Part 6

Is my will as sweet as the wild grape, Spreading delight on the air For the passer-by's enchantment, Subtle and unaware? Have I as brave a spirit, Sprung from the self-same mould, As this weed from its own contentment Lifting its shaft of gold?

The deep red cones of the sumach And the woodbine's crimson's sprays Have bannered the common roadside For the pageant of passing days. These are the oracles Nature Fills with her holy breath, Giving them glory of color, Transcending the shadow of death.

Here in the sifted sunlight A spirit seems to brood On the beauty and worth of being, In tranquil, instinctive mood; And the heart, filled full of gladness Such as the wise earth knows, Wells with a full thanksgiving For the gifts that life bestows:

For the ancient and virile nurture Of the teeming primordial ground, For the splendid gospel of color, The rapt revelations of sound; For the morning-blue above us And the rusted gold of the fern, For the chickadee's call of valor Bidding the faint-heart turn;

For fire and running water, Snowfall and summer rain; For sunsets and quiet meadows, The fruit and the standing grain; For the solemn hour of moonrise Over the crest of trees, When the mellow lights are kindled In the lamps of the centuries;

For those who wrought aforetime, Led by the mystic strain To strive for the larger freedom, And live for the greater gain; For plenty of peace and playtime, The homely goods of earth, And for rare immaterial treasures Accounted of little worth;

For art and learning and friendship, Where beneficent truth is supreme,-- Those everlasting cities Built on the hills of dream; For all things growing and goodly That foster this life, and breed The immortal flower of wisdom Out of the mortal seed.

But most of all for the spirit That cannot rest nor bide In stale and sterile convenience, Nor safety proven and tried, But still inspired and driven, Must seek what better may be, And up from the loveliest garden Must climb for a glimpse of sea.

Lines for a Picture

When the leaves are flying Across the azure sky, Autumn on the hill top Turns to say good-by;

In her gold-red tunic, Like an Eastern queen, With untarnished courage In her wilding mien.

All the earth below her Answers to her gaze, And her eyes are pensive With remembered days.

Yet, with cheek ensanguined, Gay at heart she goes On the great adventure Where the north wind blows.

The Deserted Pasture

I love the stony pasture That no one else will have. The old gray rocks so friendly seem, So durable and brave.

In tranquil contemplation It watches through the year. Seeing the frosty stars arise, The slender moons appear.

Its music is the rain-wind, Its choristers the birds, And there are secrets in its heart Too wonderful for words.

It keeps the bright-eyed creatures That play about its walls, Though long ago its milking herds Were banished from their stalls.

Only the children come there, For buttercups in May, Or nuts in autumn, where it lies Dreaming the hours away.

Long since its strength was given To making good increase, And now its soul is turned again To beauty and to peace.

There in the early springtime The violets are blue, And adder-tongues in coats of gold Are garmented anew.

There bayberry and aster Are crowded on its floors, When marching summer halts to praise The Lord of Out-of-doors.

And there October passes In gorgeous livery,-- In purple ash, and crimson oak, And golden tulip tree.

And when the winds of winter Their bugle blasts begin, The snowy hosts of heaven arrive And pitch their tents therein.

Autumn

Now when the time of fruit and grain is come, When apples hang above the orchard wall, And from the tangle by the roadside stream A scent of wild grapes fills the racy air, Comes Autumn with her sunburnt caravan, Like a long gypsy train with trappings gay And tattered colors of the Orient, Moving slow-footed through the dreamy hills. The woods of Wilton at her coming wear Tints of Bokhara and of Samarcand: The maples glow with their Pompeian red, The hickories with burnt Etruscan gold; And while the crickets fife along her march, Behind her banners burns the crimson sun.

November Twilight

Now Winter at the end of day Along the ridges takes her way,

Upon her twilight round to light The faithful candles of the night.

As quiet as the nun she goes With silver lamp in hand, to close

The silent doors of dusk that keep The hours of memory and sleep.

She pauses to tread out the fires Where Autumn's festal train retires.

The last red embers smoulder down Behind the steeples of the town.

Austere and fine the trees stand bare And moveless in the frosty air,

Against the pure and paling light Before the threshold of the night.

On purple valley and dim wood The timeless hush of solitude

Is laid, as if the time for some Transcending mystery were come,

That shall illumine and console The penitent and eager soul,

Setting her free to stand before Supernal beauty and adore.

Dear Heart, in heaven's high portico It is the hour of prayer. And lo,

Above the earth, serene and still, One star--our star--o'er Lonetree Hill!

The Ghost-yard of the Goldenrod

When the first silent frost has trod The ghost-yard of the goldenrod,

And laid the blight of his cold hand Upon the warm autumnal land,

And all things wait the subtle change That men call death, is it not strange

That I--without a care or need, Who only am an idle weed--

Should wait unmoved, so frail, so bold, The coming of the final cold!

Before the Snow

Now soon, ah, very soon, I know The trumpets of the north will blow, And the great winds will come to bring The pale, wild riders of the snow.

