LINCOLN 
 
 AND OTHERS 
 
 THOMAS CURTIS CLARK 
 
LINCOLN ROOM 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
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LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 THOMAS CURTIS CLARK 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://archive.org/details/lincolnothersOOclar 
 
LINCOLN 
 
 AND OTHERS 
 
 THOMAS CURTIS CLARK 
 
 NEW NlM? YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
Cofyright, 1923 y 
 By George H. Doran Company 
 
 LINCOLN AND OTHERS. II 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
 
TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
Grateful acknowledgment is hereby made to 
 The Living Church, The Christian Century, The 
 Boston Transcript, The Chicago Tribune, The 
 Chicago Post and other publications in which 
 many of the poems included in this book origi- 
 nally appeared; also to James T. White & Com- 
 pany, New York, for permission to reprint a 
 number of poems first published in my earlier 
 volume, "Love Off to the War and Other 
 Poems." 
 
 [vii] 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lincoln 
 
 
 15 
 
 The Miracle 
 
 
 16 
 
 At G entry ville 
 
 
 17 
 
 Greatheart 
 
 
 18 
 
 At Gettysburg 
 
 
 19 
 
 The Democrat 
 
 
 20 
 
 The Tragedy 
 
 
 21 
 
 The Revelation 
 
 
 22 
 
 The Hand of Lincoln 
 
 
 23 
 
 The Christian 
 
 
 24 
 
 The Master 
 
 
 25 
 
 The World's Verdict 
 
 II 
 
 26 
 
 Shackleton 
 
 
 29 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt, Warrior 
 
 30 
 
 To Carl Sandburg 
 
 
 31 
 
 To Walt Whitman 
 
 
 32 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 
 33 
 
 In Shakespeare's Town 
 
 
 34 
 
 [ix] 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 On Rereading Keats 
 
 35 
 
 To Homer, Poet Eternal 
 
 36 
 
 A Song for Morning 
 
 37 
 
 When April Comes 
 
 38 
 
 Spring Song 
 
 39 
 
 April 
 
 40 
 
 Song 
 
 42 
 
 Apocalypse 
 
 43 
 
 Friendliness 
 
 44 
 
 In Blossom-Time 
 
 45 
 
 Poet to Cynic 
 
 46 
 
 To John Burroughs 
 
 47 
 
 Blind 
 
 48 
 
 The Poet's Call 
 
 49 
 
 To Wordsworth 
 
 50 
 
 Blind Eyes 
 
 5i 
 
 Up and Down the River 
 
 52 
 
 King of an Acre 
 
 54 
 
 Dawn 
 
 56 
 
 Fundamentals 
 
 57 
 
 The Kingdom 
 
 58 
 
 Hut Happiness 
 
 59 
 
 To a Thousand Year Old Elm 
 
 60 
 
 Corn 
 
 61 
 
 Romance 
 
 63 
 
 Humdrum 
 
 64 
 
 Pilots 
 
 65 
 
 w 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 Release 
 
 PAGE 
 
 66 
 
 Prayer of the Poor 
 
 67 
 
 With Gratitude for "Leaves of Grass" 
 
 68 
 
 The Lonely Way 
 
 69 
 
 The Procession 
 
 70 
 
 To the Poets 
 
 7 1 
 
 To Quintus Horatius Flaccus 
 
 72 
 
 The Builder 
 
 73 
 
 The Eternal 
 
 74 
 
 "Paradise Enow" 
 
 75 
 
 The Day Is Brief 
 
 76 
 
 Spectres 
 
 77 
 
 If Winter Comes 
 
 78 
 
 Lyric 
 
 79 
 
 Winter Harvest 
 
 80 
 
 Trust the Great Artist 
 
 81 
 
 Evidence 
 
 82 
 
 Revelation 
 
 84 
 
 In Memory 
 
 85 
 
 Revolt 
 
 86 
 
 In an Age of Science 
 
 87 
 
 Time 
 
 88 
 
 The Melting Pot 
 
 89 
 
 Upon Reading a Volume of Ancient Chinese 
 
 
 Poetry 
 
 90 
 
 [xi] 
 
I— 
 
Lincoln 
 
 Wise with the wisdom of ages, 
 Shrewd as a man of trade, 
 
 Grim as the prophets and sages, 
 Keen as a damask blade; 
 
 Firm as a granite-ribbed mountain, 
 Tender as woman's song, 
 
 Gay as a scintillant fountain — 
 Yet was he oaken-strong. 
 
 Here, the wonder of aons: 
 Born unto pain and strife; 
 
 Dead, f mid a thousand paans, 
 Deathless, he enters life. 
 
 [15] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Miracle 
 
 The wild Kentucky hills were touched of God, 
 And lo ! a child was born. His sires, unknown, 
 Dreamed not that God would for their tears atone 
 By raising from their midst a king. The sod 
 On which they walked was cursed to them, 
 Begrudging them their bread, for all their toil; 
 But it was holy ground; for from that soil 
 Should come a chosen one; the diadem 
 Upon his brow should be no piece of gold, 
 But, like his lowly Lord's, a thorny crown. 
 Upon his cross he died; they took him down, 
 And lo ! they found, before the day was old, 
 That they had crucified their one true friend: 
 Despite their hate, he loved them to the end. 
 
 [16] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 At Gentryville 
 
 From these dark streets flamed forth a brilliant 
 
 light, 
 This miry clay produced a mighty tree, 
 From this rude town emerged the bravest knight 
 That ever fought for human liberty. 
 Can it have been he found his splendid dream 
 Amid these shacks, where giant rats run wild? 
 Perhaps from heaven a high, prophetic gleam 
 Ensnared his heart, the while he thought and smiled. 
 This very spot was where he laughed and talked; 
 They say he whittled, whiling hours away. 
 His naked feet these slimy alleys walked, 
 And in this hut, perhaps, he learned to pray. 
 This is the tale of tales since time began — 
 How squalor travailed and brought forth a man! 
 
