Part 5
My past is dead, and buried too. In grave of Hope it lies full deep; It resurrected ne’er shall be, It is a nightmare of my sleep.
Will life’s fair morning never come? I wait for it impatiently. And Death’s long sleep I fain would break With all its gruesome mystery.
I pray to go forever on, Retracing ne’er earth’s steps again. Incarnate _once_, and _only_ once, I would not live on earth again.
REINCARNATION.
I feel that I have lived before, That I shall live again. Shall yet have my desires fulfilled, Although I know not when.
If _now_ is all there is of life, What use to me was birth? Not one desire has been fulfilled, Since first I came to earth.
There is a realm not yet explored, I feel it in my soul, I’ll struggle on (though oft I fail) To reach that blissful goal.
Full oft I catch a glimpse of past. Old mem’ries round me throng. The mem’ries of a long gone past.-- Again I hear a song
That I once heard in previous life, And it to me doth seem As though an angel sang the song; My life his chosen theme.
The notes seem now so strange and weird. I’ve heard them though, before; In former life the music sweet Came from celestial shore.
A vague, vague dream of other lives Doth often with me stay; But when I try to hold the dream, It vanishes straightway.
My present life is incomplete. A fragment is of past. I shall take up the threads again, And in Life’s loom them cast.
The “Great First Cause” has charge of The lives that have been mine. The web that’s woven on Life’s loom In time becomes divine.
Absorbed in God I soon shall be. E’en now I feel Love’s kiss. Life’s struggles soon will ended be In everlasting bliss.
What was my life in that dim past? It matters not to me. My Karma of the past will be Absorbed in Deity.
LIFE’S BURDEN.
Each one hath some burden to carry, Each one hath some sorrow or woe. But hearts that are cheerful, and willing, Can every trouble o’erthrow.
We will not complain, but have courage To bear every cross, and all pain; For burdens when carried with patience Are blessings which we may attain.
Our hopes may be bright in the morning, But fade, as the day grows apace; Though clouds may obscure all Life’s evening, With patience these clouds we must face.
Behind every cloud is some sunshine, Behind every grief is some mirth. Behind every tear there is laughter, Though tears came first at our birth.
TO MOUNT SIERRA.
Thou grand old granite mountain Canst tell me what thy age? What secrets art thou holding Within thy heart O sage.
Couldst man find out by delving Deep in thy stony breast, How long thou hast been rearing On high, thy hoary crest.
Hadst thou e’er a beginning? Wilt thou in death e’er fall? Canst thou these questions answer? On thee I humbly call.
Is life, within thy bosom? Or art thou cold and dead? Thou standest in thy myst’ry No tears of misery shed.
Thy heart, thy life is granite, Thou carest not for woe. If tear thou ever sheddest It turns to ice and snow.
But why seek I thy secrets, Thou haughty mountain king? Thou wilt not give me answer, No knowledge to me bring.--
* * * * *
The wind doth give me answer That thou wast born of fire. Thou claimest Earth as mother, Jehovah is thy sire.
Farewell O Mount Sierra! I leave thee to thy rest. But, man will wrench thy secrets In future from thy breast.
OFT POISONED IS THE WINE OF LIFE.
Socrates drank of the hemlock;-- Others drink of poisons deadly.-- Poison as a draught of hemlock Will unrequited love aye be.
And ingratitude of loved ones Sharper than a serpent’s tooth is, And misunderstandings cruel That ever meet us on Life’s way.
Often we are greeted coldly, By the ones who should be friendly. We may fall, and we may falter. Life’s battles we may never win.
Others soon will take our places. Take the love, and take the friendship, Which was ours by laws most holy, And love is now but in the name.
Hemlock would not be as poisonous, Nor would be so hard its taking. As cold words of bitter taunting From trusted friends whom we have loved.
Faithless friends may give a chalice, Filled with poison just as deadly, As the hemlock which was drunken By Socrates in that long past.
Every day we meet deception From some one we loved, and trusted. Poison may be in each vessel From which we drink the wine of Life.
THE GAME OF LIFE.
