment of the old, tremendous needs; 
 Deep in thy soil already spring the seeds 
 Of glory, wisdom, truth, and liberty, 
 And brotherhood the vision of the free 
 All, all of these shall bear their mighty deeds: 
 The Ancient Nine shall dance upon thy meads, 
 The pipes of Pan fall fondly o er the lea, 
 And on thy hills white parthenons shall rise 
 In wealth of beauty passing that of Greece; 
 Thy temple towns shall far out-lustre Rome, 
 While Europe shall go mad with mute surprise 
 That men should build a state in perfect peace 
 And it should be humanity s best home. 
 
 35
 
 LOVE AND SENTIMENT
 
 PETITION 
 
 O LOVE ! I watch for thee 
 Through all the dreary days, 
 
 As one who, lost at sea, 
 
 Looks for the sail that saves. 
 
 O Love ! I long for thee 
 
 Through all the weary nights, 
 
 As one who knows that dawn 
 Will bring him dear delights. 
 
 Love ! I dream of thee, 
 
 God knows the dreams I dare, 
 Bring thou thy ecstasy, 
 If not thy white despair. 
 
 But come, dear Love, I pray, 
 Hear thou my spirit s cry : 
 
 1 could not bear to live 
 
 If love should pass me by. 
 
 39
 
 DEATHLESS LOVE 
 
 OUT of life, out of death, there can never 
 
 Come love that is greater than mine, 
 For the heart in its ceaseless endeavor 
 
 Finds no inspiration like thine; 
 From the fields of thy love I am gleaning 
 
 A harvest that grows not of earth, 
 Thy love is so fraught with deep meaning 
 
 Even gods cannot measure its worth. 
 
 Men live, love and die, but their yearning 
 
 Is as bubbles that burst on the sea, 
 But the love of my heart that is burning, 
 
 Through the unmeasured ages shall be; 
 Other loves are the longings diurnal, 
 
 They pass with the passing of breath, 
 My love is the passion eternal, 
 
 It will bloom in the meadows of death. 
 
 40
 
 HIS VICTORY 
 
 HE deemed it but a passing thought 
 That brought her pleading face to him, 
 
 When, wrestling all the night, he sought 
 To overthrow the Tempter grim. 
 
 Nor, when he conquered, did he dream 
 
 That, o er the night-steeped ocean s length, 
 
 She knew, and with her love supreme 
 
 She prayed that God might give him strength. 
 
 41
 
 IF LIFE WERE PASSING 
 
 IF life were passing with the hour, 
 
 And that hour lone and dark, 
 But thou whose face is like a flower 
 
 Were bending o er my bed of pain, 
 
 I d not complain, 
 If life were passing with the hour. 
 
 If life were passing with the hour, 
 
 And that hour ebbing fast, 
 But thou, with roses from the bower 
 
 Should st come, dun-eyed and tarry late, 
 
 I d welcome fate, 
 If life were passing with the hour.
 
 THE WIND OF NOVEMBER 
 
 THE wind of November is blowing 
 
 Over meadows of russet and gray, 
 And it little cares where it is going 
 
 Through the regions of night or of day; 
 O er the river and forest it tumbles, 
 
 With the moan of a person who grieves, 
 It sweeps up the farm and it rumbles 
 
 With a menace around the eaves. 
 
 The wind of November is yearning 
 
 For a soul to go with it and roam; 
 It spies the bright hearth-fire burning 
 
 In the peaceful retreat of my home, 
 And it sees the bright eyes of my zealous 
 
 Young wife, as she gives me a kiss 
 The wind of November is jealous 
 
 Of me and my bride and our bliss.
 
 TO AN ABSENT FRIEND 
 
 THE day thy happy path crossed mine it seemed 
 
 As though I came from out a desert land, 
 
 Leaving behind the dusty miles of sand, 
 
 And stood me where a green oasis gleamed 
 
 With sparkling springs : I thought that I had 
 
 dreamed 
 
 Of all the lengths of desert I had spanned, 
 So magic was the clasp of thy dear hand; 
 So new the thoughts that in my vision teemed. 
 And now from thee in thy fair lands afar 
 Still comes the joy which first thou brought to me, 
 As light that travels from an unseen star, 
 Or tides that surge across a dreary sea; 
 The great gulfs which divide us are no bar 
 Thou inspiration art eternally. 
 
 44
 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 I SOMETIMES wonder if the hand of Fate 
 
 Caused you to come my way with eager eyes, 
 
 Who knows? and it is folly to debate 
 
 Did I your presence there through long hours wait? 
 
 I only know you came, and then the skies 
 
 Took on the crimson tints of Paradise, 
 
 And when, reluctant, from your side I turned, 
 
 I found new hope, new life within me rise 
 
 And all my dead past s soul awoke and burned 
 
 To pass up through your heart s fair palace gate ! 
 
 Forgive me, dear, till now I never knew 
 The heights and depths of that which we call time, 
 But thou hast taught my soul that broader view 
 Which sweeps the world but not the heart of you, 
 And these my fears that only in the clime 
 Of other realms where we shall know the chime 
 Of these strange discords in our hearts of clay, 
 Shall I with you, Beloved, find perfect rhyme ! 
 Till then, here the kingdom of the day 
 I only wish to live and learn of you ! 
 
 45
 
 THE DAWN OF EVENING 
 
 THE royal sun has gone his gaudy way 
 Companionless, across the sapphire skies, 
 He sinks to rest with blood-shot fevered eyes, 
 While tyrant night, triumphant over day, 
 Yields soft submission to Diana s sway. 
 Now, silver-robed, the Goddess sleeping lies 
 And soothes the world with dreams of Paradise, 
 Sweet fantasies the sun would drive away. 
 
 I think, to-night, of songs that she would sing 
 In dream years gone, within her garden fair. 
 Ah, sweet the voice that joys of worlds could bring 
 To golden hours that knew not dross of care, 
 When years were few and love was crowned king; 
 For youth knows not how long is love s despair.
 
 THE COMING 
 
 THE mansion of my heart, my Love, 
 
 Through empty, idle years, 
 Stood in the hills of Loneliness 
 
 Beside the stream of Tears; 
 There were no sounds of minstrelsy 
 
 To wake its silent walls, 
 There was no feasting at its boards, 
 
 No laughter shook its halls. 
 
 I thought when you should come, my Love, 
 
 That I, who waited long, 
 Should open wide the mansion gates 
 
 And greet you with a song; 
 I thought I d scatter garlands bright 
 
 Before you as you came, 
 While all the palace swift should sound 
 
 The accents of your name. 
 
 But it has not been so, my Love, 
 
 For scarce I was aware, 
 A glory fell upon the place, 
 
 Lo! you had entered there; 
 The hills were changed to Cheerfulness, 
 
 To Joy the stream of Tears, 
 And oh, the mystic music of 
 
 The happy, happy years ! 
 47
 
 PETITION 
 
 GOD of the silence! must my prayer be vain 
 
 For her whose lips will laugh no more with spring? 
 
 Hast thou no boon except this peaceless pain 
 In whose dull presence heart nor soul can sing? 
 
 Ah ! I had dreamed of good in every thing 
 If there be good in death it is not plain 
 
 God of the silence ! must my prayer be vain 
 
 For her whose lips will laugh no more with spring? 
 
 There is deep meaning in the wind and rain, 
 I can see light where war s black cannons ring 
 
 But when her harmless little life is slain, 
 It is so hard to find grace in the sting; 
 
 God of the silence ! must my prayer be vain 
 For her whose lips will laugh no more with spring? 
 
 48
 
 SING A SONG 
 
 I AM ill, not in body, but spirit, 
 
 Wilt thou, Love, sing a soft melody? 
 For my soul is all eager to hear it, 
 
 Sing a song of the winds and the sea; 
 Sweet music was meant for the night-time 
 
 As balm to the heart that is weary; 
 Sing a little love-song with a light rhyme 
 
 And the world will no longer be dreary. 
 
 I am ill with the fever of living, 
 
 Not in body, but sick in my soul; 
 Sing a short, tender song of thanksgiving 
 
 To the Father who knoweth the goal; 
 For thou mayest, Love, be a physician 
 
 Who will bring a surcease to my sorrow - 
 Sweet music is such a magician, 
 
 I will be a well man by to-morrow.
 
 TO AN OLD SWEETHEART 
 
 STRANGE, is it not, that I should pass to-day 
 Amid the whirling crowd and softly hear 
 Borne from a stranger s lips in accents clear 
 Thy magic name? it seemed so like a play - 
 Pausing, I turned, but on his blissful way 
 He lightly fled, as though no human ear 
 By word of his could start with joy or fear 
 Poor man ! he little dreamed what he did say. 
 Then, standing in that moving maze of men, 
 The old, deep wounds began anew to bleed, 
 I felt like him who, grasping for his flute 
 To ease his anguish with old tunes again, 
 Found that his hand but held a rifted reed 
 In which the fond old melody was mute. 
 
 50
 
 THE MEANING 
 
 IT seemed to me the night she died 
 That all the heaven s silv ry light 
 Was swiftly, suddenly put out 
 And all about was darkest night. 
 
 But now I know that moon and stars 
 With great compassion, in the skies 
 Had only paled awhile, until 
 Her spirit passed to Paradise. 
 
 51
 
 COMPENSATION 
 
 YOUR heart broke when you answered me, 
 Your spirit wept, for I could see 
 The tear-drops tremble to the lawn 
 Like dying notes of mass at dawn. 
 
 Now seven summers by have fled 
 Since first you told me love was dead, 
 And though my love has never died 
 My heart is somehow satisfied. 
 
 For where your tears of sorrow fell 
 The violets have made a dell, 
 And there, when anguish comes anew, 
 I steal away to worship you.
 
 THE WATERS OF LETHE 
 
 I WILL of the waters of that stream 
 Which borders on the Elysian shore; 
 
 Lethe shall now efface my dream 
 And love shall trouble me no more. 
 
 When the young god first ambushed me 
 I was not Wisdom s wary child, 
 
 Past his air-castles I could not see, 
 
 And all day long I dreamed and smiled. 
 
 Now I have traveled the rocky path, 
 The long, hard road he led me through, 
 
 Stamped on my face is the pallor of wrath, 
 And the bitterness I learned from you. 
 
 Therefore, I drink of the fabled stream, 
 The waters of sweet forgetfulness; 
 
 Lethe shall wipe out the old dream 
 And calm forever my deep distress.
 
 FORGET-ME-NOTS 
 
 FORGET-ME-NOTS you gave me, 
 
 Forget-me-nots of blue, 
 To keep me from forgetting 
 
 The loveliness of you. 
 
 As if I needed tokens 
 
 To keep your spirit near, 
 As if I could forget you 
 
 In life or death, my dear. 
 
 The blossoms frail have faded, 
 They perished like a song, 
 
 But thoughts of you, my sweetheart, 
 Live on, undying, strong. 
 
 Your image haunts me always, 
 
 Though we are far apart, 
 Your purity, forever, 
 
 Is locked within my heart. 
 
 Forget-me-nots you gave me, 
 But with them something more, 
 
 Your soul, sweetheart, so stainless, 
 A silent monitor. 
 54
 
 FORGET-ME-NOTS 
 
 The fragrance of your spirit 
 
 Has stolen into mine, 
 And grows with years advancing 
 
 Like aging, priceless wine. 
 
 And yet you gave me flowers, 
 Forget-me-nots of blue, 
 
 To keep me from forgetting 
 The loveliness of you. 
 
 55
 
 THE LOST LOVE 
 
 SIMPLE and sweet as a child 
 
 Was she of the clear, blue eyes, 
 Her spirit as sunny and mild 
 
 As June with her mellowest skies; 
 Fragile and frail was her form, 
 
 Yet, oh, what a heart was hers! 
 Was ever affection so warm? 
 
 The thought of it how it stirs! 
 
 The angels are not more fair 
 
 In Heaven than she had been 
 Here in the haven of care, 
 
 Unstained by the soil of sin; 
 And, oh, what a love she knew ! 
 
 Whose spirit had been so mild, 
 She with eyes of blue, 
 
 Simple and sweet as a child. 
 
 56
 
 THE DREAM GIRL 
 
 WITH footfall soft as angel s 
 She steps across the room, 
 
 Drawing her chair beside me 
 Here, in the twilight gloom. 
 
 The rose within my fingers 
 
 I place upon her hair, 
 Praying that God may banish 
 
 The cup of our despair. 
 
 She smiles at me in sadness, 
 
 I smile at her in tears, 
 We speak no words, nor have we 
 
 Spoken in all these years. 
 
