Part 2

The chariot of the dawn rolls in And, far above all care, As freely as the gladsome lark My thought finds upper air.

My thought finds upper air with thee: O fear thou not, I pray, That such rare visions of the soul Unfit us for the way,

Our feet must journey. ’Tis not so: For look thou--as we soar Is there not glory in the vale We never _saw_ before?

Yet _was_ there glory in the vale And you and I were there-- The same blue sky was over head, The same fond, brooding care

Was over us: yet we were blind Till Love, like him of old, Laid on our eyes his healing hand, And lo, we now behold

Life as it is. Yet more and more, As time shall roll away, I trow new glories will unfold, We dream not of to-day.

My thought finds upper air, my love, And thou art with me there-- The glory of the mountain heights We’ll carry everywhere.

DREAMS

Like beams of light to darkness, Is fancy, to the real; Lifting the down-cast spirit Unto its high ideal.

Dreamers are all about us, On mountain or by sea, And had we no such visions, Less bright this world would be.

The aged man is dreaming Of merry boyhood days; Of favorite haunts, and schoolmates, And of their wonted plays.

His life was _then_ all sunshine, He roamed about at will; And years passed on as smoothly, As glides a laughing rill.

But time has brought her burdens Of mingled pain and care; They’ve bent his manly figure, And silvered o’er his hair.

Stately is now his bearing, He breathes a freer air; Then call him not from dreamland, For he is happy there.

He now beholds the Heavenly, The dear ones gone before; No more are they divided, But with him, as of yore.

O, may such glorious visions Oft to his spirit come; For, surely, they are gateways Unto that “Heavenly Home.”

The future to the youthful Diffuses brightest beams; All wants and wishes granted, In golden future dreams.

O, many fairy castles The youthful fancy rears! But when the air dissolves them, Oft come the bitter tears.

Still, chide them not for building, Burdens will lighter seem; And life, with all its shadows, Be brighter for the dream.

Of what the infant dreameth, The wisest ne’er may know; Yet, they must be in dreamland, When the dimples come and go.

Over a faded blossom, Or shining curl, we dream, Till absent forms, through memory, E’en almost present seem.

Yes, dreams are fraught with blessings, In love and mercy given; And oft are golden stairways, Which draw us nearer heaven.

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW

As at sea the eager voyager Thoughtfully from shore to shore, Waves farewell to scenes behind him, Welcomes scenes that rise before; So I stand upon Time’s ocean, And, as from my outer view Fades the old year’s face in glory, Dawns the new in roseate hue.

Dear old year, forever loyal, Listen to my thought of thee, All thou hast been, all thou now art Wilt thou be in memory. Summing up my gain and losses, Do I find my gain is more, Wider vision, richer friendships Have been added to my store.

Some, who walked with me, have vanished; Yet at memory’s holy shrine Do we meet in sweet communion; Theirs am I, and they are mine. For their influence on my journey Life is sweeter, lighter care, As the violet’s bloom is brighter When the dewdrop sparkles there.

Dear Old Year--Lo! thou art vanished, And here, standing in thy place, Is the New Year, full of promise, With the self-same care-free face Thou did’st wear, when first I knew thee. Welcome New Year! Hear my vow: I will trust in all thy future, And will do thy bidding, now.

As ye enter with the new year, Young or old, be brave at heart-- Life hath need of faithful service, And each soul must bear its part; Sweeter than a nation’s praises For high deeds of valor done Is the simple joy of duty, Is the peace from victory won.

COLUMBUS

A Fragment

Brave Columbus! Did the Builder Show to you his wondrous plan, And inspire in you the courage To reveal it unto man?

History shows no braver hero, Living, or beneath the sod-- Shows no greater self-denial, Shows no deeper faith in God.

LOST DAYS

We never can recall a day; When it is past, it rolls away Into the lap of time.

We might as well attempt to sow Our seed amid the falling snow, And hope for fruitage rare,

As, life’s bright spring of action o’er, Amid the present’s din and roar Strive to reclaim the past.

Though we should call, with sobs of pain, For the old year to come again, In vain would be our cry.

Full many a fault we would correct, And many a scrawl we would reject, Were we to write anew.