 [17] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Greatheart 
 
 They took small note of him, the great, the wise, 
 
 the rich, 
 Who saw him come from Illinois, a wild, crude 
 
 State — 
 A country lawyer to decide a Nation's fate ! 
 They held him foolish to accept so high a niche — 
 What, President ! Unkempt, unlearned and unre- 
 fined 
 They called him, and withdrew for private talk. 
 They joked about his ancestry, and by his walk 
 They feigned to guess his farmer lineage. How 
 
 blind 
 Were they who could not see the fire that burned 
 
 within 
 Those glowing eyes, who failed to note the mighty 
 
 strength 
 Of those toil-hardened arms! His gaunt limbs' 
 
 sprawling length 
 Should have proclaimed to them a giant's stride! 
 
 Their sin 
 Was not to know the great, enduring heart of him, 
 Our most beloved, whose fame the ages cannot dim. 
 
 [18] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 At Gettysburg 
 
 The whole world came to hear him speak that day 
 And all the ages sent their scribes to see 
 And hear what word the new land had to say 
 Of God and man and truth and liberty. 
 Homer was there and Socrates and Paul, 
 Shakespeare and Luther, Pitt, Cavour and Bright, 
 With Washington — stanch friends of freedom all; 
 Nor did he fail: he lifted there a light 
 For all the earth to see, from fires of truth 
 That surged within his breast. Yet that crude throng 
 Of men knew not that through this man uncouth 
 God spake as through old prophets, stern and strong. 
 They turned away, these men, but angels bent 
 From heaven to hear those flaming words, God-sent. 
 
 [19] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Democrat 
 
 Upon him fell a heritage of hate, 
 
 And he, who loved the fields of rustling corn, 
 
 Took up the load; and then a thought was born — 
 
 A thought that soon would shake the walls of state 
 
 The dream was his, that government should be 
 
 Unselfish as the morning sun; 
 
 Unwearying, alert, lest wrong be done 
 
 To any man or child. No vanity 
 
 Of pomp or power could move him from his will 
 
 To champion the cause of truth in public life. 
 
 He bent him to his task; but in the strife 
 
 That noble form was felled. His foes could kill 
 
 The mortal man, they could not stay his dream, 
 
 Which now, on darkened earth, casts far its gleam. 
 
 [20] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Tragedy 
 
 The wisdom of old Plato was in him; 
 Isaiah's vision lit his way of life ; 
 A strength like mighty Samson's met the strife 
 His day decreed: and still he was not grim, 
 For in his face the love of Jesus shone, 
 And in his hand was grace and tenderness; 
 He had no thought except to give and bless, 
 His human smile could melt a heart of stone. 
 And yet, alas! he walked a path of woe; 
 Despised, accursed, he wore a thorny crown; 
 When all the world proclaimed his high renown, 
 A madman's bullet hissed and laid him low. 
 One other crime was dastardly as this — 
 When Judas damned his Savior with a kiss. 
 
 [21] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Revelation 
 
 He walked among us and we passed him by 
 And thought him but a country lawyer, crude 
 As our red prairies are, and more than rude, 
 Who revelled in his jokes and deviltry. 
 We could not know the heart within that breast 
 Until the blood flowed freely from the wound 
 A traitor made; then was it that we found 
 That God had loaned us for a time His Best. 
 And now the nations, since their kings are gone, 
 Have taken him across the wide-flung sea 
 To rule their hearts as well as ours; to be 
 The goal of their desires, with breaking dawn. 
 
 [22] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Hand of Lincoln x 
 
 This hand grew strong by felling stubborn trees 
 That barred the way of freedom for our sires; 
 And here in Illinois it lit the fires 
 That should destroy those age-long dynasties 
 Of vested right and selfish power that broke 
 The spirit of a race. He saw their grief 
 With deep, sad eyes, and vowed their sure relief- 
 And then the Voice of God and Freedom spoke! 
 This hand clinched hard the tyrant's rod of hate 
 And tore it from his grasp. A people's prayer 
 Went up to God, who seeing their despair 
 Had sent to them a Friend both good and great. 
 
 1 Written after viewing a cast of Lincoln's right hand. 
 
 [23] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Christian 
 
 His foes declared him blasphemous, perverse, 
 Ignoring God and heedless of His word. 
 They said he lacked in fineness, who preferred 
 To market jokes, rude stories to rehearse. 
 He was no white-robed saint: a strong man he 
 Who loved to wrestle with the devil's brood 
 That lurked behind the fashions of the good. 
 He scorned all shams, and for hypocrisy 
 He held a hatred such as Christ alone, 
 The scourge of haughty Pharisees, could know. 
 Those painted masks of Christians felt his blow, 
 And at his blameless name each cast a stone. 
 Not by their words, but by their fruits, said He, 
 Who also knew the sting of calumny. 
 
 [24] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Master 
 
 We need him now — his rugged faith that held 
 Fast to the rock of truth through all the days 
 Of toil and strife, the sleepless nights; upheld 
 By very God was he — that God who stays 
 All hero-souls who will but trust in Him, 
 And trusting, labour as if God were not. 
 His eyes beheld the stars, clouds could not dim 
 Their glory; but his task was not forgot: 
 To keep his people one; to hold them true 
 To that fair dream their fathers willed to them- 
 Freedom for all; to spur them; to renew 
 Their hopes in bitter days; strife to condemn. 
 Such was his task, and well his work was done — 
 Who willed us greater tasks, when set his sun. 
 
 [25] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The World's Verdict 
 
 One sent out his ships to earth's farthest shores, 
 And brought to his coffers the Orient's stores; 
 
 The wild desert sands 
 
 Became gold in his hands; 
 And the world called him Genius — and wondered. 
 
 One sought out the secrets of planet and star; 
 He revelled in problems of granite and spar; 
 
 He hungered to know 
 
 All the earth could bestow; 
 And the world called him Scholar — and praised him. 
 
 One looked on a suffering, down-trodden race; 
 He wept as he gazed upon each troubled face; 
 
 He heeded their plea, 
 
 And he set their hands free; 
 And the world called him Brother — and loved him. 
 
 [26] 
 
II 
 
Shackleton 
 
 Your goal was not some island of the blest, 
 
 A zone of gardens, sweet with pink and chrome; 
 
 You had no thought to find at last a home 
 
 Where you might pause, by labours unopprest: 
 
 Fearless and strong, you set upon your quest; 
 
 Ice-fanged the ways that lured your dauntless ship, 
 
 Endless the night that held you in its grip, 
 
 But stout the heart that beat within your breast. 
 
