Part 3
Disks of the Cherokee roses, Gleam from your emerald bars! O jasmines, swing your censers In the light of your golden stars!
Fill the air, ye joyous wild birds, With a glad, sweet roundelay, For a little child is given To the Lord Christ to-day!
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Ah, what shall I bring to thee, Child, who shall bear my name When I shall lie unheeding Or love or praise or blame;
Who shall speak when I am silent; Who, when I lie deaf, shall hear This dear earth’s song of triumph, And its hymns of lofty cheer;
Who shall see my roses bloom, And my snow-white lilies gleam, In the sunlight and the starlight, When I sleep without a dream?
Nay, little child, forgive me, Nor think the strain too sad; One life must follow another, But earth shall still be glad!
Evening must follow morning; But the morn shall still be gay With splendor of rose and purple, And the pomp of glorious day!
And had I the mystic token, I would weave a spell so rare, It should be like a holy talisman, Strong with the strength of prayer,
To charm thee from every sorrow, To keep thee from every ill, And with costliest wine of blessing Thy waiting cup to fill!
THE DREAM-BEARER
(Suggested by Ross Turner’s water-color, “The Golden Galleon.”)
From what far wonderland of dreams, What island of remotest seas, O Golden Galleon, sailest thou With white wings on the breeze?
Thou stately splendor, pressing on From mystic East to radiant West, On what proud errand art thou bent-- What high, mysterious quest?
The great sea bears thee up; the waves With slow upheaval lift thy bow; With long and steady sweep they glide Under thy gleaming prow.
Thy slender masts, like spires of jet, Are black against the reddening sky; Thy sails are full--yet idly droops Yon pennant lifted high.
All silently thou speedest on; No sailor climbs thy shining spars; Thy carven saints alone keep ward Beneath or sun or stars!
O Golden Galleon, well we know Thou hast no freight of earthly mould; No Orient treasures dost thou bear, No red gold lights thy hold!
Thou art but freighted with our dreams! Sail on, O blessèd ship, sail on, To some far land where dreams come true, And all that’s lost is won!
THE SECRET CHAMBER
Into the secret chamber of my heart, Wherein no mortal enters, Lord, come thou And make thy dwelling-place ere day depart!
Even now the clouds are golden in the west; The long, slant shadows creep across the way; The glory fades on yonder mountain-crest.
It will be nightfall soon, for faint and far The pallid moon, a silver crescent, hangs Above the low reach of the horizon bar.
And night is lonely and beset with fears! Come thou, O Lord, come in and dwell with me Through the long darkness till the dawn appears!
O thou who didst create the human heart, Didst thou not make one sure place for thyself? It is high sanctuary where thou art!
Thou knowest, ah! thou knowest! Words are weak. When the tongue falters and the lips are dumb, Thou knowest all the yearning heart would speak!
The unuttered prayer thou hearest. Lo! the shrine Waits for thy presence! Ere the day be done Take thou possession, O thou Guest Divine!
“OUT OF THE SILENCE, SPEAK!”
Out of the silence, speak! Could you come through the waiting door, With your eyes aglow and your heart on fire, As in days that are no more; Could you enter the wide old hall, And the chambers fresh and fair, And wander from room to room In the sweet, flower-scented air; Could you tread the garden paths Where your own white lilies grow, And the rose you planted blooms As in Junes of long ago-- Would you be glad to come Back to the world of men, Back to your wonted place In its busy ranks again?
Out of the shadows, speak! O tender heart and true, Could you return, return, All would be changed for you! For others sit at your board, And others warm at your fire, And over your walls strange shadows flit As the flames leap high and higher. The boys that you knew are bearded men, And the bearded men are gray, And the weight of years has touched them all-- You would know them not to-day! There are children born of your line To whom you are but a name-- A name, a dream, and a shadow, A phantom they scarce can claim.
Out of the glory, speak! From your bright heaven afar, Where you need no light of sun, Nor ray of moon or star, Would you come to earth if you could To face the changes here, The sense of a strange new world With its alien atmosphere? For lo! as the Century dies It spreadeth its mighty hands, And a change comes over the deep, And over the waiting lands, As the youngest born of the nations Lifts Destiny’s proud gauge, Accepting, for weal or woe, Life’s lofty heritage!
_Out of the glory, speak! As your changeless years roll on, Would ye return if ye could, O ye who have lost and won?_
AFTER MANY DAYS
I sit beside my flying loom, I toss the shuttle to and fro; The sunlight floods the quiet room, Making the pattern gleam and glow. Without, autumnal glories shine; Through warp and woof rich shadows play. Would God it were more fair and fine, This web that groweth day by day!
I weave and weave till day is done; But who will bleach the linen white, By alchemy of rain and sun, Hot summer noons, and dewy night? And who its shining length will wear? Under its folds what heart will hide Its stress of passion or of prayer, Of wordless bliss or love denied?
I plant a tree beside my gate; Slowly it rises, fair and tall; With prophecy of royal state It towers above the old gray wall! But who will see it in its prime? What lovers seek its leafy ways? What bard unborn, with song and rhyme, Wed its green boughs to deathless lays?
I build a mansion wide and fair; I rear its towers of fretted stone; But who shall breathe its happy air? Who call its sheltering roof his own? What guests shall throng its chambers fine? What feet youth’s joyous measures tread, When I have drained life’s last red wine, And grass grows green above my head?
On the soft air I loose a song; From pole to pole it drifteth far; It floateth fast, it floateth long, Inconsequent as breezes are! But who will hear it as it flies Through shadowy spaces, vast and dim, And lure it from the lonely skies, When I have done with song and hymn?
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
The Sanctuary Lamp: missing stanza breaks added.
The Death-Song of the Hemlock: To enhance readability, some continuation lines in poetry have been retained in this plain text edition.