 At length the jealous darkness 
 
 Spirits away her form, 
 But where this night I kissed her, 
 
 Ah ! still the air is warm. 
 
 57
 
 WHERE SHE HAS GONE 
 
 WHERE she has gone the summer goes, 
 The white clouds follow after, 
 
 She ever dwells with bird and rose 
 In some far land of laughter. 
 
 Where she abides the summer stays, 
 The June sun shineth ever, 
 
 There are no nights to break the days, 
 For she is in forever. 
 
 How do I know the roses stir 
 
 Where she went, a late-comer? 
 
 Because I know the sight of her 
 Was always sight of summer. 
 
 In what strange place she now may be 
 June s glories there must tarry, 
 
 For even into eternity 
 
 She would the summer carry. 
 
 58
 
 A SONNET TO YOU! 
 
 ADOWN the sapphire race-course of the skies 
 Apollo, now, has whipped his steeds of fire, 
 And in the court of Night has sought his lyre 
 To sing his songs of deathless human ties; 
 Then all the Gods are wakened with surprise 
 To learn of love which equals their desire 
 A love through which men s souls are lifted higher, 
 So high they reach the gates of Paradise : 
 
 And list ning here amid the even calm, 
 I hear thy name rise on the flights of song 
 Till stars re-echo it in heaven s dome: 
 They tell me, dear, thy life is like a psalm 
 Wherein the chords of love are struck so strong 
 That thy great heart must ever be my home. 
 
 59
 
 RECOGNITION 
 
 IN some forgotten grove of France 
 
 I know we met as lovers, long ago, 
 
 And where the sunshafts with the flowers dance 
 
 We lived our little span of love s romance. 
 
 This is not fancy, dear, were this not so, 
 
 How could we each upon this moment know 
 
 Love s heart so well? How could we understand? 
 
 When first I saw you in the twilight s glow, 
 
 I also saw that dim, forgotten land, 
 
 And then I knew we had not met by chance. 
 
 For in your eyes the harebells found their shine, 
 The mellow sunshine, dreaming down the leas, 
 Is prisoned in your face; the slender vine 
 Which once you knew so well, has left its wine, 
 A boon to your rare spirit; while the breeze 
 That came with perfume from the southern seas 
 Found, long ago, a home within your hair: 
 And to your supple form the steadfast trees 
 Bequeathed their stateliness. Ah, sweetheart fair, 
 It was in France you gained your grace divine. 
 
 Perhaps we two shall live and love awhile, 
 And then return where once we loved before : 
 60
 
 RECOGNITION 
 
 Whatever fate s design, I know your smile 
 Will give me strength to live each weary mile 
 Of life s eternal highway; I will love the more, 
 Though stranger paths we walk beyond death s door; 
 But if our course leads through a thousand spheres 
 I still will recognize and still adore 
 The grace you gained in those forgotten years 
 When we two loved in France in guiltless guile. 
 
 61
 
 IN AN ANCIENT LAND 
 
 UPON the cliff of an ancient stream, 
 A snow-white palace towers high, 
 
 And round it hanging gardens dream 
 Under the spell of a moonlit sky. 
 
 From where the waters sigh and sing, 
 Kissing the marble as they flow, 
 
 The stairs which lead to that old king 
 Far up the fountained gardens go. 
 
 Calm Midnight with soft-sandaled tread 
 Her silent way has come and gone, 
 
 And now the pale stars overhead 
 Watch for the heralds of the dawn. 
 
 Hark! from the still heights there above, 
 The strains of heavenly music rise, 
 
 T is an exultant song of love, 
 The honeyed notes of Paradise. 
 
 Lo ! on the palace balcony 
 
 Which clustered vine has made its own, 
 Veiled in the moonlight s mystery 
 
 A maiden stands and sings alone. 
 62
 
 IN AN ANCIENT LAND 
 
 Her fingers lightly skim the lyre, 
 But the fierce longings of her soul 
 
 Leap into living notes of fire 
 And over the ebon river roll. 
 
 Scarce dies the music from her throat 
 
 In soft, fine frenzy on the air, 
 When down on the stream she sees a boat 
 
 And hears a step upon the stair. 
 
 Up the long flight with panting pace, 
 Climbing the sculptured, flowery hill, 
 
 Her lover hurries to her embrace; 
 Breathless she stands there, mute and still. 
 
 He passes the ponderous palace gates, 
 With secret keys he gains the halls, 
 
 Reaches the alcove where she waits 
 And at her feet in worship falls, 
 
 \Vhile that old king who bade him come 
 On pain of death his court to pay, 
 
 Sleeps on, nor in his slumber dumb 
 
 Dreams that their love would find a way.
 
 CUPID IN AMBUSH 
 
 WHEN I went down the autumn lane 
 
 My heart was free from fear and pain, 
 
 I whistled lightly as I passed 
 
 The spot where pulses once ran fast, 
 
 Nor thought me that my head should whirl 
 
 Again at sight of any girl, 
 
 Since now that no love fettered me 
 
 I felt I should be ever free; 
 
 So down the brush-banked autumn lane 
 
 I laughed at former fears and pain. 
 
 When I came out the autumn lane 
 
 I knew I should not laugh again, 
 
 For in my lightsome, leaf-strewn path 
 
 Cupid in ambush lay in wrath, 
 
 And scarce my heart could utter cry, 
 
 He pierced it through, and I shall die, 
 
 For when one s heart is thus waylaid 
 
 There is no cure but shroud and spade 
 
 When I came out the autumn lane 
 
 I knew I should not laugh again.
 
 DISCOVERY 
 
 I TRAVELED the road of the restless 
 With the siren wind for my guide, 
 Seeking the priest of the happy 
 And by his great counsel to bide. 
 
 Somewhere I must certainly find him, 
 (For the world will reveal all things), 
 So I followed the road s white windings 
 And I went with the ship s white wings. 
 
 In the purple gardens of kingdoms, 
 Through the violet nights of the East, 
 My soul and the sad stars, searching, 
 Sought in vain for the precious priest. 
 
 But I came with the diamond sunrise 
 To the land that my heart loves best, 
 And here at my father s doorstep 
 I garnered the fruit of my quest. 
 
 He greeted me first in the pathway 
 That leads up from the homesick sea, 
 He smiled as he gently led me 
 To the innocent heart of thee. 
 65
 
 DISCOVERY 
 
 And not until then did I know him, 
 (So blind were my eyes by the sun), 
 For the precious priest of the happy 
 And the God of love were one. 
 
 66
 
 A MEMORY 
 
 I HAVE dreamed old loves and lived old times 
 
 Here in a moment s fancy, 
 I have kissed mute lips and heard old chimes, 
 
 And I m once again with Nancy. 
 
 I have gone once more down the flowered lane 
 Where she and the moon were waiting, 
 
 And I Ve whispered words of joy and pain, 
 The old sweet words of mating. 
 
 I have felt the pulse of her beating heart, 
 
 The silk of her temple tresses, 
 The deep, dumb pain when we came to part, 
 
 And the rapture of caresses. 
 
 I have borne the weight of the withered years 
 
 Here in a moment s fancy, 
 Have smiled old smiles and wept old tears, 
 
 For I Ve been again with Nancy. 
 
 67
 
 TO MY SWEETHEART 
 
 THERE never was a rose-lipt maiden 
 In the world as sweet as you, 
 Though the lands of earth are laden 
 With girls both pretty and true; 
 You are the soul of all beauty, 
 Of honor and truth you are part, 
 Your love never quarrels with duty. 
 The glory of you is your heart. 
 
 Your manner is so unassuming 
 And your soul so peerlessly pure, 
 That your love my life is illuming 
 And the light of your love shall endure; 
 Through the hours your spirit is near me, 
 Of my soul I have counted it part. 
 Little girl of my dreams, do you hear me? 
 The glory of you is your heart. 
 
 68
 
 WHERE IS ARCADY? 
 
 "WHERE, oh, where is Arcady? 
 By the ever-sounding sea, 
 In the valleys by the rills, 
 Or upon the silent hills?" 
 
 "Where, oh, where is Arcady?" 
 Asked a pretty maid of me; 
 
 "I will leave my father s home 
 Over Arcady to roam." 
 
 "Seek you, lass, for Arcady? 
 I have solved its mystery; 
 Cupid is the king who reigns 
 Throughout Arcady s domains. 
 
 "And to find it you must be 
 Cupid s faithful devotee; 
 Is your heart still unafraid, 
 Will you go now, pretty maid? 
 
 69
 
 TO ELIZABETH 
 
 You never have said that you loved, 
 
 In bold, plain words, for my hearing, 
 You go out neatly garbed, trimly gloved, 
 
 To your mount without word of endearing; 
 And you canter good mile upon mile 
 
 By my side, seeming safe from detection, 
 But I know by your eyes and your smile 
 
 That I own all your prisoned affection. 
 
 You never have said you were mine, 
 
 But the day that my horse, madly leaping, 
 Threw me off into stubble and vine 
 
 I arose, dear, to find you were weeping. 
 And the night that I told you of her 
 
 She to whom not a word I had spoken 
 Your eyes wore a mist and a blur, 
 
 And you talked in a voice that was broken. 
 
 You have always been silent and shy, 
 
 So modest, yet gracious and tender, 
 That you cannot believe time is nigh 
 
 For a bold and outspoken surrender. 
 Yet that is just what you will give 
 
 Just as soon as your soul shall discover 
 T is for love and love only you live, 
 
 And I am your long-famished lover. 
 70
 
 THE MISTAKE 
 
 T WAS wrong but can you blame me? 
 
 I never craved her pardon! 
 She stooped to smell the roses, 
 
 Red growing in her garden. 
 
 Impulsive ! That s my nature. 
 
 And daring! please don t mention! 
 When aught I see worth having, 
 
 I overstep convention. 
 
 Don t you? Now think a minute, 
 How youth s warm blood so rushes! 
 
 You know the great temptation 
 In watching crimson blushes. 
 
 I stole upon her softly, 
 
 I caught her kissed her madly ! 
 T was all so satisfying, 
 
 Excuse I gave her gladly. 
 
 "For don t you see, my darling, 
 Of wrong this all disposes 
 (With guilty heart I said it) 
 I thought your cheeks were roses!" 
 71
 
 THE BLUNDER 
 
 THE girls in my vicinity 
 Ah, there were quite a few 
 
 All used to be so neighborly 
 When I was twenty-two. 
 
 There always was a pretty maid 
 
 To say that I looked fine, 
 And any of them, unafraid, 
 
 Would go with me to dine. 
 
 They used to call me "Good Prince Hal" 
 
 And lend me kisses plenty, 
 Oh, every maiden was my "pal" 
 
 When I was two-and-twenty. 
 
 But now things are not just as they 
 
 Were in those times of yore, 
 They slight me terribly to-day, 
 
 Though I m but twenty-four. 
 
 The reason any fool can see 
 
 Why our lives lie asunder 
 I married one at twenty-three, 
 
 That was the fatal blunder. 
 
 72
 
 UP TO ME 
 
 I STOLE a glance at Polly, 
 
 Her chin was tilted high, 
 
 She scorned me then, t was folly 
 
 To dare to even try. 
 
 So, like a goose I showed the feather, 
 And sat and talked about the weather. 
 
 But now I Ve grown much wiser, 
 Next time I will surprise her, 
 And when her chin is high, you see, 
 I ll know that it is "up to me." 
 
 73
 
 SPIRITUAL AND RELIGIOUS
 
 MUTE are the chords 
 And silent the lyres, 
 Dead are the Lords, 
 Burnt out the fires 
 Which out of times 
 Ancient and hoary 
 Gave us the rhymes 
 Freighted with glory. 
 
 Yet are the soul s 
 
 Secrets not spoken, 
 
 Shrouded its goals, 
 
 Most clues are broken, 
 
 So for the sake 
 
 Of the soul s keeping 
 
 Poets shall wake 
 
 The Muse that is sleeping. 
 
 77
 
 AWAKENING 
 
 SOUL! we have been too petty, thou and I; 
 Like timid children at a window-sill 
 We have not ventured out to feel the thrill 
 That comes with dash and daring. While we lie 
 Praising our petty gods, the great go by. 
 We yet may find them, Soul; their glories fill 
 The far horizons. Let us mount the hill 
 And seek them, ere the sun go down the sky : 
 We two shall bridge the gulf and climb the height, 
 Ford rapid rivers, venture mighty seas, 
 March in the squares of cities; we shall find 
 The captive princess waiting her brave knight; 
 Then she and thou and I will drink the breeze 
 And live the pulsing life that God designed. 
 