 You were of Norman breed, bold viking soul; 
 
 You rode the icebergs as a summer sea; 
 
 Their crystal peaks, their cold, strange mystery 
 
 Lured on and on — then death revealed your goal: 
 
 You dropped your anchor, dared the ghastly shade, 
 
 And faced your Captain, calm and unafraid. 
 
 [29] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt, Warrior 
 
 In early years your valiant fight began, 
 When in the wilds you sought the boon of health; 
 Your spirit then revealed a brimming wealth 
 Of faith and force, which told the coming man. 
 In later days, more confident and strong, 
 You chose to serve where public storms were rife: 
 You strove with zeal to free the Nation's life 
 From lust of office, greed and vested wrong. 
 When flames of war enveloped half the world, 
 When truth was throttled by a crazy king, 
 You seized the lash, and whipped us, loitering, 
 And roused our might, till hell was backward hurled. 
 You proved a victor to your last life breath; 
 You could not stay the subtle warrior, Death. 
 
 [30] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 To Carl Sandburg 
 
 Your songs are born of tragedy and moil; 
 Not yours the lyrics of romantic love, < 
 Light sung; your muse is not a woodland dove 
 With poignant notes of loveliness. Hard toil 
 And bending backs and bitter oaths you sing. 
 You chant the fears of fathers, homeless, worn; 
 You sing the tears of mothers, anxious, torn 
 By poverty; and children, whom the sting 
 Of winter marks for early death — they lift 
 Their hearts to you. Yours is the priceless gift 
 Of sympathy; you crave for men the bloom 
 Of life, its roses and its songs. You doom 
 With your strong voice the robbers of the marts 
 Who build their wealth on shards of human hearts. 
 
 [31] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 To Walt Whitman 
 
 You had no zest for lilting roundelays 
 
 Of perfumed love and highly spiced romance; 
 
 Your thought was anchored in the wide expanse 
 
 Of universal being. Let the praise 
 
 For slender songs and sonnets be to those 
 
 Who know not high adventure, smug, content 
 
 To be within life's study-windows pent, 
 
 Past which no wind of great emotion blows. 
 
 Your thought was tidal, and your dreams were 
 
 drenched 
 With seas tempestuous and thunder-rocked. 
 Your arm with Neptune's arm was interlocked 
 As you strode — then as now — with youth un- 
 
 quenched. 
 No idle singer of an empty day, 
 You hold, with sun and stars, your cosmic way. 
 
 [32] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 On Avon's bank he dwelt, yet in his heart 
 He carried all the world of mortal men. 
 His fellows were no more within his ken 
 Than Antony and Caesar. He was part 
 Of mankind's cosmos, and no soul was strange 
 To him. The jealous Moor, Macbeth the king 
 Of blood, the luckless Jew, all suffering 
 The pangs of this earth life, were in the range 
 Of his great heart; and with sad Hamlet he, 
 Our chief philosopher, would read the scroll 
 Of human life aright. The tortured soul 
 Of Lear brought grief to him, in sympathy 
 The greatest of them all who, English-bred, 
 Have been by all mankind inherited. 
 
 [33] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 In Shakespeare s Town 
 
 In this old town, by Avon's quiet stream, 
 
 Great Shakespeare dwelt, and built, of fact and 
 
 dream, 
 His deathless plays. Within these simple walls 
 He sat and mused, and lo ! dark castle halls, 
 High palaces and gruesome caves were there, 
 To tell their tales of lords and ladies fair, 
 Of clowns and shepherds; fairies swarmed about, 
 Dread armies thronged and put their kings to rout; 
 And even witches hovered at his side 
 With presage dire; fair maidens loved and died, 
 And mad philosophers held forth with him 
 In argument of life; in battles grim 
 Brave knights went down, while cruel lances 
 
 gleamed — 
 Thus life went by, while Shakespeare sat and 
 
 dreamed. 
 
 [34] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 On Rereading Keats 
 
 The dew was on your brow, fair child of dawn; 
 
 Your vision was unwearied by the day, 
 
 Which wears upon us sore who tread the way 
 
 From youth to age. Earth's woe lay light upon 
 
 Your buoyant heart, which had the native grace 
 
 To carry spring into the winter drear. 
 
 Life's discords changed to music for your ear, 
 
 As sorrow bloomed in smiles upon your face. 
 
 Ah ! would your gift were ours, whose souls are dead, 
 
 Slain by the subtle fiends of greed and pride; 
 
 Love on a golden cross is crucified, 
 
 And from the harp of life the song has sped. 
 
 Breathe into us, who faint, your vital breath; 
 
 Release our spirits from the gyves of death. 
 
 [35] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 To Homer, Poet Eternal 
 
 They said, O Grecian bard, that you were blind, 
 But they were wrong who spread that foolish tale. 
 Your eyes saw far; no narrow Attic vale 
 Could bar your view; as freely as the wind 
 Your vision scanned the utmost bounds of earth; 
 Time's bulwarks fell before your magic gaze, 
 And lo ! you glimpsed all life. These latest days 
 Applaud you : seven cities claim your birth, 
 O bard, a thousand cities hold you dear. 
 Your reach is as the goings of the sun, 
 Which scorns no distant nook. Your course shall run 
 Still on and on, until the last dim year 
 When man shall be no more, when time shall be 
 A scroll rolled up, and lost eternally. 
 
 [36] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 A Song for Morning 
 
 Makers of poems limpid and lilting, 
 Strummers of tunes romantic and tearful, 
 Learn the fresh music of mountains gigantic, 
 Heed the wild runes of the free-bounding rivers; 
 Hark to the corn song that bursts from the prairie- 
 Song old as nature, dewy as morning, 
 Song everlasting, regenerating, 
 Sung by our sires in pioneer cabins, 
 Hummed by our mothers, by Indians threatened, 
 Over the cradles of bourgeoning peoples. 
 
 Learn the new chants of times democratic, 
 Free as the ocean, strong as the tempest; 
 Sing the new life of comrades close-tethered; 
 Sing the new love that leaps over mountains, 
 Crossing the sea and flooding like sunrise. 
 