Would we turn back the wheel of Time, And live this life all o’er? Take up the threads of life anew, And weave them as before?
Methinks I hear you say “Ah no!” Life’s fabric is worn out. The colors too, have lost their hue.-- I would not turn about
And live my life all o’er again, Unless I could improve Upon the game of Life I’ve played; More skillfully could move.
For I have oft made dire mistakes, Made errors in Life’s deal, And could I change the game, would it Add something to my weal?
I never learned Life’s game quite right; Mistakes I ever made, And if I gained a single point, My ignorance next outweighed
All I had gained in former move. I ever lost in game. It seems I ever lacked in skill, If so, I’m not to blame.
And now the game I must give up, But I will not despair. I will begin all o’er again-- Defeat I cannot bear.
But it will not be on this earth; For here I’m done with life. I’ve played Life’s game, and ever lost, To live is naught but strife.
“THE OLD, OLD STORY.”
Come into the garden sweet Lilith When the clock in the tower strikes nine. When the moon by the hill tops is hidden, For thine eyes e’er the moonbeams outshine.
Come into the garden my loved one, While the nightingales sing in the trees. All th’ air is filled with the fragrance That the flowers send forth to the breeze.
Come into the garden and meet me Beneath the old oak on the lawn. To thee I will tell the same story That was told at the world’s first dawn.
Come into the garden sweet Lilith, To thee, I’d anew my vows plight. Again I would speak to thee love words, Again by the moon’s waning light.
Come into the garden my Lilith, The meadow lark chants his love song. E’en the trees are whispering sweet love notes, For they to each other belong.
Come into the garden sweet Lilith, Where the fire-flies seem dancing around. They are plighting their love to each other, Their love smiles light up all the ground.
Come into the garden sweet Lilith, O listen, sweetheart, to my plea. The trees, and the birds, and the fire-flies Tell their love; then _why_ should not we?
My heart is with love overflowing, I would clasp thee in Love’s close embrace. If parted from thee my sweet Lilith, Thy love I could never efface.
THE GHOST OF LOVE.
Thou art a specious pleader, But thou dost plead in vain. Though once I loved, and trusted, My love and trust thou’st slain.
Though in the past were hidden Thy many faults from me; As phantoms they now haunt me, As ghosts, those faults I see.
The mask that ever covered The evil in thy life, From thy false face hath fallen, And now thy passions rife
Stand out in greatest contrast From what they seemed in past. To me ’tis revelation-- With awe I stand aghast.
And feel a sense of horror, That love should come to me For one whose life was hideous, But now,--Thank God I’m free!
Free from the ties that bound me, Free from the chains of ill.-- Thy love no more enthralls me, And yet--O heart be still!
I find that love, and pity Lie deep within my heart. I cannot, cannot hate thee-- Thou art of life a part.
Farewell! Farewell! ’Tis better For both; that we are free. For life, when trust hath left us Is naught but misery.
I SHALL SING IT SOMETIME.
There is a poem somewhere That is perfect in its time; That is perfect in its metre, That is perfect in its rhyme.
It is written on the flowers, It is floating in the air; It is written on the hill tops, It is singing everywhere.
And I know sometime I’ll write it-- It is singing in my brain. I will seek it, I will find it, In my soul it long has lain.
When I try to grasp this poem, It eludes me ever, aye-- It is ever just beyond me, Though I hear it night and day.
It is sung by hosts unnumbered, And was heard when world was new. It is heard when storm-clouds gather, And in glistening drops of dew.
’Tis the singing of the flowers, ’Tis the music of the stars. ’Tis the rhythm of the ocean, And most perfect are its bars.
In the universe ’tis written, And it is so sweet, and rare-- It was written by the Master, It inspires every prayer.
O if I could catch the rhythm That aye fills the universe-- That is sung by choir of angels; Inspired would be my verse.
In Cathedral ’tis resounding, Chanted ’tis at altar pure; And the rhythm haunts me ever-- Spirit song which doth allure.
It is stately in its measure, Though it be a sad refrain; Though it be a merry jingle That goes dancing through my brain.