 78
 
 THE SOUL 
 
 THE soul has its own 
 Bright mansion of dreams. 
 Built stronger than stone 
 By no earthly streams; 
 Its home is afar 
 Past the palace of night, 
 On the strand of a star 
 In a clime of delight. 
 
 The soul has a love 
 Past that of the heart, 
 Affections above 
 The lusts of the mart; 
 It puts away fear 
 As taint of the clod, 
 And worships the dear 
 White image of God. 
 
 79
 
 AD ASTRA PER ASPERA! 
 
 To the stars through difficulties ! Go, my soul, 
 Straight on thy path of purpose ever higher; 
 Retreat not from thy foes, man, beast, or fire. 
 Fight through them ! Fiercely fight thou to the goal 
 Up that far road where constellations roll; 
 God hath not set low limit to desire 
 Nor stilled for thee the heavenly lute or lyre. 
 Thou, thou! must blaze the steep trail of control. 
 Burnish thy sword ! Thy golden mail swing on, 
 And with huge impulse burst thy racking bars. 
 Wait not the titan tonic of the dawn, 
 Lest it should find thee all too woe-begone; 
 But forward now, while freshly bleed thy scars, 
 And like a giant stride on to the stars.
 
 MESSAGES 
 
 WE flash a thought across the wave, 
 
 A voice gives glad return, 
 And yet how strange that from the grave 
 
 Comes not the word we yearn! 
 Thought leaps the hills and spans the sea, 
 
 Nor needs the singing wires, 
 But in the great eternity 
 
 We seem to strike no fires. 
 
 Small is our faith and short our sight 
 
 If we hear not the word 
 Which from the future s starless night 
 
 By great souls has been heard; 
 Our heart-pleas pass to His far deeps 
 
 And His grace leaps the dust, 
 But only he receives who keeps 
 
 His soul attuned to trust. 
 
 81
 
 I WOULD NOT HAVE IT SO 
 
 I DREAMED the world was wiped out in a day 
 And straight a new was fashioned like the old, 
 Except there was no need to strive for gold, 
 No pain, no death, no strife; no skies were gray, 
 God s children in green meadows went to play 
 And came at night to rest within His fold; 
 There was no need for knights or heroes bold, 
 Since every heart beat high with mirth and play; 
 Then I awoke, and Oh ! my joy was great 
 To find that still my soul had place to grow, 
 That I might meet again my foeman, Fate, 
 And grapple with him, giving blow for blow. 
 I feared that he had fled out through the gate 
 Of mighty change I would not have it so.
 
 THE FLOWERS OF ETERNITY 
 
 THE good deeds we have sown, 
 
 They are not lost; 
 
 Their seeds have crossed 
 
 The heavenly borderland and grown 
 
 Into eternal flowers there 
 
 To make His garden-plots more fair. 
 
 Each good deed is a rose 
 
 Whose gentle grace 
 
 Shall bless the place 
 
 Where the good doer s spirit goes; 
 
 For all the heavenly mansions stand 
 
 In gardens sown by human hand. 
 
 Though now invisibly 
 
 The gardens grow, 
 
 We yet shall know 
 
 The flowers of eternity, 
 
 And count our roses, one by one, 
 
 In that fair realm beyond the sun. 
 
 83
 
 VALUES 
 
 THE soul is years in making, 
 
 Judge not the whole by part; 
 We have no way of taking 
 
 The measure of the heart; 
 To other selves is given 
 
 Our passing self to scan, 
 But only God in heaven 
 
 Can really judge a man. 
 
 By no year s thoughts or actions 
 
 Are we to stand or fall, 
 The soul must fight its factions 
 
 And yet may conquer all; 
 Thus men judge never rightly 
 
 For men see not the whole, 
 Judge not at all or lightly, 
 
 God only knows the soul. 
 
 84
 
 OUT OF DARKNESS 
 
 THERE is more in earth and heaven 
 
 Than we ve ever dared to dream, 
 Knowledge yet has not been given, 
 
 We have only caught its gleam; 
 All the race s strife and sorrow 
 
 Has but dimly lit the way 
 Toward the goal of God s to-morrow, 
 
 To the shining perfect day. 
 
 Truth about us like an ocean 
 
 Waits for brave Balboa s eyes, 
 Force that keeps the stars in motion 
 
 Longs to leap in enterprise; 
 Strange frail magi here have hovered 
 
 On the earth through time untold, 
 Waiting but to be discovered 
 
 And turn common things to gold. 
 
 Virtue sighs of some Aladdin 
 
 Who will bring her stores to light; 
 
 Justice, God s most radiant maiden, 
 
 Prays for men to give her sight; 
 
 85
 
 OUT OF DARKNESS 
 
 Art, the century-sleeping beauty, 
 Dreams of days when she will wake, 
 
 And the trodden goddess Duty 
 Of the battles for her sake. 
 
 Not of wondrous earth-things only 
 
 Have we been too blind to see, 
 Man s immortal soul is lonely 
 
 For the truth which makes it free; 
 Yet its own white-visioned story 
 
 Waits the prophet and the dream, 
 God has given it a glory 
 
 But we scarce have caught the gleam. 
 
 86
 
 THE TRUCE 
 
 I HAVE no feuds with warring life. We are 
 
 As peaceful as two children fast asleep; 
 
 The silence settles twixt us, broad and deep, 
 
 Our truce was witnessed by the northern star; 
 
 For years his barriers have been no bar 
 
 To any quest of mine. My pulses leap 
 
 From sense of happy freedom, yet I keep 
 
 A stealthy watch upon him, near and far, 
 
 For in one moment he may, tiger-like, 
 
 Spring swiftly at my heart-chords ere I ken 
 
 The mystery of his motives, and may strike 
 
 So deep a wound I shall not rise again, 
 
 But as the old Dutch town, when broke the dike, 
 
 Be lost forever to a world of men.
 
 RESERVES 
 
 As the spark flares red in the ember 
 
 Before the flame has fled, 
 So the leaves in late September 
 
 Flash fire ere they are dead; 
 Earth spurns the thought of sighing, 
 
 But shouts through all her nerves 
 And in the hour of dying 
 
 Summons her rich reserves. 
 
 Thus may it be when weakly 
 
 Upon my bed I lie, 
 I would not leave it meekly 
 
 As babe or bird might die, 
 But telling love s old story 
 
 Fast with my falling breath, 
 In rich reserves of glory 
 
 Oh, let me swoon in death. 
 
 88
 
 THE FOOD OF THE SOUL 
 
 I CAME at eve upon a lowland mead 
 Unknowing if my walk was fact or dream, 
 And chanced me by a strange-environed stream 
 By whose dark waters, rose nor wanton weed 
 Had ever lifted leaves. In famished need 
 I knelt and drank, when straight a silver gleam 
 Of flowered fields arose in grace supreme, 
 And loud a Voice cried out, "Thy every deed 
 Of life has blossomed here. Look thou and see 
 How many sweet ones bloom upon this lawn; 
 For thou shalt pick the sweet on bended knee, 
 Starting thy endless journey with the dawn. 
 This stream is Death. And through eternity 
 They shall be all thy soul shall feed upon." 
 
 89
 
 THE BATTLE MUSIC 
 
 AROUND the earth, like tides of ocean, 
 Runs God s transcendent harmonies, 
 
 They break in music of emotion 
 On hearts which touch the keys. 
 
 Not to the land of far forever 
 
 Must all souls wait to hear his song. 
 
 The men who wage a great endeavor 
 On earth have heard it long. 
 
 The vast, white orchestras of heaven 
 
 Have played through countless perished years. 
 
 And they have heard to whom is given 
 The fiercest trials, the hottest tears. 
 
 They only hear a song terrestrial 
 
 Who fight to gain a mortal goal, 
 They hear the chords of song celestial 
 
 Who wage the battle of the soul. 
 
 90
 
 RESIGNATION 
 
 IF I knew that death s portal held for me 
 Eyes universal, which should pierce the scheme 
 Of infinite life, lay bare the mammoth dream 
 Which baffles mortal sense; if I might see 
 The countless worlds unwrapped of mystery, 
 Behold time s self, past, present, and the gleam 
 Of God s great future; if with His supreme 
 Control I might grasp all eternity : 
 Ah ! even then I should not yearn to go 
 Into the confines of that wondrous land, 
 Believing that my lot of human woe 
 Were portioned here to help me understand 
 What in due time is meant for me to know, 
 When all great things shall be at my command. 
 
 91
 
 THE VEIL 
 
 I THOUGHT a veil was lifted from mine eyes, 
 The veil that hides the mystic spirit land, 
 I saw the mighty wonders of His hand 
 For one rapt moment in my vision rise; 
 The earth was filled with glory, and the skies 
 With legions of His angels, band on band, 
 The sea was white as crystal, gold its sand, 
 And music shook the world and Paradise. 
 About me were good men whom I had known, 
 They passed me by nor stopped to look at me, 
 While she, the woman who had been mine own, 
 She answered not my call of agony. 
 Dear God," I cried, "Oh, let her hear my moan!" 
 And straight my vision vanished utterly.
 
 THE SOUL-PATH 
 
 OUT of my darkened vision 
 Fast fades the spectre Night, 
 
 Fleeing in dumb derision 
 Before the angel, Light; 
 
 God has given decision 
 And now I see aright. 
 
 In flesh I was but dreaming 
 Of light when dark was fled, 
 
 But now that bitter seeming 
 Is vanished since I m dead; 
 
 Truth undefiled is streaming 
 The million miles ahead. 
 
 Into the worlds unnumbered 
 My soul-path I can see, 
 
 I wake as one who slumbered 
 To win my destiny; 
 
 My soul is unencumbered, 
 Past is my Calvary. 
 
 93
 
 THE SOUL-PATH 
 
 I tread the ways diurnal 
 
 Through countless spheres of life 
 On to the new worlds vernal 
 
 With no foe and no strife, 
 Knowing the road eternal 
 
 Is with new marvels rife. 
 
 This is my soul s endeavor 
 To reach at last His throne, 
 
 T will take the vast forever 
 Before He can be known; 
 
 Till then my soul can never 
 Say it is all His own. 
 
 Each world s a state of thinking 
 (God is the pure, white thought) ; 
 
 I travel on unshrinking, 
 Living what He has taught, 
 
 ^Eon by aeon linking 
 To Him the soul I ve wrought. 
 
 Unless my soul is quickened 
 Upon each new-born plane, 
 
 I fall as one heart-sickened 
 To live it o er again; 
 
 And only when unquickened 
 There comes the sense of pain. 
 
 94
 
 THE SOUL-PATH 
 
 All things that God created 
 At last shall come to God; 
 
 In flesh I was scarce rated 
 Above the dreaming clod, 
 
 But now with flesh unweighted 
 I am much nearer God. 
 
 But not so near as others 
 In countless worlds ahead, 
 
 My spirit-quickened brothers 
 Who, e er men called them dead, 
 
 Learned that the sinning smothers, 
 And from the shining fled. 
 
 Sometime in the forever 
 When all the truths I learn, 
 
 I 11 win my soul s endeavor 
 And find the peace I yearn; 
 
 Though cycles now us sever, 
 To God I shall return. 
 
 95
 
 YEARNING 
 
 MY soul has a sigh to be free, 
 To roam with the scented winds over 
 The world, as a weariless rover, 
 Alike on the land and the sea; 
 My soul has a longing to be 
 Loosed out with the night s mystery, 
 On the fields of the flower and clover. 
 
 My soul has a sighing to roam 
 
 Where beauty s bright beacons are burning; 
 
 To the garlanded gates I am turning 
 
 That lead from these castles of loam 
 
 To the limitless leagues of the nome 
 
 Which the spirit has dreamed as its home 
 
 In the happiest moments of yearning. 
 
 96
 
 GOD IS NOT MOCKED 
 
 GOD is not mocked. There yet shall come 
 
 Upon this earth a race of men 
 Whose might shall banish sword and drum, 
 
 And rule the world with tongue and pen. 
 
 God is not mocked. There yet shall rise 
 A race which shall fulfill all things, 
 
 And build beneath His happy skies 
 A State such as the prophet sings. 
 
 God is not mocked. There yet shall be 
 A world of men whose lives are pure, 
 
 Whose matchless manhood, fresh and free, 
 Shall father nations which endure. 
 