 Makers of poems limpid and lilting, 
 Leave the old tunes of vanishing nations, 
 Learn the fresh songs of a new world affection, 
 Chant the new music of brothers and lovers. 
 
 [37] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 When April Gomes 
 
 When April comes, and on the air 
 Is wafted forth an incense rare 
 Which tells of gardens lately blown, 
 Of orchard trees with beauty strown, 
 The pink of apple, peach and pear, — 
 Then earth becomes a place so fair 
 That men forget their weight of care; 
 For who could nurse a heart of stone 
 When April comes! 
 
 Then happiness is everywhere, 
 Our very breathing kills despair. 
 Although we know some glad hopes sown 
 Shall still be hopes, with summer flown, 
 Yet smiles and posies shall we wear, 
 When April comes. 
 
 [38] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Spring Song 
 
 With my ear pressed to the earth, 
 
 Long I held my breath and listened, 
 Till the last snow flurry fled, 
 
 And the last frost blossom glistened; 
 And I heard it, yes, I heard it, 
 
 Heard her voice of mirth and laughter; 
 And I saw her tripping toward me 
 
 With her rose girls coming after — 
 Spring, the queen of love and longing, 
 With her nymphs of beauty thronging. 
 
 As she sped along the path, 
 
 Sunbeams hastened to caress her; 
 And the gentle winds, long prisoned, 
 
 Vied, impassioned, to possess her; 
 Violets, forget-me-nots, 
 
 Bloodroot and anemones, 
 Sprang from every spot she touched, 
 
 And the barren apple trees 
 Burst again in tinted glory 
 Freed from Winter's sceptre hoary. 
 
 [39] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 April 
 
 For lyric springtime we have waited long 
 Whose hearts as well as heads have felt the blast: 
 From sorrowing our lips had lost their song 
 Till April topped the hill and brought at last 
 The welcome news, which made our hearts beat 
 
 fast — 
 The news that winter had been bound and slain, 
 That spring and song and joy were come to earth 
 
 again. 
 
 And now that April, with her birds, is here, 
 All care shall be forgot; sweet song shall lead 
 Through waking orchards, where the dawning year 
 Prepares a feast of beauty for our need. 
 Our feet rejoice to press the freshening mead 
 As we again explore the land of dreams, 
 Of gay romance, by youthtime's clear and singing 
 streams. 
 
 The north wind lurks no more; he journeys now 
 
 Beyond the hostile reaches of the sun, 
 
 Who soon, for our delight, shall trim each bough 
 
 [40] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 With rose and snow. He yields in power to none, 
 That kingly orb of light: his race begun, 
 The fields shall laugh again, all tongues shall sing, 
 And heaven itself rejoice in earth's new blossoming. 
 
 [41] 
 
Song 
 
 LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 I said in my heart, 
 My lonely heart, 
 
 "All love is dead"; 
 But behold! a friend 
 Brought a wealth of cheer, 
 
 And gave me bread. 
 
 I said in my heart, 
 My aching heart, 
 
 "God sends but night"; 
 Then the sun shone forth 
 And enwrapped the earth 
 
 In golden light. 
 
 I said in my heart, 
 My breaking heart, 
 
 That death is king; 
 And behold! the earth 
 Felt the south wind's warmth, 
 
 And lo! 'twas spring! 
 
 [42] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Apocalypse 
 
 There's enough of God 
 
 In the heart of a rose, 
 
 In the smile of a child, 
 
 In the dewy blossom of dawn, 
 
 To prove 
 
 That beauty is the soul of Him, 
 
 That love is His sceptre, 
 
 And that all things created by Him 
 
 Face, not the night, 
 
 But an eternal morning. 
 
 [43] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Friendliness 
 
 The wonder of the mighty pyramids, 
 
 The stateliness of Athens' noblest shrine, 
 
 The majesty of Taurus, grim and old, 
 
 The grandeur of the castles by the Rhine — 
 
 I quite forget them all if I may hear 
 
 A purple martin's note of friendly cheer. 
 
 [44] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 In Blossom-Time 
 
 In blossom-time, can any say 
 That life is desolate and gray? 
 When cherry boughs are drifted snow, 
 When springtime couriers, singing, go 
 Through orchard lanes, which for a day 
 Are very heaven, who could lay 
 Upon the gods of far-away 
 One word of blame for fret or woe — 
 In blossom-time? 
 
 What man could hate or envy know 
 When apple-blossoms burst and blow? 
 When, free at last, the kindly May 
 Endeavours Winter's debts to pay — 
 In blossom-time? 
 
 [45] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Poet to Cynic 
 
 You rail, proud cynic, at the songs we sing; 
 You say the world cares nothing for our lays, 
 Reserving for old Omar all your praise. 
 That may be true; but, when the winter's sting 
 At last is tamed, and when the joyous spring 
 Returns to earth, long desolate and cold, 
 And bids the lilies, bursting from the mould, 
 Proclaim that Beauty lives — then do you fling 
 Your heartless jibes at those who hear the song, 
 Who see the gleam, who trust the springtime 
 
 hope? 
 Let those who will, in faithless silence grope — 
 And let those sing whose hearts with faith are 
 
 strong ! 
 
 [46] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 To John Burroughs 
 
 In Memory 
 We waste our days with creeds and empty words, 
 Pretending God will give attention due. 
 Alas, He does not hear! He turned to you, 
 Who knew and loved His roses and His birds. 
 You had no time for proudly pious vows, 
 So humbled were you by the dawn's surprise. 
 You searched no book for miracles: your eyes 
 Found wonders strange among the blossomed 
 
 boughs. 
 Bequeath to us your wisdom, prophet sage, 
 That we at last may learn the way of life, 
 That we may not be stifled by the strife 
 Of brutal men, in this inglorious age. 
 Although your feet now tread immortal ways, 
 Your spirit still shall light our clouded days. 
 
 [47] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Blind 
 
 Oh, falsely pious, bound with sombre vows, 
 You rail at beauty, hold it sin to smile; 
 
 'Tis all in vain the Maytime wreathes its boughs 
 With snowy bloom — you hold your eyes the while 
 To musty books ! How can you reconcile 
 
 Your dull, grey faith with these gold-sprinkled ways, 
 With this gay orchard beauty, mile on mile? 
 