Yet it _may_ be but the _echo_ Of a symphony, or dirge, Or a mother’s loving ditty, That may through my brain e’er surge.
’Tis the waterfall’s loud roaring, Or the humming of the bee. ’Tis the raging of the tempest As it moans upon the sea.
’Tis the detonating cannon, Or the sigh of dying leaf. ’Tis a song of glad rejoicing, Or a threnody of grief.
’Tis the ghost of an old love song, Or the spirit of a prayer. ’Tis a wail of deepest anguish, And I hear it everywhere.
It is floating in the ether, It is written in the sky; But wherever may be poem, I shall sing it by and by.
Be it song, or be it anthem-- It doth in my heart e’er lie; And my soul for song is waiting, I shall sing it by and by.
WHEN I AM DEAD.
Will friends remember that I lived, Give me a passing thought, Give tribute to what I have done, To what I may have wrought.
Or will they pass with heedless laugh, Not feeling one regret That I have gone beyond their ken; And will they soon forget
That _I_ loved them, that _they_ loved me, That friendship in the past Was part, and parcel of our lives; We hoped ’twould ever last.
But when I’m dead, I hope few tears Will then be shed for me. If others then shall take my place, I shall not grieve to see
My loved ones happy without me. Why should they grieve for aye? Their duties they must ever do, The laws of life obey.
* * * * *
Forget me then when I am dead; I fain would have it so. If world is better for my life, Bequeath I would not woe
To those I leave behind on earth; They need not shed one tear, Nor be unhappy for one hour; Nor need they have one fear
Of what befalls me when I die. I’ll go where I belong. I shall not crowd nor push aside The ever swelling throng.--
My place I’ve made while here on earth, And I shall go therein Without a fear, without a thought Of any earthly sin.
I’ve lived, I’ve loved, I’ve done the work That was laid out for me. I still shall live, I still shall love Throughout eternity.
* * * * *
Be patient with the living ones, The dead need not your care. The living ones need comforting For much they have to bear.
“’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE.”
Poor Folly will build a grand mansion, And in it the wise man may live. Poor Folly may hoard up his money, But Wisdom will gladly it give.
Poor Folly Life’s game is aye playing, And often the game he may win. And Folly may build a cathedral, And Wisdom may pray therein.
Though Folly knows how to make money, He spends it full oft like a fool, And Wisdom may do the same also, But it is not always the rule.
If Folly were better than Wisdom, ’Twere foolish for us to be wise, Perhaps though there’s folly in wisdom, And wisdom in folly oft lies.
THE OLD OAK’S REVERIE.
I’ve stood and fought for centuries past The storms of wind which beat, And hurled their fury on my head, But could not me defeat.
Though generations have passed on, And gone to their last rest. I’ve stood the ravages of time, Have ever borne the test
Of summer’s heat, of winter’s cold, And lightning’s scorching blast. Unconquered been in nature’s fight, As if of iron cast.
Sometimes when storms beat on my head, I little cared for life; I would have giv’n the battle up, With all its fierce, fierce strife.
But then again I felt life’s love Go coursing through my veins, And then I felt impelled to say I’m thankful that God reigns.
Long years ago,--I count them not, A child on hillside stopped. His pockets filled with acorns ripe, And one of them he dropped.
I soon sprang up from out the earth, With life and hope so strong. I took my place, have kept it too Through all these centuries long.
For many years the birds have built Their nests beneath my boughs, Have sung their love songs through the days, Each day renewed their vows.
I learned their love songs I am sure, I shared their joy and pride; When lover brought to his old home His sweetheart, his bird bride.
I’m lonely e’er when they depart To fairer, warmer lands. Impatiently await the time When Love again demands
Their secret nesting ’mong my boughs.-- Again I’ll hear Love’s call; Will hear their marriage vows renewed. For Love e’en birds enthrall.
INGRATITUDE.
If we should help a friend in need We would not have him kneel In humble, abject gratitude; And yet--we’d have him feel
Some little kindness in his heart, Sometimes to it allude. “For sharper than a serpent’s tooth” Is base ingratitude.