 God is not mocked. Our dearest dreams 
 Shall some day burst their ancient seeds, 
 
 And in the future s distant gleams 
 
 Become the earth s transcendent deeds. 
 
 97
 
 SHEKLA: A VISION 
 
 SHEKLA S magic island lay 
 Three days voyaging from Cathay 
 In the vast Pacific sea, 
 Shrouded in mute mystery. 
 
 Ships that passed it ere the sun 
 All his flaming course had run, 
 Only saw the crested waves 
 Frothing o er the coral caves. 
 
 But when Dian s shield of light 
 Hung across the dome of night, 
 Sailors sometimes in a dream 
 Caught the sparkle of its gleam. 
 
 None stepped foot on Shekla s isle, 
 No man felt her soulful smile, 
 Saving him who with a tear 
 Writes this tale of Shekla here. 
 
 From a great ship wrecked afar, 
 Clinging fiercely to a spar, 
 With that chance beyond belief 
 I was swept on Shekla s reef. 
 98
 
 SHEKLA: A VISION 
 
 In the darkness deep as death, 
 Shorn of sense and conscious breath, 
 Lay I desolate and lone 
 On the ragged ledge of stone. 
 
 Prostrate there as in death s hour, 
 Pressed by some weird force of power, 
 Suddenly with light intense 
 Shone a great magnificence. 
 
 Like an iridescent land 
 Painted by a master hand, 
 Forged of flame which felt not warm, 
 Shekla s island leaped to form. 
 
 Scarce three furlongs length of shore 
 
 Girt its soft, ethereal floor, 
 
 All about the filmy lea 
 
 Washed the waves of crystal sea. 
 
 I was lying on a lawn 
 Where the grass grew white as dawn, 
 Near a brook of lucent hue 
 Running water pure as dew. 
 
 Sheer beside me was a grove 
 Wherein angel-souls might rove; 
 Shadowless, like pure desire, 
 All the trees were living fire. 
 99
 
 SHEKLA: A VISION 
 
 Flashing in the brilliant night, 
 Shaped of solid diamond-light, 
 Wondrous, dominating all, 
 This was Shekla s palace hall. 
 
 Near the gates in gorgeous bowers 
 Bloomed the subtle spirit flowers; 
 From my place the palace lay 
 Huge, transparent, bright as day. 
 
 From her nacreous island ways, 
 Radiant, stately, passing praise, 
 Like a flame of life came she, 
 Shekla, hovering over me. 
 
 At her word my startled eyes 
 Opened wide in wild surprise, 
 Even now my pulses stir 
 At the loveliness of her. 
 
 Silently she bore me up, 
 To my parched lips pressed a cup, 
 And on cloth of light she placed 
 Food which mortals never taste. 
 
 Shekla s being seemed to glow 
 Grace which only dreamers know, 
 As they glimpse within the real 
 God s impalpable ideal. 
 100
 
 SHEKLA: A VISION 
 
 Soft as sleep her gentle voice 
 Whispered, "Follow and rejoice!" 
 Then she led me, hah* in fright, 
 Down the halls of limpid light. 
 
 Banked by steps aflame yet cool, 
 In the palace court a pool 
 Lay with silent, crimson brink, 
 Here she bade me kneel and drink. 
 
 "Wait!" I cried in vague alarm, 
 Shaken by the sense of harm, 
 
 "Who art thou? Make answer, lest 
 I should scorn thy strange request." 
 
 Accents fell from her fair lips 
 Soft as touch of finger tips, 
 Smiling gravely down she said, 
 "Knowest not that thou art dead? 
 
 "Ended are thy years of strife, 
 His blood is the blood of life; 
 Drinking it thou shalt remain 
 Where the King of Kings doth reign. 
 
 "This isle where thou late were hurled 
 Is the mystic other world; 
 This the palace He hath built, 
 Thine to live in if thou wilt." 
 101
 
 SHEKLA: A VISION 
 
 "Why dost thou behold in fear 
 Her thou once hath held so dear? 
 I am she who passed before 
 To the unknown spirit-shore. 
 
 "Drink! and henceforth thou shalt live 
 Of the bread which He shall give; 
 Drink, and thou hast reached the goal 
 Of thine own immortal soul." 
 
 "Who art thou?" again I cried, 
 " Many dear to me have died." 
 "I am thy soul s soul," said she, 
 "Hast thy love lost memory?" 
 
 Beauteous woman ! Sorceress ! 
 I distrust thy artfulness. 
 Blaspheme not her precious name, 
 She and thou art not the same. 
 
 "By her pure and lovelit face, 
 By her simple, girlish grace, 
 I should know her soul for mine 
 Whether human or divine. 
 
 "Thou art not as she has been; 
 Prove that thou art of my kin, 
 Give the sign and speak the word 
 Which my human ear hath heard." 
 102
 
 SHEKLA: A VISION 
 
 Grave of voice she turned away : 
 "In the realm of endless day 
 Doubt is not, nor moth, nor rust, 
 All is joy and love and trust. 
 
 "Tall and changed, I seem to stand, 
 Soul-grown in this sinless land; 
 If thou trust, thou too shalt grow, 
 If thou trust not, rise and go. 
 
 "Who drinks not His precious blood 
 Never joins the happy Good, 
 Thou must live on earth again 
 Learning faith and trust from men. 
 
 "Sometime in the future years 
 Purified by trial and tears, 
 Swept by life s o erwhelming tide, 
 Thou shalt come here fearless-eyed." 
 
 As she ceased and gently turned, 
 Waiting, while my pulses burned, 
 Palsied then by demon doubt 
 At my word she led me out. 
 
 Shekla spoke and swift I saw 
 Other isles of dazzling awe; 
 Past the spot where I was hurled 
 Lay the lovely spirit world. 
 103
 
 SHEKLA: A VISION 
 
 What I deemed but barren sea 
 Blazed in peerless pageantry; 
 Like huge stars His mansions shone, 
 Each in splendor of its own. 
 
 Begging then, a maddened fool, 
 For her guidance to the pool, 
 She gave answer stern as fate, 
 Know that now it is too late." 
 
 Fast as lightning flashes, so 
 Woke I to the world of woe; 
 Where had loomed her beauteous form 
 Crashed the fierce Pacific storm. 
 
 On that fragile ledge of reef 
 Clutched by sharpest fangs of grief, 
 There I lay till morning pale 
 Brought to me the saving sail. 
 
 None has since seen Shekla s isle, 
 No man feels her soulful smile 
 Saving him who with a tear 
 Writes this tale of Shekla here. 
 
 104
 
 THE PATIENT WAYS 
 
 WE have not learned the patient ways to keep, 
 We ask the crown but chafe beneath the cross 
 Of its attainment. Till the dregs of dross 
 Be worn away, no golden things we reap; 
 Time loves not haste. The sordid years are deep 
 With hidden treasure. Oh, the sorry loss, 
 Weaving our webs with time s unlovely floss 
 Patterns that make the Master Weaver weep ! 
 Ah, well He knew the spirit s patient ways 
 And how to bide His time. Think! thirty years 
 Of waiting ere He entered on the days 
 Of ministry. Why should our future fears 
 Make us so restless? Patience s voice allays 
 All discord in the soul of him who hears. 
 
 105
 
 THE TALENTS 
 
 WE have not all the talents ten received, 
 Few march in the battalion of the best, 
 Weaponed to win. And few with five are blest, 
 The millions have but one. Be not aggrieved, 
 For what thou hast, and with it what achieved, 
 Are all that counts with Him. He did invest 
 Thy soul with His own purposeful bequest; 
 Courage! my comrade, He is not deceived. 
 Dig from the earth thy talent. Haste to bring 
 It bright and shining to the market-place, 
 Or haste thou where the striving legions swing 
 Into the fields unconquered by the race; 
 Cannot thine arm support the wounded king, 
 Or word of thine bring smile to some sad face? 
 
 106
 
 A SONG OF SALVATION 
 
 HE has buried my burden of failures so deep they will 
 rise again never, 
 
 They rest in oblivion s ocean, the sea of forgotten for 
 ever, 
 
 He has captured the gates of my being, transformed 
 the old idols of living; 
 
 To Him will I raise the voice of my praise Oh, well 
 does He merit thanksgiving! 
 
 He came unto me in the night-time, when I prayed that 
 
 the sun of to-morrow 
 Would still remain sunk in the darkness, the cloak 
 
 of my sinning and sorrow, 
 He came to me out of the starlight, when my soul was 
 
 too wretched for sleeping, 
 And hearing my moan He made me His own, and now 
 
 I am safe in His keeping. 
 
 So swift was His word of redemption, my soul is still 
 
 trembling in wonder; 
 His love is the sum of all lovings, no evil can put us 
 
 asunder ; 
 He has made me a child of His own, I am one with the 
 
 host of Forgiven; 
 And here upon earth, though meagre my worth, I am 
 
 tasting the joys of His heaven. 
 107
 
 OH, I am weak; a man am I of clay, 
 
 Who has strange fevers racing in his blood 
 
 Which drive me panic-like from paths of good ; 
 
 For I am son of sires who plunged in play, 
 
 Knowing that they, at least, no price should pay; 
 
 Bold cavaliers who with mad kings have stood 
 
 In revel till their stock of fatherhood 
 
 Passed half polluted to the present day. 
 
 Yet though I m bound in chains which will not break, 
 
 But which shall ever bind me hour by hour, 
 
 Still have I faith He will in mercy take 
 
 My hand in His, and give me of His power, 
 
 And through the stormy years my manhood make 
 
 As strong and firm as some great granite tower. 
 
 108
 
 I WILL HAVE FAITH 
 
 HE will show me the path I shall tread, 
 
 He will lead in the ways that are winding, 
 Through the golden glow of the day, 
 
 And the gloom of the night which is blinding; 
 He will show me His haven of rest, 
 
 And give me the strength for its winning, 
 Though my courage shall fail and my lips grow pale 
 
 From the trial, the struggle, and sinning. 
 
 For He is the One I have loved 
 
 Through the hours of hoping and weeping, 
 I have given my word to His own, 
 
 And entrusted my soul to His keeping; 
 In the deep, stark dread of the gloom, 
 
 He will send me the light I am needing, 
 His love will reveal and His angels shall heal 
 
 The w T ound in my heart that is bleeding. 
 
 Then faith I will have to the end, 
 
 And the end of the struggle is nearing, 
 I will call upon Him for my strength, 
 
 And take up my task without fearing; 
 And the word which He gave will prevail, 
 
 He will grant me the peace of endeavor, 
 For he is my friend through the years without end, 
 
 My God and my Keeper forever. 
 109
 
 RELEASE 
 
 I PACED the street at evening and my soul was fraught 
 
 with fears, 
 Haunted by sins and shadows and the ghosts of former 
 
 years; 
 I sought in the depths of darkness for a soothing 
 
 anodyne, 
 But no moon shone in the heavens and the glad stars 
 
 did not shine; 
 From the sombre leagues to eastward the wind came 
 
 off the sea, 
 Bringing balm to the senses, but not to the heart of 
 
 me, 
 
 And growing still more fearful, I turned about to go 
 Back to my restless pillow with the burden of my woe. 
 
 Then suddenly in the darkness a man walked by my 
 
 side, 
 Subtle and strange of figure, like one who had long 
 
 since died; 
 He made no sound in walking, and his lips gave forth 
 
 no speech, 
 And the hand that I extended he made no move to 
 
 reach. 
 
 110
 
 RELEASE 
 
 My lips were dumb to question, for silence enthralled 
 
 my soul, 
 And thus we two walked homeward, and when we had 
 
 reached the goal, 
 I turned to find he had vanished, and straight my 
 
 soul was free 
 From the ghosts and the sins and shadows, for Christ 
 
 had walked with me. 
 
 Ill
 
 THE SHRINE 
 
 ALONE, with hardened eyes which shed no tears, 
 Accursed of men and wounded sore by fate, 
 I turned through Memory s secret wicket gate 
 In search of solace for my fiendish fears. 
 It seemed I walked among my prayerless years 
 Marshaled like cypress trees, each tree sedate, 
 Yet blighted at the heart by sin or hate, 
 And having not the beauty which endears. 
 Then pressing far I found a hidden shrine, 
 Whereat my youthful footsteps once had trod; 
 So crumbled was it I could scarce divine 
 Faint letters I had carved above the sod, 
 But peering close I read, "Lord, I am Thine," 
 And lo ! my lips burst forth in praise to God. 
 