 Your God is not the God of these ambrosial days, 
 
 When every bush and tree is full of joy and praise. 
 
 [48] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Poet's Call 
 
 By day the fields and meadows cry, 
 By night the bright stars plead; 
 
 He hears the message from on high, 
 And to the call gives heed. 
 
 The roses tremble as he nears, 
 And cry, "Rejoice, rejoice!" 
 
 The rocks break forth as he appears, 
 "God sends a Voice, a Voice!" 
 
 [49] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 To Wordsworth 
 
 The daisies and the dancing daffodils 
 Were friends of yours; to you all things were fair 
 In heaven and earth, God's thoughts were every- 
 where : 
 And yet your chief delights were woods and hills. 
 You walked, elate, amid their peaceful shade, 
 Though war was raging in the land of kings; 
 Your mind was set on dawns and flowering springs, 
 On sunny noons, whose light can never fade 
 For him whose thought is high as are the skies. 
 How much we need you now, great poet heart! 
 You learned to live within, to dwell apart, 
 Content with stars and morning's glad surprise. 
 Look now on us, whose frettings never cease, 
 And point the way to reverence and peace. 
 
 [50] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Blind Eyes 
 
 "Great Pan is dead!" they cried. And sad-robed 
 
 priests 
 In long processions gloried in his death. 
 But even as they went their way, the breath 
 Of God blew over hill and vale, and feasts 
 Of loveliness were set for men. June spread 
 Upon the earth a carpeting of green, 
 And where was bleakness, fields of gold were 
 
 seen. 
 The priests saw not: they cried, "Great Pan is 
 
 dead!" 
 
 [51] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Up and Down the River 
 
 Up and down the river, 
 In these Junetime days, 
 
 Fairy dreams and voices 
 Haunt the grassy ways. 
 
 There are songs for sadness, 
 There are smiles for tears, 
 
 There is balm for sorrow, 
 Peace for troubled years. 
 
 Still some posies linger 
 In the shady nooks, 
 
 And the birds teach wisdom 
 Never found in books. 
 
 Daisies throng the meadow 
 Yonder where the sun 
 
 Tells the happy neighbours 
 Summer's well begun. 
 
 Up and down the river 
 Who could hint at grief 
 
 Where dear, loving Nature 
 Speaks through every leaf! 
 
 [52] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Though to-morrow bring me 
 Care and shadows grey, 
 
 Up and down the river — 
 There's my heart to-day. 
 
 [53] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 King of an Acre 
 
 A king of bluest blood am I, 
 Though gold and purple pass me by; 
 By right divine I wield the rod 
 Above this realm of sod and clod. 
 
 My palace home is passing plain — 
 A simple cottage by the lane; 
 Beneath its roof what hours are spent 
 Of kingly thought and proud content! 
 
 My Queen, what royal garb has she — 
 The robes of worth and purity; 
 A rod of love her fair hands hold, 
 A sceptre mightier than of gold. 
 
 No hunting grounds my kingdom knows 
 I find fair sport in fat bean rows, 
 And in the maze of bush and vine, 
 And tangled wealth of eglantine. 
 
 What need have I of golden crown, 
 Of jewelled throne or fair renown? 
 I look at none with jealous eye, 
 For who has more of sun and sky? 
 
 [54] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Oh, who would not a monarch be 
 Of cot and hearth, of bush and tree! 
 He shall not ask a beggar's dole 
 Who has an acre — and his soul. 
 
 [55] 
 
Dawn 
 
 LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The long, long night has passed; 
 
 The hills are touched with gold; 
 Come, let us feed our hearts 
 
 Before the day grows old. 
 All rapturous the world — 
 
 But lo! the charm has gone: 
 The greedy sun has had its fill 
 
 From the glory-feast of dawn. 
 
 [56] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Fundamentals 
 
 A little house, a bush, a tree; 
 A laughing child to play with me. 
 
 A task that fills the fragrant days, 
 But leaving time for prayer and praise. 
 
 A garden bright with pink and gold, 
 Full harvest as the year grows old. 
 
 For every day some bookly gain; 
 For twilight, music's sweet refrain. 
 
 A dozen friends with gifts of cheer, 
 And love, more tender year by year. 
 
 With these, and springtime at the door- 
 What mortal man could ask for more ! 
 
 [57] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Kingdom 
 
 Where is the Kingdom? asked the pompous priest, 
 Weighted with lore, and spent with fast and feast. 
 The lowly Christ on his pretensions smiled, 
 And simply said, "In the heart of a little child." 
 
 [58] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Hut Happiness 
 
 Let men of pride rush madly on and on, 
 And men of daring sail the vengeful sea; 
 
 In this plain hut, with quietude of dawn 
 And starry eve my friends, is joy for me. 
 
 The hollyhocks are comrades I can trust, 
 The daisies never fail me in my need; 
 
 Content and health enhance my scanty crust; 
 Though poor in gold, my soul is rich indeed. 
 
 [59] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 To a Thousand Year Old Rim 
 
 What stories you could tell, enduring tree, 
 Of men and kingdoms, battles won and lost, 
 Of new found lands, old nations spent by time! 
 Bold Charlemagne was lord when you were young 
 And Luther shook the world as you grew strong. 
 Columbus sailed from Spain and found new shores 
 Awaiting him; you gave him welcome here 
 Befitting him who set man's spirit free. 
 Embattled redskins filled our sires with fears; 
 You stood above the strife, secure and calm. 
 When Washington was called to rule our realm 
 You were an ancient, hoary with the years. 
 What sage experience ! And still you stand 
 To note the march of freedom through our land. 
 
 [60] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Corn 
 
 Of ancient lineage am I, 
 
 Sister of the forest, 
 
 Daughter of primeval summer. 
 
 Memories of rushing buffaloes haunt me, 
 
 Red men flit across my vision. 
 
 I can tell tales of old massacres, 
 
 Of voyageurs lost but for my succour. 
 
 For me forests fall, 
 Railways extend themselves, 
 And monster shipyards arise. 
 
 For me peoples wage war 
 And the rivers run red. 
 