Darkening the sun with level flight, At arrowy speed, they will alight, Unnumbered as the desert sands, To bivouac on the edge of night.

Then I, within their somber ring, Shall hear a voice that seems to sing, Deep, deep within my tranquil heart, The valiant prophecy of spring.

Winter

When winter comes along the river line And Earth has put away her green attire, With all the pomp of her autumnal pride, The world is made a sanctuary old, Where Gothic trees uphold the arch of gray, And gaunt stone fences on the ridge's crest Stand like carved screens before a crimson shrine, Showing the sunset glory through the chinks. There, like a nun with frosty breath, the soul, Uplift in adoration, sees the world Transfigured to a temple of her Lord; While down the soft blue-shadowed aisles of snow Night, like a sacristan with silent step, Passes to light the tapers of the stars.

A Winter Piece

Over the rim of a lacquered bowl, Where a cold blue water-color stands, I see the wintry breakers roll And heave their froth up the freezing sands.

Here in immunity safe and dull, Soul treads her circuit of trivial things. There soul's brother, a shining gull, Dares the rough weather on dauntless wings.

Winter Streams

Now the little rivers go Muffled safely under snow,

And the winding meadow streams Murmur in their wintry dreams,

While a tinkling music wells Faintly from there icy bells,

Telling how their hearts are bold Though the very sun be cold.

Ah, but wait until the rain Comes a-sighing once again,

Sweeping softly from the Sound Over ridge and meadow ground!

Then the little streams will hear April calling far and near,--

Slip their snowy bands and run Sparkling in the welcome sun.

Winter Twilight

Along the wintry skyline, Crowning the rocky crest, Stands the bare screen of hardwood trees Against the saffron west,-- Its gray and purple network Of branching tracery Outspread upon the lucent air, Like weed within the sea.

The scarlet robe of autumn Renounced and put away, The mystic Earth is fairer still,-- A Puritan in gray. The spirit of the winter, How tender, how austere! Yet all the ardor of the spring And summer's dream are here.

Fear not, O timid lover, The touch of frost and rime! This is the virtue that sustained The roses in their prime. The anthem of the northwind Shall hallow thy despair, The benediction of the snow Be answer to thy prayer.

And now the star of evening That is the pilgrim's sign, Is lighted in the primrose dusk,-- A lamp before a shrine. Peace fills the mighty minster, Tranquil and gray and old, And all the chancel of the west Is bright with paling gold.

A little wind goes sifting Along the meadow floor,-- Like steps of lovely penitents Who sighingly adore. Then falls the twilight curtain, And fades the eerie light, And frost and silence turn the keys In the great doors of night.

The Twelfth Night Star

It is the bitter time of year When iron is the ground, With hasp and sheathing of black ice The forest lakes are bound, The world lies snugly under snow, Asleep without a sound.

All the night long in trooping squares The sentry stars go by, The silent and unwearying hosts That bear man company, And with their pure enkindling fires Keep vigils lone and high.

Through the dead hours before the dawn, When the frost snaps the sill, From chestnut-wooded ridge to sea The earth lies dark and still, Till one great silver planet shines Above the eastern hill.

It is the star of Gabriel, The herald of the Word In days when messengers of God With sons of men conferred, Who brought the tidings of great joy The watching shepherds heard;

The mystic light that moved to lead The wise of long ago, Out of the great East where they dreamed Of truths they could not know, To seek some good that should assuage The world's most ancient woe.

O well, believe, they loved their dream, Those children of the star, Who saw the light and followed it, Prophetical, afar,-- Brave Caspar, clear-eyed Melchior, And eager Balthasar.

Another year slips to the void, And still with omen bright Above the sleeping doubting world The day-star is alight,-- The waking signal flashed of old In the blue Syrian night.

But who are now as wise as they Whose faith could read the sign Of the three gifts that shall suffice To honor the divine, And show the tread of common life Ineffably benign?

Whoever wakens on a day Happy to know and be, To enjoy the air, to love his kind, To labor, to be free,-- Already his enraptured soul Lives in eternity.

For him with every rising sun The year begins anew; The fertile earth receives her lord, And prophecy comes true, Wondrously as a fall of snow, Dear as a drench of dew.

Who gives his life for beauty's need, King Caspar could no more; Who serves the truth with single mind Shall stand with Melchior; And love is all that Balthasar In crested censer bore.

A Christmas Eve Choral

_Halleluja! What sound is this across the dark While all the earth is sleeping? Hark! Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja!_

Why are thy tender eyes so bright, Mary, Mary? On the prophetic deep of night Joseph, Joseph, I see the borders of the light, And in the day that is to be An aureoled man-child I see, Great love's son, Joseph.

_Halleluja! He hears not, but she hears afar, The Minstrel Angel of the star. Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja!_

Why is thy gentle smile so deep, Mary, Mary? It is the secret I must keep, Joseph, Joseph,-- The joy that will not let me sleep, The glory of the coming days, When all the world shall turn to praise God's goodness, Joseph.