 112
 
 THE GLORY OF ISRAEL 
 
 THERE was a glory once in Israel, 
 
 Lo! how hath it departed from its shore; 
 
 Jerusalem the mighty is no more; 
 
 Gone are the Romans from the citadel, 
 
 The king s court hath no need of sentinel; 
 
 Silence enshrouds the ancient fisher s oar, 
 
 The Chosen People from afar deplore 
 
 Strange destiny, without a parallel: 
 
 But though its cities, razed by fire and sword, 
 
 Lift not their turrets by blue Galilee, 
 
 And all the land lies captive to a horde 
 
 Which long had been its watchful enemy, 
 
 Yet hath the house of David through its Lord 
 
 The heritage of immortality. 
 
 113
 
 THE LOVE THAT PUEIFIED 
 
 THEY were impatient; some had waited long, 
 
 But Night swung not ajar his portaled gate, 
 
 All locked and barred it stood, nor even Fate 
 
 Could break it through; till soft as subtle song 
 
 The Dawn, in sun-wrought robes, stole by the throng, 
 
 And plying silver key she said, "Why wait? 
 
 The road is clean, from sin inviolate, 
 
 Then pass thou on in peace and do no wrong." 
 
 There rose a mighty shout; they crowded past, 
 And o er the virgin road they fought their way. 
 They built a cross where some they crucified; 
 Again the lots were for the garments cast : 
 Great God! they would have blackened all the day 
 Had st Thou not sent the love that purified. 
 
 114
 
 THEIR EASTER AND OURS 
 
 ERE the Master came to claim His own, 
 Ere the angel came to roll the stone, 
 How many sad years did the world, forlorn, 
 In patience wait for its Easter morn ! 
 
 I think that for ages in silence dumb 
 The multitudes waited for Him to come, 
 For years and years in the world s young life 
 They waited for Him to still their strife. 
 
 And then He came and they knew Him not! 
 What a sorrowful tale was their sorry lot ! 
 No Gate of Hope would they recognize, 
 The very light had blinded their eyes ! 
 
 No Easter had they but the silent tomb, 
 Their Easter morn was a morn of gloom; 
 And the hopes of years were turned to grief 
 By the obstinate phantom of disbelief. 
 
 Yet we who know Him not half so well 
 Are happy of heart by the Easter bell, 
 And our doubts of Him are ever belied 
 By the full pure surge of the Easter-tide. 
 115
 
 THEIR EASTER AND OURS 
 
 It was written of old that He came to save, 
 And He in his strength would conquer the grave; 
 Now the centuries gone have witnessed the proof 
 By the Easter-tides that the Word was Truth ! 
 
 Ten thousand bells shall ring in the day 
 That marked the ending of Death s dread sway, 
 And a whole world s songs for them shall atone 
 Who knew Him not when He came to His own ! 
 
 116
 
 TIME 
 
 I SAW a giant armed with many lashes 
 
 Whipping a host of dwarfs through some star-city; 
 Anon they turned on him, but short the clashes, 
 
 He pressed them forward fiercely without pity. 
 
 Where go they? Who is he that drives them, 
 And like a fiend demands eternal questing? 
 
 Is it that he by constant faring shrives them 
 Of sin that never could be cleansed by resting? 
 
 117
 
 THE MODERN JUDAS 
 
 THE type has never perished from the earth, 
 But has come down these twenty centuries 
 Through ancient lands, across the western seas, 
 Wherever God s new races found a birth; 
 To-day his shriveled soul, devoid of mirth, 
 Eager to sell his Christ for paltry fees 
 And plunge the world in sadder tragedies, 
 Is seen still plotting for the silver s worth : 
 But all too slowly does his judgment come, 
 And all too often we accord him praise; 
 So masterly he barters for the sum, 
 We scarcely know Judas of ancient days, 
 We heed the silver, not the odium 
 And dark design of his Satanic ways. 
 
 118
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 THE north wind rustles in the roads 
 Where snow is spreading blankets light, 
 
 And on the window-panes of shops 
 The frost weaves portieres of white. 
 
 The sad old stars peep out to watch 
 
 Their precious child, the Christmas Eve, 
 
 Who comes in sable chariot 
 
 To give the world a short reprieve. 
 
 Through darkened street the toiler plods, 
 
 He whistles soft a roundelay, 
 With mind intent upon the thought, 
 
 To-morrow is a holiday. 
 
 At midnight when the lights are out, 
 
 The world, all breathless, seems to pause 
 
 To welcome with a little bow 
 The kingly form of Santa Claus. 
 
 Then through the watches of the night 
 There falls the voice of Him, again, 
 
 Who, long ago, in Palestine, 
 
 His blessing gave to struggling men. 
 119
 
 DESCRIPTIVE
 
 UNINITIATED 
 
 WHO hath not walked beside the sea 
 And loved the languor of its sand, 
 
 Dreaming of all the things that be, 
 Life here and life beyond the strand. 
 
 He hath not met with majesty, 
 His soul hath freedom yet to learn; 
 
 He cannot picture eternity, 
 
 Where God s bright beacon fires burn. 
 
 123
 
 THE VANISHED MOUNTAINS 
 
 MILES upon miles they toss, the wrathful waves, 
 Without one point of land to mar the main, 
 And this you say is Neptune s primal plain, 
 Where now as in lost years he rants and raves 
 Meeting no barriers, cliffs, nor sounding caves; 
 Ah ! had you viewed of old this wide domain 
 You would have glimpsed a mighty mountain chain 
 Disputing mastery of these ocean graves. 
 But age by age the sea-god beat them down; 
 His thunder-bolted waters shot the shore. 
 On one wild eve some sailors, like to drown, 
 Saw half the hills give way with fearful roar ; 
 Now Neptune wears in peace his royal crown, 
 For here the snowy peaks are seen no more. 
 
 124
 
 APPREHENSION 
 
 I WILL awake with dawn, arise and go 
 
 Far down the countryside to learn if still 
 
 There is mad music hi the tumbling rill 
 
 And barefoot memories where rivers flow, 
 
 Or shining dreams on fruit-trees hung with snow, 
 
 Balm in the breath of morning, and a thrill 
 
 In hearing ploughmen singing while they till 
 
 Dew-diamonded fields : I am sick to know 
 
 If these things greet me with the old-time charm, 
 
 Entrance me as they did when but a boy, 
 
 I thought the world was just my father s farm, 
 
 And living was a rainbow dream of joy; 
 
 I will arise I have a vague alarm, 
 
 Years have conspired their magic to destroy. 
 
 125
 
 NIAGARA 
 
 WHEN lakes of western waters, prison bound 
 From breaking of the world s first crimson morn, 
 Searched with a strong and ancient hope forlorn 
 Then- strange and undiscovered shores around, 
 And yet no welcome door to freedom found, 
 But saw beyond Niagara s neck of land 
 The distant glories of the Atlantic grand 
 And heard the eternal thunder s muffled sound; 
 Then, as some mountain glacier, huge and deep, 
 That grinds and crushes each opposing foe 
 Which from the valley s liberties would keep 
 Its mighty weight of captive ice and snow, 
 The waters moved and took Niagara s leap 
 And thundered to the sea with joyful flow. 
 
 126
 
 CASTLES OF THE SEA 
 
 SUMMER S breath is on the ocean, fragrant from far 
 
 southern lands, 
 She has brought her splendor northward here to grace 
 
 our rock-ribbed strands; 
 In the white-winged, purple distance, mystery has 
 
 draped her isles 
 With a languorous, lazy magic which goes drifting 
 
 down the miles. 
 
 Here the sands lie hot and heavy, yonder where the 
 
 shore-line curls, 
 Veiled by mists of dim horizons, they are gray as smoky 
 
 pearls, 
 And the rocks look soft as pillows, fanned by lazy winds 
 
 of sleep, 
 Which come lightly o er the billows from the chambers 
 
 of the deep. 
 
 This is love s own place for dreaming; out upon the 
 
 surging foam 
 Fairy ships move slow and stately to the harbors of 
 
 their home, 
 
 127
 
 CASTLES OF THE SEA 
 
 And across the sunlit waters, on the far shore of the 
 
 bay, 
 There are children, laughing, splashing, making 
 
 merry in their play. 
 
 But my soul is building castles out across the leagues 
 
 of brine, 
 
 Ivory turrets rise majestic and the palaces are mine; 
 Love walks with me down the gardens, out upon the 
 
 velvet sod, 
 And our lives are spent in loving there among the 
 
 isles of God. 
 
 128
 
 THE DAKK OF THE MOON 
 
 DIANA S crescent ship, 
 By silver chain and lock, 
 
 Lay anchored in the slip 
 Of Pluto s secret dock. 
 
 Apollo, from his race 
 
 First-fought across the skies, 
 Drew rein with angry face 
 
 In ancient paradise. 
 
 Beside a sapphire stream 
 That fed the steeds of Day, 
 
 Enthralled in love-lit dream 
 The faithless Hermes lay. 
 
 "Awake! and take thy wings! 
 
 (The sun-god plied his whip) 
 And bid these underlings 
 To launch Diana s ship. 
 
 "Be sure thou do not fail, 
 
 On thee, fool, worlds await, 
 And this, her first night sail, 
 Must not be launched a-late." 
 129
 
 THE DARK OF THE MOON 
 
 Then Hermes, nursing wrath, 
 In silence took his flight, 
 
 And though down Pluto s path, 
 Reached not the court of night, 
 
 But met, full-gowned in sheaf, 
 
 Proserpine, his love, 
 And from the realms of Grief 
 
 Escorted her above. 
 
 And thus the crescent ship 
 From its Lethean clime 
 
 Left not the secret slip 
 At its appointed time. 
 
 When from the azure sea 
 Diana s barque is missed, 
 
 T is waiting in the lee 
 While Hermes has his tryst. 
 
 130
 
 THE DEMON DAWN 
 
 THE twilight came to soothe my furrowed care, 
 The night to ease the edge of pallid pain, 
 And sleep to quiet all the woes mundane, 
 Then silken dreams, lest sleep should be too bare, 
 Folded their films around me, rich and rare; 
 Thus lay I, marveling in their silver skein 
 Of phantasy, till night was on the wane 
 And dawn peered in, disfigured by despair, 
 Calling me back to care s calm slavery, 
 Whetting the sword of pain, mine ancient foe, 
 Rousing again his friend, relentless woe; 
 O demon Dawn ! what devil dwells in thee, 
 That thou shouldst enter here so fiendishly, 
 And shatter all the happiness I know? 
 
 131
 
 ON THE BEACH AT EVENING 
 
 OUT on the beach at evening, under the shining stars, 
 Where the deep, dull dirge of the ocean s surge sweeps 
 
 o er the harbor bars, 
 Lights that move in the distance, lights that gleam on 
 
 the shore, 
 This seems to be eternity, where we shall slave no more. 
 
 Peace descends with the starlight, and over the soft, 
 
 cool sands 
 The night wind blows the scent of rose from gracious 
 
 garden lands; 
 Bright are your eyes in the darkness; sad is the song 
 
 of the sea; 
 The world, dear love, is fashioned of we two and 
 
 mystery. 
 
 Out on the beach at evening, where the strange, soft 
 sounds of night 
 
 Come gently o er the stretch of shore with a muffled 
 cadence light, 
 
 Oh, this the time for loving, when the sea song over 
 powers, 
 
 And the mute stars shine above the brine through the 
 precious, priceless hours. 
 132
 
 FANCY-LAND 
 
 THERE is soft, purple charm to the night 
 
 And gold on the garb of the day, 
 There are castles all ivory white, 
 
 And strange, fairy children at play, 
 There are mountains that loom great and grand, 
 
 Far glimpses of seas shining bright, 
 And blossom-blown fields in the land, 
 
 The fanciful land of delight. 
 
 There the zephyr eternally blows 
 
 Through the valleys and gardens in glee; 
 Down the meadows a great river flows 
 
 Past the flowering fields to the sea; 
 In my barque on this mystical stream, 
 
 Unrestrained in my moods, fancy-free, 
 I drift down the river, and dream 
 
 Of the world and eternity. 
 
 133
 
 THE BIRTHPLACE OF DREAMS 
 
 OVER the hills where the moon hangs low 
 
 In the mystic eastern night, 
 
 Building her castles light 
 
 On the silvery floor of the ocean s foam, 
 
 In the track of the path that leads to home, 
 
 (For the sea is eternity 
 
 And our home is infinity), 
 
 There where the tides lead out of time 
 
 Through the moon-built gates to another clime, 
 
 Take me, O Hermes, fast in thy flight 
 
 Into those castles, ivory white, 
 
 Ere the nymph of sleep her potion applies, 
 
 Casting the magic over mine eyes, 
 
 That I may just one vision win 
 
 Of the place where my dreams have origin. 
 