 I am astounded at the slaughter because of me, 
 And stand aghast at the mighty holocaust of com- 
 mercial greed. 
 But for me all might have been peace, 
 With quiet fields and rustling grasses 
 And love songs and sunset musings. 
 
 Woe is me ! They have bared me 
 
 And set me up as a queen of lust 
 
 In their drunken feast, though my days have known 
 
 But the crystal dew and the sunshine. 
 
 [61] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Woe is me ! The streets are full of crying 
 Because of the strife of the traders, 
 Who have stripped and ravished me 
 Who am first-born daughter of summer. 
 
 Woe is me! Before the nations arose 
 
 Children played about me, 
 
 And I mingled my laughter with their singing; 
 
 Women went out to the harvest with their mates, 
 
 And there were merry-makings 
 
 And songs of ingathering. 
 
 Alas ! that men have stripped me and ravished me 
 
 And have gone forth to battle for my beauty. 
 
 God will avenge me. He will strike them. 
 
 With fiery bolts from heaven shall He stop them; 
 
 And again there shall be quiet fields 
 
 And rustling grasses and sunset songs 
 
 And sweet night crooning. 
 
 [62] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Romance 
 
 I have not sung of Arcady, 
 
 Because I live there still. 
 
 I have not lauded love's sweet ways, 
 
 Nor praised the charm of summer days, 
 
 For love has not deserted me, 
 
 And summer has not ceased to be: 
 
 I have not sung of Arcady, 
 
 Because I live there still. 
 
 [63] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Humdrum 
 
 Are they worth while, these tasteless everydays, 
 Replete with tasks that warp the very soul? 
 For all this toil is there some splendid goal? 
 Do they speak true who have but words of praise 
 For those who drudge, nor lift their heads to sing, 
 For those who meekly yield and ask not why, 
 Who, tombed in walls of greed, know not the sky, 
 Know not the spell of dawn, the thrill of spring? 
 Heaven forbid ! All things in earth are wrong 
 If toil is blest that stills the voice of song! 
 
 [64] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Pilots 
 
 When weary of the ugliness of life — 
 The glaring streets, the tomblike walls of grey, 
 The surging crowds, whose mad, unseemly strife 
 Becomes a wild carouse when gone the day — 
 What is there that can lure our thoughts away? 
 Keats holds the key to far-off realms of gold, 
 And Shelley to the isles of deathless May; 
 And if one seeks for some adventure bold, 
 "Don Juan" will steer the boat while new, strange 
 worlds unfold. 
 
 [65] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Release 
 
 I am weary of streets and cities, 
 
 With their palaces of plunder; 
 
 I would go where no man can fret me, 
 
 Where no gossiping tongue can beset me; 
 
 I am hungry for tempest and thunder, 
 
 For some fastness high up in the mountains. 
 
 I am tired of the rippling of fountains, 
 
 I am worn with the lilting of ditties, 
 
 I am starving for splendour and wonder ! 
 
 Cities were built for dead men, 
 
 Slain by the greed of getting; 
 
 And streets were made for mad men, 
 
 For men without eyes, for sad men: 
 
 I will leave their noise and their fretting 
 
 For some height where the dawn, at breaking, 
 
 Announces strange worlds, where the shaking 
 
 And shimmering stars have led men 
 
 To dream of a heaven besetting. 
 
 [66] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Prayer of the Poor 
 
 Written in a City Park 
 
 For the joy of cool, green places, 
 For the smiles of kindly faces, 
 
 We, the poor, give thanks to-day; 
 We, the care-beridden toilers, 
 We, the broken, prisoned moilers 
 
 Would not, thankless, go our way. 
 
 But we want the scent of roses 
 For our joy, as each day closes, 
 
 Lest our drudging starve our souls; 
 For our children give us flowers, 
 Give us rest and laughing hours, 
 
 Give us homes and hearths as goals. 
 
 We would work, but not with sighing, 
 We would build, but not by dying — 
 
 We are not dumb brutes, but men! 
 For our errors grant us pardon, 
 But, O Lord, let Eden garden, 
 
 With its beauty, come again. 
 
 [67] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 With Gratitude for "Leaves of Grass" 
 
 If I could sail far out upon some sea, 
 
 Or in some fronded island dwell alone, 
 
 I'd bid farewell to all anxiety, 
 
 And let one day for twenty years atone. 
 
 I'd cast across the world this heart of stone i 
 
 But since within these walls I must be pent, 
 
 I take old Walt, and read, and am content. 
 
 [68] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Lonely Way 
 
 For every man there stretches, through the years, 
 A lonely way. He may have hosts of friends 
 Who vow to love and trust him till life ends, 
 Still must he walk alone the path of fears 
 And doubts and weariness. The way appears 
 To childhood's eyes a fairy path of dreams 
 Which, thronged with gay companions, ever seems 
 More richly promising and free from tears. 
 But manhood's dawn brings disillusionment; 
 Friends drop away, by circumstances prest. 
 By life's high noon he hastens toward the west 
 With face stern-set, alone, by hard bonds pent. 
 How happy they who can their dreams renew 
 When youth is past, when cherished friends are few ! 
 
 [6 9 ] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Procession 
 
 Time hurries on. We fret and cry, "Oh, stay!" 
 But Time replies: "We serve not yesterday; 
 A hundred years together must we tread; 
 Now would you halt, lie prostrate with the dead? 
 Our goal lies far beyond that distant hill, 
 Then on — and on; and would you now stand 
 
 still?" 
 Time hurries on; we follow. Youth and maid 
 Would linger long in love's delicious shade, 
 But Time says no. The strong, ambitious man 
 Asks but for leisure to perfect his plan; 
 But no, Time stern replies. The hand of death 
 Lays low a friend; we ask, with halted breath, 
 For but a day to bear her to her grave; 
 Time frowns: "No act can now her spirit save; 
 Still on," he cries, "we shall not find the dawn 
 Till all the hours and all the days are gone." 
 
 [70] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 To the Poets 
 
 As city dwellers, pent with dust and heat, 
 
 Repair to mountain heights to slake their thirst, 
 
 To feed their famished souls, so we, fret-curst, 
 
 Come to your founts to drink your wisdom sweet. 
 