But, while we wish the year’s return, While for the past our spirits yearn, A cheerful voice exclaims:

“He who would reach sublimest height Must toil by day, and pray by night, And struggle with the tide--

Now is the time to carve your fate! Time never lags, though man be late-- Lost days will ne’er return.”

MOTHER’S PRAYER

While my darling child is sleeping In her little bed, Mother’s earnest prayer is heaping Blessings on her head.

First she prays that God will teach her, How to worthy be Of so sweet a child to love her; Then, to clearly see,

Duties of her noble calling-- That, as days go by, She may help that soul develop All that’s pure and high.

“Make my little darling happy,” Fondly mother prays; Happy as the birds and blossoms Through the summer days.

May God keep her sweet and loving, Strong to battle sin, And, as now she trust in mother, May she trust in Him!

EXPECTATION

How slowly you creep on--tick faster, clock! One that I love is nigh; when he is come You may cease ticking--little will I care For measurement of time! _Then_ I’ll not peer Into your face and question, “what’s the hour?” If you withhold the telling, less my blame, For in that world of love, where soul meets soul, Time is not measured by the pendulum’s swing, But by quick pulse-beats. One that I _love_ is nigh; What mean those words? Upon the silent air They fall, and strike upon my listening ear In echoing tones. “_One that I love is nigh!_” How strange that world of love, and yet, how fair; To once have lived there is to catch a glint Of the Eternal Brightness.

Naught can separate Two souls that love. If I could fetters forge To bind his heart to mine, by such slight threads As spiders spin, I would not do it. Love Is loftiest in his flight when free of wing.

O, is not love, In its eternal might, the power that binds All worlds together?

THE SILENCE OF THE ROSEBUD

O lovely rosebud, thou art more to me Than what men call thee; for a mystery As fathomless as ocean in thy breast Is folded with each petal, I, in quest Of knowledge, do most reverently Approach thy presence-chamber. Thou shalt be My teacher: I am weary grown of books And speech of men. Lo! something in thy looks Inspires new courage. O reveal to me The secret of thy being! I may see Thy beauty, scent thy sweetness; yet thou art E’en more than these, for thou dost play a part In life’s grand mystr’y. O is’t given thee, The power to solve, what is denied to me? Did’st see, or only feel, that Hand of might That touched thee at the Spring-dawn, or was light Denied thee then? Rare gift of light--to me, Sublimest type of immortality.

At thy first flush of crimson I was nigh To watch thy coming--what no human eye Might hope to witness. And lo, silently, As stars find birth thou didst appear to me In form perfection, in thy charm of dress Passing all wonder in thy loveliness. Still thou art silent to my listening ear, But deep within my consciousness, I hear “Lo! beauty, love and truth, are one with Him Who beams in radiance, hides in shadows dim.” What though thy birthplace be the humble sod, Thy life and mine are, surely, one with God!

SEED-TIME AND HARVEST

Shine out, Sun, in all your splendor, On this dreary Autumn day-- With your warm lips, kiss the cold earth-- One I love is on the way To my waiting arms--O kiss it Till the very air shall be Tempered to the breath of Heaven. I would have my loved one see, That the heart of all things pulseth, As in perfect unison, Just as we have felt our hearts beat When the twain seemed heart of one. Night will drop her sable mantle, E’er my loved-one comes, I know; Send out little stars to greet him, ’Fuse them with a wond’rous glow. One is coming, O my Father, In the love of whom I see Thee, the source of all true loving, And through whom I come to Thee-- Come to Thee with deep thanksgiving, For Thy more than wond’rous care; O’er the precious seed we planted In the genial springtime fair-- “Many seeds fall short of issue.” Yes, my Father, this I know; But we’ve somehow felt and trusted, With our seed, it were not so. We are longing for the fruitage, Hopefully, we trust and pray, Pray with deepest sense of hunger; Father, turn us not away! “Can’st not trust a little longer?” Yes, my Father, long and late-- Till the snow falls on the green-sward We can trust, and we can wait.

TO A BLUE-FRINGED GENTIAN

O, beautiful blue-fringed gentian bloom, Woulds’t know why I care for you? You were plucked for me by a friendly hand From the hillside where you grew.

How could you come up from the brown earth And be such a gorgeous thing? Did mother nature color your gown, When she tinted the blue bird’s wing?