 134
 
 A VILLANELLE OF SPRING 
 
 OH, crimson forges of the East! 
 
 South winds thy bellows blow, 
 The world from thee new life has leased. 
 
 The good King Winter, late deceased, 
 
 He died because thou burned him so; 
 Oh, crimson forges of the East! 
 
 New gowns for nature, man, and beast, 
 
 Thy daughter Spring has brought; we know 
 The world from thee new life has leased. 
 
 The diamond day thy marriage priest 
 
 Has thrown his flowers to and fro, 
 Oh, crimson forges of the East ! 
 
 We come with gladness to thy feast, 
 
 Thy sons and daughters, friend and foe, 
 The world from thee new life has leased. 
 
 Our tides of joy are so increased, 
 
 High water-marks all go ! 
 Oh, crimson forges of the East! 
 The world from thee new life has leased. 
 135
 
 A NIGHT FANCY 
 
 THIS tide of night that surges slowly 
 
 Over the orchard walls 
 Seems the return of glooms once holy 
 
 In the monastic halls. 
 
 This bell whose chimes are sweetly winging 
 
 Across the evening hour 
 Is as an old bell softly ringing 
 
 In the monastic tower. 
 
 And these dim forms that in the garden 
 Are night-cowled apple-trunks 
 
 Seem to be penitents praying pardon 
 They are the grim old monks. 
 
 136
 
 THE HAPPY LAND 
 
 THERE is a land of rare realities 
 
 Whose sunsets all are golden, and whose dawns 
 
 Are as the first white dawn that flashed 
 
 Upon a new-forged world. Its afternoons 
 
 Are silver-sandaled dreams of phantasy, 
 
 Its nights are deepened twilights, cool, and sweet 
 
 With some strange incense, and its moons 
 
 Unwearied from their climbing of the skies, 
 
 Reflect the splendor of that brighter clime 
 
 Which mortals ken in dreaming. Through the heart 
 
 Of this fair land, a river blue as austral skies 
 
 Murmurs a haunting song. Its stretch of shores 
 
 Is laid with marble whiter than its moons, 
 
 And on the snowy tiles the people come 
 
 At evening from their palaces which rise 
 
 In pearl succession back unto the brow 
 
 Of purple hills. And there, with chant and song, 
 
 Or liquid utterance in voices soft 
 
 These happiest of mortals walk and dream; 
 
 There is no striving, life goes idly by, 
 
 As idly as an aspen shakes its leaves; 
 
 They walk and rest and dream, they love 
 
 Better than people ever loved before; 
 
 It is the land wherein we all have been 
 
 A moment or a year. 
 
 137
 
 THE WHITE EAGLE 
 
 THAT white eagle which goes by 
 Piercing the blue, untrameled sky, 
 It is no bird, though bird it seems, 
 It is the ages wrought-out dreams. 
 
 That fine grace which you see there, 
 Riding the swift tides of the air, 
 How to the senses it doth please ! 
 That is the grace of the centuries. 
 
 And that speed which bears it far, 
 Till but a speck is its white car, 
 That is the speed which came to life 
 After a cycle s ceaseless strife. 
 
 138
 
 THE VALLEY 
 
 I SAW three mountains standing calm and clear 
 Against the samite dawn. Their peaks of snow 
 Dazzled with diamond-leaping light, as though 
 The parapets of paradise were near. 
 Between them stretched a valley, so austere 
 Methought it was the shadow-shore of woe, 
 The region of wrecked souls, the overflow 
 On earth of Dante s sad-scened under-sphere: 
 And pressing through that place unparalleled, 
 Searching for what in such land could remain, 
 A host of pallid people I beheld 
 Who strove to climb the halcyon heights in vain. 
 "What peaks? what vale?" I cried, by awe impelled. 
 "The peaks of peace," they said, "the vale of pain." 
 
 139
 
 BESIDE THE SHORE ROAD 
 
 HERE lies an old, worn highway winding far 
 Into the dwindling distances. Along its trail 
 On one hand, climbing quickly toward the west, 
 The stone-walled meads of old New England rise 
 To heights of great advantage, there to watch 
 The crimson ceremonials of the sun, 
 Which takes its liveried farewell of the day 
 In mighty maze of color. . . . This old road 
 Runs close beside the sea, yet ere the land 
 Plunges into the tide, there is a stretch 
 Of wondrous russet lawn which parallels 
 And ever keeps apace the beaten trail, 
 As though it fain had tried 
 In many a sweet, forgotten morn of spring 
 To throw its early emerald coverlet 
 Over the ashen aspect of the dust 
 And hide its hues forever. . . . Just beyond 
 This sweep of sunburnt turf the open sea, 
 With beach line quite as winding as the road, 
 Heaves heavy crest of pearl. While here and there 
 At undeliberate, luckless intervals 
 Along this peaceful parking by the sea, 
 A row of giant trees, their branches bare 
 140
 
 BESIDE THE SHORE ROAD 
 
 From too much wild embracing with the wind, 
 
 Stand stark in loneliness. To eastward lies 
 
 The white-whipped, tossing leagues of lambent 
 
 foam; 
 
 And far out in the purple mists a sail 
 Shudders against a sky-line undefined. Above, 
 Piercing the crisp December air 
 Two wild birds wing their unmolested way 
 Unto a homing haven. ... I came down 
 A while ago from these unharassed hills 
 And stood me for a time beside the road 
 Gazing upon the sea. ... I went away 
 And took with me the freedom and the joy, 
 The loneliness, the majesty, and all 
 The vigor and the rapture of that scene 
 Defying sense to fathom. 
 
 141
 
 THE PIRATEER 
 
 THE lightning flashed and thunder crashed, 
 And the foam flew high that day, 
 When the black-flagged ship and her treasure hoard 
 Sank down in a stormless sea. 
 
 The great guns cried and brave men died, 
 And the fight was hot that day, 
 When the outlaw and her pirate lord 
 Went deep to a lifeless sea. 
 
 The bright sun beamed and still waves gleamed, 
 When the divers searched next day; 
 But the treasure-ship and all on board 
 Lay still in a secret sea. 
 
 142
 
 SONG OF THE WHITE COMPANY 
 
 WE are troopers brave and bold 
 With the silver-prancing steeds, 
 And our helmets gleam with gold 
 O er the shining English meads. 
 Oh, flashing our sabres high 
 We thunder across the fields, 
 And the motto, "We dare to die," 
 Is graven upon our shields. 
 Refrain 
 
 Hear the beat, beat, beat of OUT horses on the highway, 
 And the jangle and the clanging of our spurs, 
 See the swift love-glance of the maiden in the by-way, 
 She is singling out the trooper she prefers; 
 Purple plumes and flags a-dancing when we ride upon 
 
 parade, 
 
 There is shouting when the cavalry they see; 
 For the people have acclaimed us as the best of the 
 
 brigade, 
 
 And they cheer for the White Company. 
 We are dauntless men of war, 
 Awaiting the wild alarms, 
 For we love the field of gore 
 And the clanging call to arms, 
 143
 
 SONG OF THE WHITE COMPANY 
 
 We sweep to the smoking front, 
 With a shout and song we go, 
 And our good blades bear the brunt 
 Of the hot fight with the foe. 
 
 We have swept o er farm and fen 
 Of many a foreign strand, 
 And our name is feared of men 
 In the lore of every land, 
 We start at the bugle call 
 As fleet as a bird on wing, 
 And we re ready to fight and fall 
 For the honor of the king. 
 
 144
 
 THE RANGE OF BEAUTY 
 
 I LOVE the wild free play of life, unfettered force in 
 
 motion, 
 The racing wind, the lightning flash, the tempest on 
 
 the ocean, 
 I crave the boon of thunderbolts, the rocking of the 
 
 mountains, 
 Yet love I still the tumbling rill, the pretty play of 
 
 fountains. 
 
 The thirst of force is in my blood, the cannon s deadly 
 
 rattle, 
 The charging of the White Hussars, the blind alarms 
 
 of battle, 
 The rage of roaring river-floods, the shock of clanging 
 
 cities, 
 And yet I love the magic of the poet s little ditties. 
 
 I call for life, for bounding life, the soul in conflagra 
 tion, 
 
 The splendid speed of meteors, the prophet s exulta 
 tion, 
 
 I dare to dream the wrath of God, the human hate of 
 duty, 
 
 For these reveal and force me feel the mighty range of 
 beauty. 
 
 145
 
 CAPTIVE 
 
 OH, Kirkwood is a fine town, snugly nestled by the 
 
 hills, 
 Eastward fringed by many meadows running gold with 
 
 daffodils, 
 Westward banked by three blue mountains walling 
 
 off the sweeping sea 
 Which lies scarlet toward the sunset with its miles of 
 
 majesty. 
 
 There are simple folks in Kirkwood, some five hundred 
 
 souls or more, 
 Who are satisfied with meadows and the mountains 
 
 at their door, 
 They have little need of cities, with then* grime and 
 
 grind and glare 
 And they ask not more of fortune than their frugal 
 
 country fare. 
 
 Once I gamboled in their hayfields in the heavy heat 
 
 of noon, 
 And stole peaches in their orchards by the dim light 
 
 of the moon, 
 
 146
 
 CAPTIVE 
 
 Climbed the mountains in the morning, young and 
 
 frisky as the dawn, 
 But since then full sixty summers silently have come 
 
 and gone. 
 
 Ah, I know brave lads go roaming where my young 
 heart loved to roam 
 
 Ere the wiles of shining cities lured me from my boy 
 hood home, 
 
 And I fain would shake my fetters and go back to them 
 to-day, 
 
 Simple-hearted, free and careless, join them in their 
 pranks and play. 
 
 To go back! what riot-dreaming! there are gulfs 
 
 between us now, 
 Time, the enemy unbending, hath put silver on my 
 
 brow, 
 And the jealous-tempered city, with its many-splen- 
 
 dored mart, 
 Holds me captive to the music of the multitude s great 
 
 heart. 
 
 147
 
 DARTMOUTH
 
 THE LADS THAT ONCE I KNEW 
 
 THE lads that once I knew 
 
 Where are they gone, I wonder; 
 The hill winds rose and blew 
 
 OUT lives one day asunder, 
 And some I ve never seen 
 
 Since when, half broken-hearted, 
 With hands clasped in the Green 
 
 We said good-bye and parted. 
 
 The lads that once I knew 
 
 Cannot all come together, 
 Time has cut down a few 
 
 And loosed our old-time tether; 
 The bonds that once have been, 
 
 Wear out when pathways sever, 
 And most of these good men 
 
 Are lost to me forever. 
 
 151
 
 THE PEACE OF COLLEGE 
 
 So forceful are the giant elms, the hills, 
 That this sharp bell which strikes the passing hours 
 Disturbs not their controlling peace which stills 
 All sense of strife beneath the college towers. 
 
 Thus youth hears not the faint and far away 
 Sad cry of life sadder than God s great sea 
 Nor knows what bitter conflicts rage to-day, 
 Where strive the millions of humanity. 
 
 152
 
 THE moon o er the hills to-night! 
 
 A song where the spring-leaves blow, 
 The setting of Youth s delight. 
 
 Pale lamps of our learning s height ! 
 
 What is it shames you so? 
 The moon o er the hills to-night! 
 
 O, the wine is sparkling bright 
 
 With its subtle, sunshine glow 
 The setting of Youth s delight. 
 
 The halls are ivory white, 
 The river mirrors below, 
 The moon o er the hills to-night. 
 
 Our hearts were fashioned aright 
 For the comradeship we know, 
 The setting of Youth s delight. 
 
 Come ! We shall be happy in spite 
 
 That all shall fleetingly go 
 The moon o er the hills to-night, 
 The setting of Youth s delight! 
 
 153
 
 MISSING 
 
 THE lads come back in autumn, 
 The coach climbs up the hill, 
 
 And lusty lungs are singing, 
 But one good pair is still. 
 
 The bells ring out for chapel 
 Their old song and refrain, 
 
 But now their morning music 
 For one shall ring in vain. 
 
 And all about the campus 
 The elms look on the scene 
 
 Searching for one young Spartan 
 Who used to wear the Green. 
 
 Down on the grim old oval 
 
 Eight hundred men give cheers, 
 
 But one staunch voice is missing 
 From the shouts for the Grenadiers. 
 