We try to keep the rule laid down, “Let not your right hand know” What e’er your left may give, or do, Though friend may change to foe.
Though friends ignore what we have done, And often cause us pain, We still will help to lift the loads, And burdens on them lain.
“JUDGE NOT.”
Judge not of others’ lives by yours, Unless your own is pure. You know not what the others bear Or what they may endure.
Temptations may have been too strong, And they, alas! too weak To cope with all the sins in life, And purity aye seek.
Heredity is oft the cause; And e’en the strongest mind May find it hard to overcome; For it, to sin may bind.
And yet there is a power within To overcome all ill. By cultivating this high power All thought of sin we kill.
Yet “do not judge lest you be judged.” Look deep in your own heart, And you may find some secret sin That of your life is part.
If you are sinless, then you may The first stone throw at them; If it recoils and falls on you, Yourself you must condemn.
There are so many pitfalls deep At every turn of road; And all life’s paths so devious, So heavy is life’s load
That man must carry up life’s hill, Too oft he falls by way; But he has strength to bear the load If he God’s laws obey.
OUR VIRTUES ARE CARVED UPON OUR TOMBSTONES.
In attic bare and dreary, With fingers blue with cold, A man sat writing, writing, For pittance small of gold.
His limbs were cramped, and trembling, The light was low and dim. For hours he had been writing, And Hunger sat by him;
Sat even at his elbow With taunting words of fame, With promises alluring That he would make a name.--
* * * * *
The morning light was breaking, Still empty was his cot. He seemed to be still writing.-- He had the world forgot.
* * * * *
In grave-yard he is lying, “God’s acre” is the name. Cold criticism killed him. He fought too hard for fame.
* * * * *
Not colder is the grave-yard Than was his attic bare, When death had claimed his victim, They found his “writings rare”
His name was now emblazoned Upon the hearts of those Who never did him justice, Nor troubled at his woes.
* * * * *
Thus Fame, and Honor, Riches, Oft come to man when dead, Are proud to do him justice, With _laurel_, crown his head.
HONOR, FAME, OR LOVE.
High Honor came to visit me, And with him goddess Fame. But Happiness deserted me When Fame and Honor came.
I courted Honor, courted Fame, They coldly smiled on me; They soon became unwelcome guests, For they caused Love to flee.
I fain would then have cast aside The guests which I had sought. Alas! It was too late, for they Had then the evil wrought.
They were installed as guests of mine, But soon I weary grew Of their commands, of their demands, And begged that Love renew
Dominion o’er my heart and home; For home is drear indeed, Though lacking nothing but sweet Love; For Love the world doth lead.
My guests brought Jealousy one day. Destroyer it, of peace. When he came in, Love fled in fright, And took with her sweet peace.
For Honor, Fame, and Love, can ne’er In peace together dwell. When Jealousy once joins the throng, It is Love’s funeral knell.
When Love within our household reigns Let none usurp her place. She is the queen that e’er should rule, And none should her abase.
COURAGE.
You will not find the bravest men Upon the battle ground; For in the quiet ranks of life Great courage oft is found.
Though man may fight with brother man In battle’s fierce array, He may not have the courage to Combat what others say.
If _others_ are of “higher grade”; To gain himself a place Upon the social rung of life, He may their views embrace.
If e’er the time shall come to you When you will shrink with fear, And do not dare defend your views, Though they to you are dear
Let not your courage fail you then.-- Be sure that you are _right_, Then never swerve from _truth_ one point, And for the truth e’en fight.
Though courage needed is in life, And should of life be part, Perverted it should never be, Nor rule a loving heart.
“The race is not aye for the swift, Nor battle, for the strong.” Have courage to uphold the right. And to denounce the wrong.
PERSEVERE.
Starting out to fight Life’s battles, Persevere, persevere. Though at first you may be worsted, Persevere.
Though Life’s road be rough, and thorny, Persevere, persevere. Never falter by the wayside; Persevere.
Though your burdens may be heavy, Persevere, persevere. Never drop them by the roadside; Persevere.
Your ideal should be high heaven. Persevere, persevere. By perseverance you will gain it. Persevere.