 We weary of the drab and toilsome marts; 
 
 At eventide our spirits drag, forlorn; 
 
 Then what a boon to find your songs of morn, 
 
 Of buoyant hope ! You lift our drooping hearts 
 
 From bitter thoughts to psalms of love and praise; 
 
 Cares fly away and trouble seeks its den, 
 
 While youth returns to light our path again; 
 
 Our feet are set upon eternal ways. 
 
 Pure Keats, blithe Burns, and Shelley, morning star, 
 
 Desert us not, who still must travel far. 
 
 [71] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 To Quintus Horatius Flaccus 
 
 The hosts that royal Caesar led 
 
 Against a stubborn land 
 Were doughty and invincible 
 
 As was his mighty hand; 
 But time has passed, and where are they 
 Who went so fearless to the fray? 
 
 Their battles are as echoes now 
 
 And they are less than dust, 
 Long centuries ago their spears 
 
 Were eaten up of rust, 
 And he who led so dauntlessly 
 Sleeps sound and long beside the sea. 
 
 But, Horace, what delight is ours 
 Who read your graceful songs! 
 
 The centuries may come and go, 
 But time to you belongs, 
 
 Who trusted not to gleaming spears 
 
 To light your way through deathless years. 
 
 [72] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Builder 
 
 (Horati Carmina, Lib. Ill, 30) 
 
 This fair structure that I build 
 
 Will not feel the tooth of time; 
 Bronze may yield to wind and frost, 
 
 Not this work of golden rhyme. 
 Years shall come and years shall go, 
 
 But my fame shall never die; 
 I shall live, though Juno's shrine 
 
 In the driven dust shall lie. 
 Lowly was my native land, 
 
 But for me the ages long! 
 Lyric muse, who touched my lips, 
 
 Crown the king of Latin song. 
 
 [73] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Eternal 
 
 The dust is ages deep 
 On boastful Babel land, 
 
 And Cleopatra's wealth 
 Is lost in drifted sand, 
 
 And paralysed for aye 
 Is Caesar's sceptred hand. 
 
 But Greece — what glory hers 
 For art and mystic lore ! 
 
 Old iEschylus still sings, 
 And Plato opes the door 
 
 To Wisdom's high retreat 
 
 For man — still drunk with gore, 
 
 Jerusalem, once proud, 
 Is now a beggar throng; 
 
 Its walls are broken down 
 
 Though once serenely strong; 
 
 But still the air is sweet 
 
 With plaintive Hebrew song. 
 
 [74] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 "Paradise Enow" 
 
 Give me true friends, good books, both new and old, 
 An afternoon of talk, serene and long; 
 Then add an hour for dining, one for song, 
 And you may take all else. My bag of gold, 
 My silver plate — let these be freely doled 
 To those who lack the prize of loving friends. 
 True comradeship enjoys, proud wealth pretends; 
 Life's choicest treasures are not bought and sold. 
 Thus shall I go, untroubled, down the years : 
 If riches fail, my friends may heed my plea, 
 And if I reap a heritage of tears, 
 Their words will calm my grief. If life should be 
 By Prosper blest, my days devoid of fears, — 
 With loyal friends, earth will be heaven for me. 
 
 [75] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Day Is Brief 
 
 The day is brief, from dawn to dusk, 
 
 The night is briefer still, 
 And life is just a going up, 
 
 And going down, a hill. 
 
 But, oh, what dreams we dream at dawn ! 
 
 And rest, how sweet, at night! 
 And going down a hill is good — 
 
 With other hills in sight! 
 
 [76} 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Spectres 
 
 The splendour and the loveliness of earth 
 
 Must pass away: spring days were fleet; 
 
 Triumphant summer's glory yielded soon 
 
 Before autumnal shadows: and the boon 
 
 Of frosty morns and middays cool and sweet, 
 
 Which autumn brought, now passes, with the dearth 
 
 Of bleak November. Where the bluebird late 
 
 Announced the dawn of spring are moulding leaves 
 
 And grass; our thoughts are drab and dark. 
 
 The snow shall come to lend its cheer, but stark 
 
 And desolate the trees: fair nature grieves 
 
 Before the threat of winter. At the gate 
 
 Of every heart a spectre lifts its hands; 
 
 And every mortal sees, and seeing understands. 
 
 t?7] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 // Winter Comes 
 
 If winter comes, and winds blow wild and chill, 
 If queenly roses perish with the cold, 
 Be well assured that from the ashen mould 
 Shall bourgeon lovely gardens that shall fill 
 The earth with beauty. For the wood and hill, 
 By north wind shorn, bright robes of living green 
 Shall soon be wrought, unheard, unseen, 
 By Him who turns destruction to His will. 
 If winter comes — alas, and it shall come! — 
 Men's hearts will ache, by lonely brooding pent; 
 In that bleak hour shall every choir be dumb 
 That fills our hearts to-day with sweet content: 
 Yet Life still reigns, and soon the year will bring 
 Maytime and joy, with all things blossoming. 
 
 [78] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Lyric 
 
 When gardens die and sunshine fails 
 
 And winds of winter blow, 
 'Tis time to kindle joyous fires 
 
 And trust their friendly glow 
 To lead us out, by Sea o' Dreams, 
 
 Beyond the Sunset Bar — 
 Then back again, to Port o' Home, 
 
 Where love and laughter are. 
 
 [79] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Winter Harvest 
 
 When summer days were here 
 And earth was arched with blue, 
 
 My heart was filled with fear, 
 My head was crowned with rue. 
 
 But now that winter reigns, 
 
 Despoiled each flower and tree, 
 
 I count the summer's gains, 
 And joy abides with me. 
 
 [80] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Trust the Great Artist 
 
 Trust the Great Artist. He 
 
 Who paints the sky and sea 
 
 With shadowed blue, who clothes the land 
 
 In garb of green, and in the spring 
 
 Sets all earth blossoming — 
 
 He guides your destiny. 
 
 The magic hand 
 
 That colours dawn with flaming rose, 
 
 That ere the falling night, 
 
 For every soul's delight, 
 
 Pours out the streaming gold — 
 
 That hand, too, holds your life. 
 
 His grasp, amid the strife, 
 Would shape you to His will: 
 Let Him His wish fulfil, 
 What though the testings irk, 
 Fret not; mar not His work. 
 