 Perhaps he still is with us, 
 
 It cannot be denied 
 A man might finish college 
 
 Despite the fact he died. 
 154
 
 WE GATHER BACK 
 
 WE gather back again, boys, 
 
 To pledge our hearts anew; 
 We gather back again, boys, 
 
 With love as firm and true 
 As they who came here first, boys, 
 
 A hundred years ago, 
 With hearts that were undaunted at 
 
 The wilderness of snow. 
 
 We gather back again, boys, 
 
 As we shall come here ever, 
 Though youth may lose its garlands gay 
 
 And time our ways may sever; 
 We gather back again, boys, 
 
 Where memories ne er perish, 
 To the temple of our Fathers 
 
 Whose deathless name we cherish. 
 
 155
 
 THE SONG OF THE LIGHT-HEARTED 
 
 LET s leave our sorrow for to-morrow ! 
 
 Come, laugh, life now is young, 
 Let s save our tears for after years 
 
 When youth s gay song is sung; 
 We still are boys, let s take the joys 
 
 And drink them deep and strong, 
 With laughing eyes neath cloud-free skies, 
 
 Youth s highway is not long. 
 
 The heart of you, my comrade true, 
 
 Though fast the years may slip, 
 From my light heart shall never part 
 
 In this good fellowship; 
 For us no care, we 11 take the dare 
 
 To live like cavaliers, 
 For what s the folly if we re jolly? 
 
 The mirth of youth endears. 
 
 Let s court good cheer and banish fear, 
 
 Let s play the prince and king, 
 And drink life s wine hi shade and shine 
 
 While with strong hearts we sing; 
 For life is free and mad with glee, 
 
 Then violins and lute! 
 The music light we sing to-night 
 
 Will soon enough be mute. 
 156
 
 DARTMOUTH 
 
 ON many fields of conflict you have heard her glory 
 sung, 
 
 And far across our country her victories have rung; 
 
 Best loved among the colleges our Dartmouth is the 
 Queen, 
 
 Then a toast to-night to Dartmouth and to her eter 
 nal Green! 
 
 It is, sir, a small college by Connecticut s fair stream, 
 Yet there are those who love her and of her triumphs 
 
 dream; 
 Brave Wheelock loved her first, when he taught the 
 
 Redman truth, 
 And all her sons have loved her who have lingered 
 
 there with youth. 
 
 O er New Hampshire s granite mountains broods her 
 
 spirit strong and true, 
 
 And in every new-born son Dartmouth spirit lives anew ; 
 Brother stands to shelter brother in the face of every 
 
 gale, 
 And we all have set a watchday lest the old traditions 
 
 fail. 
 
 157
 
 THE GREEN GRENADIERS 
 
 IF your sporting blood is royal you won t curse me if 
 
 I m loyal, 
 
 If I give one side my sympathies and cheers, 
 You have privileges as equal, these remarks have just 
 
 this sequel 
 I m a rooter for the Green s own Grenadiers. 
 
 You may have another story that is writ in crimson 
 
 glory, 
 
 Of a college that has nursed your youthful years; 
 Give her then your fiercest spirit and the outcome 
 
 never fear it, 
 But my heart is with the Green s own Grenadiers. 
 
 For what boots a football battle and the crowd s in 
 cessant rattle, 
 
 If it quickens not your deepest hopes and fears? 
 
 You of Harvard s great endeavor, join and cheer her 
 sons forever, 
 
 I shall cheer my heart out for my Grenadiers. 
 
 And if victory refuses, if the Green s the team that 
 
 loses 
 
 Grief I 11 have, but never grief of tears, 
 I will give old Harvard credit, but my heart she ll 
 
 never wed it, 
 
 For my heart is with the big Green Grenadiers. 
 
 158
 
 FIGHT! 
 
 (Harvard-Dartmouth Football Game, 1908.) 
 
 THE Stadium is nervous, Johnny Harvard s feeling 
 
 queer, 
 For they Ve got a team a-coming that is quite their 
 
 fighting peer; 
 Johnny s memory is pricking and his mind s not quite 
 
 serene, 
 For he knows there s nothing yellow in the wearers 
 
 of the Green. 
 
 " Ready, Dartmouth? " On your toes! 
 
 " Ready, Harvard? " Off she goes ! 
 O, it s fight, you bloody Crimson, 
 And it s fight, you gallant Green; 
 And whichever whips the other, 
 Please to whip him good and clean. 
 
 Eleazar Wheelock s savages have chewed the Tiger 
 
 up; 
 Now t would please their hungry appetites on Johnny 
 
 H. to sup. 
 Fight your hardest, Johnny Harvard, you have got a 
 
 lot to fear, 
 That game may make the pennant team of all this 
 
 funny year. 
 
 159
 
 FIGHT! 
 
 Ready, Harvard? " Down the field ! 
 ; Ready, Dartmouth? " Do not yield ! 
 O, it s fight, you bloody Crimson, 
 And it s fight, you gallant Green; 
 And whichever whips the other, 
 Please to whip him good and clean. 
 
 160
 
 THE CHRISTENING OF THE STADIUM 
 
 IT was the greatest game that year that mortal ever 
 
 saw, 
 The Stadium shook and trembled with the ringing 
 
 Wah-Who-Wah, 
 As down the field the Dartmouth team in fierceness 
 
 fought its way 
 And christened Harvard s Stadium on that immortal 
 
 day. 
 
 They christened it with emerald deep hues of Irish 
 
 sheen, 
 Till over all of Cambridge town the gloom was tinted 
 
 green, 
 And though old Harvard s valiant hosts have long since 
 
 flaunted red, 
 That coat of green will stay right there till football 
 
 days are dead. 
 
 It was our giant fighting team, the best of all the 
 
 years, 
 
 Our iron-hearted infantry, the big green Grenadiers, 
 Great Witham, Knibbs, and Gilman, and a dozen 
 
 splendid men, 
 
 Oh, when shall Eleazar s sons behold their like again? 
 
 161
 
 THE CHRISTENING OF THE STADIUM 
 
 Gone is the day of weight and strength, and the clock 
 work-like machine, 
 
 Now light, fleet-footed lads uphold the honor of the 
 Green, 
 
 But change nor time shall not wipe out that mighty 
 memory, 
 
 The celebrated christening in famous oughty-three. 
 
 162
 
 THE WORLD S RECORD 
 
 (High Hurdles: Arthur Briggs Shaw, 1908.) 
 
 WE saw a flash go down the track, the flying figure 
 
 sped, 
 Leading the field of college stars and finished yards 
 
 ahead; 
 A timber-topping race like that the world had never 
 
 seen 
 Till he did fifteen seconds, lad, wearing the Dartmouth 
 
 green. 
 
 They said he had on wings that day, and so I half 
 
 believed, 
 I saw great Hubbard far behind and thought my sight 
 
 deceived; 
 But it was a famous fact, my boy, that feat of Arthur 
 
 Shaw, 
 We cheered him to the echo with the Dartmouth 
 
 Wah-Who-Wah. 
 
 The Grecians gave a laurel crown to winners such as he, 
 
 The laurel wreath we give to him is fame eternally; 
 
 For he did fifteen seconds, lad, which men had never 
 seen, 
 
 And he brought glory unto us he wore the Dart 
 mouth Green. 
 
 163
 
 NO MORE DREAMING 
 
 (Written at the Opening of the Campaign for the New Gymnasium. 
 1908) 
 
 I HAVE lighted the dear old pipe again 
 
 To think the matter o er, 
 Just as a legion of Dartmouth men 
 
 Have done like me before. 
 
 The same old dream curls up in smoke 
 
 Blue as Havana s skies, 
 And I feel the iron strength of its yoke 
 
 And I think of its Paradise. 
 
 Thinking and dreaming! yet never an act 
 
 Of mine to build the dream; 
 Do I worship the dream and hate the fact? 
 
 Ah, this the case doth seem. 
 
 False the impression ! yet you and I 
 Have worshiped the dream too long; 
 
 Then no more dreaming but do it or die ! 
 We are not a weakling throng. 
 
 When the dream is girded in steel and stone 
 
 We can take our pipes again, 
 And smoke all together, or smoke alone 
 
 The peace of Wheelock s men. 
 164
 
 THE SPIRIT IS TRUE 
 
 WHERE is the old-time Dartmouth, the Dartmouth 
 that once had been? 
 
 The sweatered race with its grizzly face, and the raw 
 hide booted men? 
 
 From the campus it all has vanished as the snow that 
 melts through night, 
 
 And now in its stead you hear the tread of the lads who 
 are dressed "just right." 
 
 Through the streets where a farmer s oxen once moved 
 
 with a stately jar, 
 You may hear the whir and behold the blur of a passing 
 
 motor-car; 
 And out hi front of the Commons where the tides of 
 
 youth still run, 
 You may estimate the fashion-plate as he gleams in 
 
 the morning sun. 
 
 There are few who chew their tobacco, though some 
 
 still follow the cards, 
 But in spite of the range of this great change, these 
 
 men are as good old pards 
 As any who walked hi rawhides hi the long-lost days 
 
 of old, 
 When the bearded boys with then- corduroys were the 
 
 keepers of the fold. 
 
 165
 
 For whether in Eighteen-fif ty, or whether in Nineteen- 
 
 ten 
 You measure their fame, the heart is the same in all 
 
 good Dartmouth men; 
 The march of the angel Progress has burnished the 
 
 outer man, 
 But the spirit is true hi me and you though we be more 
 
 spick and span. 
 
 166
 
 PLAINT OF A YOUNG LAWYER 
 
 THE rain runs rivers down the streets, the fog is on the 
 
 sea, 
 
 It surely is a rotten day to earn a lawyer s fee; 
 I m sick of petty broils and courts and O ! I wish I were 
 A care-free college lad again in dear old Hanover. 
 
 For Hanover is always gay 
 Though rain and snow come down; 
 There s always twenty lads to play 
 A game in that old town; 
 There s always some inviting den 
 With good fresh "dope" to hear; 
 I wish I were a lad again 
 In Hanover so dear. 
 
 I ve got a spell of blues to-day, I m gripped by slavish 
 
 fears, 
 
 I d give away my pot of gold to go back seven years; 
 I want to see the boys once more, my comrades of the 
 
 Green, 
 I d like to throw the chips again in Richardson Sixteen. 
 
 For study never weighs you down, 
 You never groan with knowledge, 
 And care lives not hi that old town 
 Which shelters Dartmouth College; 
 167
 
 PLAINT OF A YOUNG LAWYER 
 
 There are some good, sweet pipes to smoke 
 And oftentimes a "drappy"; 
 It matters not if you are broke, 
 You cannot help be happy. 
 
 But all the lads I used to know have long ago departed, 
 I should not find them in then* rooms, I d come back 
 
 heavy-hearted; 
 And so I can but sit and dream and wish that some 
 
 kind fairy 
 Would flash me back to Hanover with all my comrades 
 
 merry. 
 
 For Hanover would cure the ills 
 That on my soul are thronging, 
 The sight of those New Hampshire hills 
 Would still my restless longing; 
 Youth never pauses in its sweep, 
 But past old Scutney s mountain 
 I know a place where good men keep 
 A youth-renewal fountain. 
 
 168
 
 TO WEBSTER 
 
 I ve never drunk wine before, sir, but I tell you what, 
 dear Dan, 
 
 I 11 drink a toast to you as host, for you were a Dart 
 mouth man; 
 
 You re the giant of generations, and I swear by the 
 gods to-day 
 
 You 11 be the best when all the rest have passed with 
 the years away. 
 
 I drink to you three times three, sir, and then, if I m 
 
 sober still, 
 I 11 drink one more to the men of yore, and the college 
 
 on the hill; 
 For you came of the ancient Dartmouth, and you kept 
 
 her foes at bay, 
 And your name resounds o er the marble mounds of 
 
 the foes you fought that day. 
 
 You carried the flag of Dartmouth till it streamed in 
 
 a continent s ken, 
 And in your name still lives the fame which you brought 
 
 to Dartmouth men; 
 The upturned eyes of a nation and the echo of endless 
 
 cheers 
 Were rightly yours, your work endures and will 
 
 through all the years. 
 169
 
 TO WEBSTER 
 
 The men who maligned your honor, ah! their mouths 
 
 are stopped with dust, 
 Through eternity you ll always be our Webster great 
 
 and just; 
 You re the giant of generations, and I tell you what, 
 
 dear Dan, 
 With lips still wet I place the bet you are Dartmouth s 
 
 biggest man. 
 
 170
 
 THE DEPARTED 
 
 WHILE yet their fagots scarce had burned 
 
 On Alma Mater s altar fire, 
 With Life s long lessons still unlearned, 
 
 They left our land of dear desire. 
 