Or did the rain drops into your buds, Bring down the blue of the sky? Yea, He who painted the rain-bow’s stripes, E’en the waysides, beautify.

A dearer spot is your woodland home, Where the pine trees lull to rest; Where the sweet Spring-blossoms come again, And the song-birds love to nest.

To drop your seed, in the soft brown earth With your kindred little flower, Was that your dream ere you were plucked To wither in an hour?

“Glad am I to be the messenger Of tender thoughts,” you say, “And to cheer the sick and sorrowing ones Is my dearest wish, alway.”

Then tenderly, little blossom of blue, I’ll fold you away with care, You came, a messenger of love, And found me in dispair.

You brought the sunshine and summer shower, The bird song and hum of the bee, The noisy stream and the silent lake, And the balsam from the tree.

* * * * *

And now all seems good, for all seems God, I, too, have touched the hem Of the seamless robe of his great love, For lo! I am well again.

A FRAGMENT

I could not let thee go with Death It seems to me; Life never meant what now it means Since loving thee.

I could not go alone with Death; But by thy side, Methinks I could lie down content, E’en as thy bride.

To fill the measure of thy need Dare I aspire-- Nor is there longing in my soul For mission higher.

To fill the measure of thy need-- Dost thou not know, The measure of my own deep need Would but o’erflow?

MY CHRISTMAS WISH

A happy Christmas? Nay, far more shall be My wish for you. I know how happiness Flits in and out of our poor human lives, Even as humming birds flit in and out The upturned lily’s cup, or April’s sunshine Pierces through the clouds only to vanish. I own her magic touch, for she has been My guest, and she wrought many a miracle. I mind how she transformed the common things Of life, and how she flung a glory o’er The future, till my dreams of paradise Seemed all fulfilled.

After the storm of battle Cometh peace. Since I have heard her voice, And felt the touch of her soft wings upon My troubled spirit, I have ceased to pray For happiness’ return, but I await Her coming--grateful if she rarely come And briefly stay.

And so my wish for you Shall be my high’st prayer, that peace, God’s peace, May enter through the portals of your life, And there abide, your guest, forevermore.

TO A ROSEBUD

I pinned thee, Rosebud, on his coat When thou wert fresh and fair, And I recall thou did’st exhale For us a fragrance rare.

With reverent touch, to-night I fold Thy withered leaves with care About this lifeless heart of thine, And breathe a grateful prayer.

O tell me, Rosebud, wert thou deaf To all we said that night; Or did’st thou feel those kisses warm That thrilled us with delight?

Thy lingering breath is sweet to me Thy beauty is not fled, And while thou live’st in memory I will not call thee dead.

TREES

How helpful to my life are forest trees! Their beauty charms me, while their strength sustains My weakness, and to be a day with them Is as a sweet communion-day with God. How, like a strong man, stands the sturdy oak, Mightier than all his fellows; yet he seems To boast, not strength inherited, so much As from fierce battling with the elements, Relying not on Providence alone, But on himself--remembering the past, And how from feebleness he grew to strength. Was ever king in purple and in gold So grand as they in autumn’s coloring? A most inspiring lesson to my life Their beauty teacher. In it, I behold A type of what this human life should be When the end cometh.

Faces, I have seen, That speak to me, e’en as these autumn leaves, Of a rich harvest safely garnered in. Would autumn leaves be just as richly dyed, Did only sunshine and warm summer showers Fall on them, and the dreary days come not? But e’en as glory of the king may fade, Or he be robbed of all his rich attire, So fade and pass away their glories all, While ever and anon the drear winds sigh A requiem of sadness. Yet, above The dead leaves rustling, do the days go on, And spring-time gladness will return again. O, in their hours of calm, do trees not dream Of the bright days to come of bud and bloom? Thus do they speak to me, and seem to teach The wondrous mystery of life and death. The first spring dandelion’s bloom is more To me than all the written word; it speaks Directly to the soul, and seem to be The voice of God. It is a thing of life, And what can better solve the mystery? It is a proof of promises fulfilled, And bids us trust, unfalteringly, when Again the dead leaves rustle ’neath our feet, And the cold snow-flakes cover all we love.

O God, so many paths lead unto Thee, ’Twere strange if any soul should miss the way!