 Trust the Great Artist, He 
 Who made the earth and sea. 
 
 [81] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Evidence 
 
 "Where is God?" inquired the mind; 
 "To His presence I am blind. 
 I can tell each blade of grass, 
 Read the tempests as they pass; 
 I have learned what metals lie 
 In the earth's deep mystery; 
 Every voice of field and wood 
 I have heard and understood; 
 Ancient secrets of the sea 
 Are no longer dark to me: 
 But the wonders of the earth 
 Bring no thought of God to birth." 
 Then the heart spake quietly t 
 "Hast thou thought of Calvary?" 
 
 "Where is God?" inquired the mind; 
 "To His presence I am blind. 
 I have scanned each star and sun, 
 Traced the certain course they run; 
 I have weighed them in my scale, 
 And can tell when each will fail; 
 From the caverns of the night 
 I have brought new worlds to light; 
 [82] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 I have measured earth and sky, 
 Read each zone with steady eye: 
 But no sign of God appears 
 In the glory of the spheres." 
 But the heart spake wistfully, 
 "Hast thou measured Calvary?" 
 
 [8 3 ] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Revelation 
 
 Say not that death is king, that night is lord, 
 That loveliness is passing, beauty dies; 
 Nor tell me hope's a vain, deceptive dream 
 Fate lends to life, a pleasing, luring gleam 
 To light awhile the earth's despondent skies, 
 Till death brings swift and sure its dread reward. 
 Say not that youth deceives, but age is true, 
 That roses quickly pass, while cypress bides, 
 That happiness is foolish, grief is wise, 
 That stubborn dust shall choke our human cries. 
 Death tells new worlds, and life immortal hides 
 Beyond the veil, which shall all wrongs undo. 
 This was the tale God breathed to me at dawn 
 When flooding sunrise told that night was gone. 
 
 [8 4 ] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 In Memory 
 
 Sleep, Rupert Brooke, of England born, 
 By war from your dear gardens torn; 
 Though far from Britain lies your mould, 
 The love you won shall not grow cold; 
 The lonely island where you rest 
 By every freeman shall be blest. 
 
 Sleep, Alan Seeger. You were true, 
 You did not fail your rendezvous. 
 Nor was your sacrifice in vain; 
 Your tragic loss was mankind's gain; 
 So long as earthland shall be free, 
 Your name shall live in memory. 
 
 Sleep, John McCrae. We heard your call; 
 
 The torch you lighted did not fall; 
 
 Inspired by your despairing breath, 
 
 We seized the sword, met hell and death, 
 
 And drove that vain and cruel foe 
 
 From Flanders Field, "where poppies blow." 
 
 [85] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Revolt 
 
 Why prattle of the pageantry of Rome? 
 
 Why celebrate anon the isles of Greece? 
 
 Is all of worth beneath some classic dome, 
 
 Or when did God bid inspiration cease? 
 
 Old Caesar is as dead as are his slaves; 
 
 Wise Plato set no limits to men's thought; 
 
 Columbus fled from bonds and crossed the waves 
 
 To gain a lore tradition had not taught; 
 
 The Man of Galilee refused to wear 
 
 The shackles haughty priests prescribed for him, 
 
 His spirit was as free as was the air 
 
 That played about the storied Gerizim. 
 
 New thoughts, new dreams, new duties lure us on 
 
 Who hold no sunset fairer than the dawn. 
 
 [86] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 In an Age of Science 
 
 The little world of olden days is gone, 
 A thousand universes come to light; 
 The eyes of science penetrate the night 
 And bring good tidings of eternal dawn: 
 There is no night, they find, there is no death, 
 But life begetting ever fuller life; 
 They look still deeper, and amid the strife 
 They note pervading harmony. The breath 
 Of morning sweeps the wastes of earth, 
 And we who talked of age become as gods, 
 Scanning the spheres, discoursing of the birth 
 Of countless suns. No longer human clods, 
 We stand alert and speak direct to Him 
 Who hides no more behind dumb seraphim. 
 
 [87] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Time 
 
 My name is Time. Eternity, my sire, 
 Appointed me to tell the flying years: 
 Ere nations grew, rude men, beset with fears, 
 Lived out their lives in caves and flooding mire; 
 Old Egypt rose and won resplendent fame, 
 Great Babylon, Assyria the proud; 
 Weak Macedon grew strong, then meekly bowed 
 Before the spell of Caesar's mighty name; 
 For royal Rome smote all before her face, 
 Till Saxon prowess cast her legions down. 
 They come and go, these nations of renown — 
 And I abide, who have no biding place. 
 Time flies? Not so; for I remain to say 
 That all are dead who flourished yesterday. 
 
 [88] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 The Melting Pot 
 
 When brave Ulysses left his native isle 
 To sail the shining main, to seek new shores 
 And unknown countries, bursting golden doors 
 To fair new realms that basked in summer's smile, 
 He saw no stranger sights than we to-day 
 In these our city streets, where earth has poured 
 From every farthest land her human horde : 
 Proud Nipponese, sojourners from Cathay, 
 Shrewd Greeks, and Turks, and roving Syrians; 
 Gay Spanish dons and dour Scotch peasantry, 
 High-hearted French, dark rogues from Barbary; 
 No race or breed is barred by selfish bans. 
 Here, where the dream of liberty had birth, 
 God dreams His dream, democracy for earth. 
 
 [8 9 ] 
 
LINCOLN AND OTHERS 
 
 Upon Reading a Volume of Ancient 
 Chinese Poetry 
 
 And here, in this old book, we find discussed 
 The themes we choose to-day: business and toil, 
 Knowledge and fame, weariness born of moil, 
 Daydreams of youth, visions of love and lust; 
 Whether it pays to work that one may live, 
 Whether it pays to live, if work is all; 
 How one may think great thoughts in one room 
 
 small, 
 How one may gain great wealth, if he but give; 
 Here one may learn the foolishness of pride, 
 The curse of gold; and here are saintly prayers 
 For high celestial joys: by mystic stairs 
 These old philosophers and poets tried 
 To burst the doors of heaven, as do we — 
 And as they will who after us shall be. 
 
 [90]