 Ambition had not plumed its wings 
 Nor genius won its myrtle crown, 
 
 Before they passed to higher things, 
 Laying the lesser laurels down. 
 
 They clasped at once the Holy Grail 
 Across the dark, mysterious stream, 
 
 Yet I hear voices on the gale 
 And still behold them stand and dream. 
 
 Like figures on a Grecian vase, 
 
 Which foot nor finger ne er can raise, 
 
 I see them as they quit the race 
 Along the course of college days. 
 
 And I who must press on and fight 
 Far through the fields of future years 
 
 Have shrined these men in hallowed light, 
 Blessing their memories with tears. 
 171
 
 THE ANCIENT THREE 
 
 THEY are old and worn and dreary, 
 
 Wentworth, Reed, and Thornton Halls, 
 Not by half so bright and cheery 
 
 As our later, modern walls; 
 They don t "stack up" with New Hampshire 
 
 Or with Massachusetts Row, 
 And they re dark, a trifle damp, sir, 
 
 These old "dorms" of long ago. 
 
 Yet I swear dreams cling about them 
 
 Of the ancient Indian days, 
 No smart sophomore may flout them 
 
 When he speaks a building s praise; 
 They have faced more wintry weather 
 
 Housed more lads, these pioneers, 
 Than all new ones put together, 
 
 Reared in late, affluent years. 
 
 Sons of Wheelock without number, 
 
 Good sons, great sons, stanch and true, 
 
 Sons who now have gone to slumber, 
 Sons who never saw the new, 
 172
 
 THE ANCIENT THREE 
 
 Toiled in these old halls of knowledge 
 Dream-lit by then- young desires, 
 
 And they made up Dartmouth College, 
 For these same sons were our sires. 
 
 Thornton may look rough and musty, 
 
 Reed may lack luxurious style, 
 Wentworth s bedrooms may be dusty, 
 
 Bathrooms, too, seem short of tile; 
 They don t "class" with Dartmouth s latest, 
 
 Those on Massachusetts Row, 
 But these "dorms" are still our greatest, 
 
 Classic links with long ago. 
 
 173
 
 INAUGURATION SONNETS 
 
 (Inauguration of President Nichols, October 1&, 1909) 
 WILLIAM JEWETT TUCKER 
 
 THE ships which set out from the ancient shore 
 Of Truth s vast sea, pause not their onward sweep 
 With change of captains. For, on that stern deep 
 All ships exceed commanders. . . . Though no more 
 His voice shall ring above the sentient roar 
 Yet shall our bark bear on. But we who keep 
 Its sails before the wind Ah ! we shall weep 
 For loss of this one man our hearts adore. 
 O er all the seas he led us stanch and true, 
 His leadership harks back for many a mile; 
 And can it be that we must say adieu 
 To him who brought us to this treasure isle? 
 Farewell ! Ah, no, the word has too much rue, 
 He would not have it thus he bids us smile. 
 
 ERNEST FOX NICHOLS 
 
 WHEN dies the king, the king must live, and so 
 With Truth, the torch must burn on through the night, 
 For men have grievous need of all its light, 
 As through a darkened world they grope and go. 
 
 174
 
 INAUGURATION SONNETS 
 
 The bearer must have strength to meet the woe, 
 Heart, mind, faith, hope, and love for every plight, 
 Courage which never falters in the fight 
 And he has all of these Ah, well we know. 
 So takes he the command, and for his need 
 We offer him our steadfast loyalty, 
 And in the frontier fields where he shall lead, 
 Our tall, green plumes shall wave in majesty, 
 Till all the fields shall shout of some great deed 
 Such as shall last through God s eternity. 
 
 175
 
 CLASS POEM 
 
 (Commencement, 1907) 
 
 LIKE Lotus-eaters, late disturbed from sleep, 
 We rise to answer voices from the wave 
 Which call us from the moorings we would keep 
 To far horizons, o er a dreamless deep; 
 Yet loath are we to leave the spot that gave 
 The food for all our dreams, both gay and grave, 
 But still we face the hour which has come 
 As men who have the courage to be brave 
 When lips speak not and every heart is dumb ! 
 
 But ere we go our tribute we shall pay; 
 
 As Spartans to their sacred temple went, 
 
 We seek the shrine of Dartmouth ere the day 
 
 Dies in the west and finds us on our way, 
 
 Love s vow unsaid. No words can speech invent 
 
 To frame the feelings in our bosoms pent, 
 
 As kneeling at the Altar of the Fold 
 
 We seal the vows which time cannot repent, 
 
 To stainless keep Her spotless name of gold ! 
 
 Soft singing floats across the trembling air! 
 The pines are murmuring from hilltops nigh, 
 The giant campus-elms, as if to bear 
 Their brunt of song, are chanting forth a prayer 
 176
 
 To swell the subtle chorus of good-bye 
 And make our going glorious, while high 
 Above the muffled anthem is the voice 
 Of Alma Mater, bidding us but try 
 To live and love, and in our love rejoice ! 
 
 To live and love this message long will dwell 
 God strengthen us its blessing not to shame ! 
 But rather, all our days to cherish well 
 The gifts She gave to us; no tongue can tell 
 The purity of purpose in Her aim, 
 The hallowed glory garnered in Her name, 
 All tendered to Her sons without alloy ! 
 If we have been receptive to Her spell, 
 We ve gained a heritage beyond destroy ! 
 
 The spell is on us! Now in manhood s morn 
 We leave Her temple-court of native wood 
 To greet a world Her spirit has re-born, 
 In whose fair gardens none need be forlorn, 
 For this new sphere is Dartmouth brotherhood ! 
 Whoever once at Dartmouth s shrine has stood 
 Shall find a comradeship throughout the earth, 
 In which his better self is understood 
 Because Her spirit seeks for manhood s worth ! 
 
 We Ve chummed as boys together; we have played 
 At all our sports upon the campus green, 
 177
 
 CLASS POEM 
 
 Light-hearted laughter known, and we have made 
 Merry of things we gravely should have weighed; 
 The boyish antics acted on this scene 
 Immortal live in memory s demesne, 
 Familiar faces, happy in their play, 
 Shall often peer from out the fadeless sheen, 
 Affection s tender ghosts of yesterday ! 
 
 As tones unlike have formed the chapel chimes, 
 So have our lives been made of unlike things 
 Which ran together strangely into rhymes 
 And given us a consciousness, betimes, 
 Which told us of the richness of these springs, 
 Here where the restless voice of wisdom rings 
 To urge ambitious youth to gain the goal, 
 That ever in the eager fancy clings, 
 And urging, builds anon the subtle soul ! 
 
 We cannot tell what subtleties these are 
 That now are part of us, yet this we know 
 The great green hills, the streams, the clouds afar, 
 The barren rocks, the snows, the winter star, 
 The summer breeze, the northern blasts that blow 
 Have entered in as friend and not as foe! 
 New Hampshire is a Magus who has wrought 
 Fair-fashioned pearls which evermore will go 
 Unceasing round the rosary of thought. 
 
 178
 
 CLASS POEM 
 
 The greatest gift of Dartmouth is the face 
 Of him who led us through the precious years 
 In fearless firmness, clothed in gentle grace, 
 Our President ! He holds his tender place 
 Too deep within our souls for shallow tears! 
 He loves us with a love the heart reveres 
 As sacred ; he, like Him of Nazareth, 
 In grandeur rises o er all human fears 
 And leaves the legacy which conquers death ! 
 
 Dear Alma Mater! All our words are vain! 
 Though marshaled all the meaning speech supplies, 
 The Alps of fond affection yet remain 
 Cloud-capped above the flat, familiar plain 
 Of spoken thought! In thee we recognize 
 The Mother who has shown us Paradise! 
 As mutely now we part with clasp of hand, 
 Ah ! teach us hi our going in what wise 
 We may contrive to make Thee understand 
 The love of loyal hearts which Thou must e er 
 command ! 
 
 179
 
 THIRD REUNION POEM 
 
 (Class of 1907) 
 (Delivered at Hanover, June, 1910) 
 
 OH, some are here and some are there, they are scat 
 tered the whole world over, 
 
 But the word we give to all that live is the luck of the 
 four-leaf clover; 
 
 We are gathered now to take the vow that the men of 
 Oughty-Seven 
 
 Shall stand as friend to the very end, till we meet in 
 God s high heaven. 
 
 We are out on the long, long road 
 With its rough rocks and sharp turning, 
 Each with the weight of his load 
 And a soul with life-fires burning, 
 Out in the brunt of the storm 
 Of the wide world s fierce endeavor, 
 But the heart of each man is warm 
 And it will be warm forever. 
 
 Oh, some are strong with cheer and song, and some are 
 
 sick with sorrow, 
 And some have gone hi silence on, and they rise not 
 
 with to-morrow, 
 
 180
 
 THIRD REUNION POEM 
 
 But in what land our comrades stand, they raise to 
 day their glasses 
 
 And clink and drink while heartstrings link for the best 
 of Dartmouth classes. 
 
 One mile, two miles, three, 
 
 We have left their tales behind us, 
 
 And whatever their records be, 
 
 To this no cloud shall blind us, 
 
 That we must aspire to do 
 
 A work that is good and glorious, 
 
 And to our ideals be true 
 
 And hope for the goal victorious. 
 
 For some shall bleed in sorest need as onward they go 
 
 in battle, 
 And some shall come with flag and drum unharmed 
 
 through rage and rattle, 
 But whether our fate be pain and hate, or gold and 
 
 fame and pleasure, 
 Beneath all skies we still must rise to a Dartmouth 
 
 man s full measure. 
 
 Then we will join hands for strength, 
 (They win who are best united), 
 As we go down the road s long length 
 Till the gleam of the goal be sighted, 
 
 181
 
 THIRD REUNION POEM 
 
 And each man will give of his blood, 
 As his dear Alma Mater has given, 
 For a world s better brotherhood 
 And the honor of Oughty-Seven. 
 
 Oh, some are here and some are there, they are scat 
 tered the whole world over, 
 
 But the word we give to all that live is the luck of the 
 four-leaf clover, 
 
 For in what land our comrades stand, they raise to-day 
 their glasses 
 
 And clink and drink while heartstrings link for the best 
 of Dartmouth classes. 
 
 182
 
 THY DREAMS ARE THE DEEDS OF MEN 
 
 OF mighty sons now sleeping and of mighty sons to be, 
 Born of thy cogent spirit as broad as the boundless sea, 
 Dartmouth, our Alma Mater! Thy dreams are the 
 
 deeds of men 
 That will sweep us on to the crimson dawn of the 
 
 golden age again; 
 
 Mother of fearless yeomen whose battle cry is "Right," 
 Into the world thou sendest us, and thy command is 
 
 "Fight!" 
 Fight for the ideals cherished, fight for the true and 
 
 good, 
 
 Till our infantry win victory neath the flag of brother 
 hood. 
 
 Many thy sons are sleeping, their trumpets are silent 
 
 now, 
 But we who carry thy battle-flag may yet fulfil thy 
 
 vow; 
 Dartmouth! Our Alma Mater! Our dreams are the 
 
 deeds of youth, 
 Yet girded with might we shall rise and fight for the 
 
 endless cause of truth; 
 183
 
 THY DREAMS ARE THE DEEDS OF MEN 
 
 Into a world that s struggling in the iron clutch of 
 wrong 
 
 We shall take our arms and muster them to the strain 
 of thy battle-song, 
 
 And the ideals shall be cherished, the beautiful and 
 good, 
 
 Till our infantry win victory neath the flag of brother 
 hood. 
 
 184
 
 THE LAST MAN 
 
 BACK at Commencement time he came, 
 
 Over the Campus I saw him pass, 
 Old and infirm and walking lame; 
 
 He was the last man of his class. 
 
 No close chums of his college days 
 
 Rushed forth to take him by the hand, 
 
 He walked alone the dear old ways, 
 Survivor of a fallen band. 
 
 Though we who look face to the fore 
 Spoke words to him of kindly cheer, 
 
 They charmed him not. In Thornton s door 
 I saw him brush away a tear. 
 
 His hunger was for other men, 
 
 Not we who sprightly whistled by; - 
 
 He dreamed of times that once had been, 
 He longed I heard him heave a sigh. 
 
 He passed through Thornton s threshold, grim 
 And scarred from wars with Father Time; 
 
 I watched him go, and wished for him 
 Reunion in another clime.
 
 {"555 672 780