In this world, if seeking pleasure, You will find, alas! but tears. But in doing every duty, Persevere.
E’en though hard may be the battle For the right, for the right. You must stand e’er by your colors. Persevere.
Your companion must be Valor, On your banner, Truth. Perseverance be your pass-word. Persevere.
If you’ve won in Life’s hard conflict; You must still persevere. For another life awaits you. Persevere.
SPEAK BUT KIND WORDS.
Speak but kind words to those you love, For there may come a day When what you’ve said, and what you’ve done E’er more will with you stay.
If you have unkind words to say, O say them to the dead; The dead cannot by them be grieved, Their hearts not filled with dread.
Nor filled with fear and hopelessness.-- And you will not regret That you have caused unhappiness. For you can ne’er forget
That you have caused a loved one grief, Your words have given pain. You never can forgive yourself, And _Love_ you may have slain.
A word seems but a little thing, But it may break a heart, Though thought is but a vapor light, It causes many a smart.
It is the little pin pricks sharp That are so hard to bear. We are prepared for troubles great, And only have our share.
Then speak kind words to those you love, It is not hard to do. Just keep a guard o’er thoughts, and tongue, Then you’ll have naught to rue.
When death shall come to those we love, If we have caused them pain, Repentance then will be too late, Regrets will then be vain.
VAGARY.
Vagary is stalking all over the land, His home is a hut, or a palace most grand. Whatever his folly, no matter how wild, Some one will accept it, by it, be beguiled.
Vagary once built a “Home” on a hill, And hoped that his dupes his coffers would fill. This “Home” was a refuge for those in distress, And, judging by numbers, it was a success.
He promised a cure for each ache, and each ill. With lame, halt, and blind, the “Home” did soon fill. Vagary was doctor, vagary was nurse, And if at the door stood ever a hearse,
No comment was made, and it soon disappeared. Respect had Vagary, and no one e’er sneered. Vagary was doctor, and if patient he killed No one made remark, and the place was soon filled.
Vagary discovered an underground mine Called “Bonnevinterre” a lake of pure wine. “Like sheep to the slaughter,” the people all rushed, The mine proved a myth, and their hopes were all crushed.
Vagary then started a charity scheme, To write all the bylaws took a full ream Of “Fool’s Cap” commercial; for written thereon Were benefits gained, and dividends won.
“O help the poor widows and orphans” he cried, And money flowed in on every side. Vagary was treasurer, and bookkeeper too, Received all the dividends when they were due.
The widows got little, the orphans still less, He ever was talking of their great distress. Vagary grew richer, and richer each day, For charity well managed, ever will pay.
He next discovered a marvelous light, Compared to it, e’en the sun was as night. Directly all other lights became dim, As usual, the money poured in unto him.
He now with the highest magnates took rank, For money he had in every bank. But magnates, like others, sometime must die, And in the same earth with poverty lie.
Vagary grew ill, and gave up the ghost, But with his last breath he still made the boast That every ill on earth he could cure. And even though dying, did many allure.
THE HOME BEAUTIFUL.
’Tis not a palace built of marble, ’Tis not a mansion made of stone, ’Tis not a hostelry of splendor, Nor a seat upon a throne.
It _may_ be but a humble cottage With loving welcome at the door, With sunshine peeping in at window, And lighting up the naked floor.
It _may_ be but a tent by brookside, But air is pure, and water sweet. The tent is home of rarest splendor, If Love, by brookside, doth you greet.
’Tis love that gives to home its beauty, It is not honor, riches, fame. For Love will light up every corner, In home of beauty is Love’s name.
THE BEATITUDES.
Once Honesty and Faith combined To find for each a mate. They searched for Love all in vain, They only found fierce Hate.
Forever Love eluded them; For Love is hard to win. They gave up Love, and searched for Faith, For Faith, to Love is kin.
When Faith and Honesty are wed, If Love will place her seal, Confirmed is then the marriage vow, From it there’s no appeal
When Love, and Truth, and Honesty, In wedded life is found; When Faith shall be their handmaid pure, The four together bound;