_Halleluja! Clear as the bird that brings the morn She hears the heavenly music borne. Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja!_

Why is thy radiant face so calm, Mary, Mary? His strength is like a royal palm, Joseph, Joseph; His beauty like the victor's psalm. He moves like morning o'er the lands And there is healing in his hands For sorrow, Joseph.

_Halleluja! Tender as dew-fall on the earth She hears the choral of love's birth. Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja!_

What is the message come to thee, Mary, Mary? I hear like wind within the tree, Joseph, Joseph, Or like a far-off melody His deathless voice proclaiming peace, And bidding ruthless wrong to cease, For love's sake, Joseph.

_Halleluja! Moving as rain-wind in the spring She hears the angel chorus ring. Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja!_

Why are thy patient hands so still, Mary, Mary? I see the shadow on the hill, Joseph, Joseph, And wonder if it is God's will That courage, service, and glad youth Shall perish in the cause of truth Forever, Joseph.

_Halleluja! Her heart in that celestial chime Has heard the harmony of time. Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja!_

Why is thy voice so strange and far, Mary, Mary? I see the glory of the star, Joseph, Joseph; And in its light all things that are, Made glad and wise beyond the sway Of death and darkness and dismay, In God's time Joseph.

_Halleluja! To every heart in love 'tis given To hear the ecstasy of heaven. Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja._

Christmas Song

Above the weary waiting world, Asleep in chill despair, There breaks a sound of joyous bells Upon the frosted air. And o'er the humblest rooftree, lo, A star is dancing on the snow.

What makes the yellow star to dance Upon the brink of night? What makes the breaking dawn to glow So magically bright,-- And all the earth to be renewed With infinite beatitude?

The singing bells, the throbbing star, The sunbeams on the snow, And the awakening heart that leaps New ecstasy to know,-- They all are dancing in the morn Because a little child is born.

The Wise Men from the East

(A LITTLE BOY'S CHRISTMAS LESSON)

_Why were the Wise Men three, Instead of five or seven?"_ They had to match, you see, The archangels in Heaven.

God sent them, sure and swift, By his mysterious presage, To bear the threefold gift And take the threefold message.

Thus in their hands were seen The gold of purest Beauty, The myrrh of Truth all-clean, The frankincense of Duty.

And thus they bore away The loving heart's great treasure, And knowledge clear as day, To be our life's new measure.

They went back to the East To spread the news of gladness. There one became a priest To the new word of sadness;

And one a workman, skilled Beyond the old earth's fashion; And one a scholar, filled With learning's endless passion.

God sent them for a sign He would not change nor alter His good and fair design, However man may falter.

He meant that, as He chose His perfect plan and willed it, They stood in place of those Who elsewhere had fulfilled it;

Whoso would mark and reach The height of man's election, Must still achieve and teach The triplicate perfection.

For since the world was made, One thing was needed ever, To keep man undismayed Through failure and endeavor--

A faultless trinity Of body, mind, and spirit, And each with its own three Strong angels to be near it;

Strength to arise and go Wherever dawn is breaking, Poise like the tides that flow, Instinct for beauty-making;

Imagination bold To cross the mystic border, Reason to seek and hold, Judgment for law and order;

Joy that makes all things well, Faith that is all-availing Each terror to dispel, And Love, ah, Love unfailing.

These are the flaming Nine Who walk the world unsleeping, Sent forth by the Divine With manhood in their keeping.

These are the seraphs strong His mighty soul had need of, When He would right the wrong And sorrow He took heed of.

And that, I think, is why The Wise Men knelt before Him, And put their kingdoms by To serve Him and adore Him;

So that our Lord, unknown, Should not be unattended, When He was here alone And poor and unbefriended;

That still He might have three (Rather than five or seven) To stand in their degree, Like archangels in Heaven.

The Sending of the Magi

In a far Eastern country It happened long of yore, Where a lone and level sunrise Flushes the desert floor, That three kings sat together And a spearman kept the door.

Caspar, whose wealth was counted By city and caravan; With Melchior, the seer Who read the starry plan; And Balthasar, the blameless, Who loved his fellow man.

There while they talked, a sudden Strange rushing sound arose, And as with startled faces They thought upon their foes, Three figures stood before them In imperial repose.

One in flame-gold and one in blue And one in scarlet clear, With the almighty portent Of sunrise they drew near! And the kings made obeisance With hand on breast, in fear.

"Arise," said they, "we bring you Good tidings of great peace! To-day a power is wakened Whose working must increase, Till fear and greed and malice And violence shall cease."

The messengers were Michael, By whom all things are wrought To shape and hue; and Gabriel Who is the lord of thought; And Rafael without whose love All toil must come to nought.

Then Rafael said to Balthasar, "In a country west from here A lord is born in lowliness, In love without a peer. Take grievances and gifts to him And prove his kingship clear!

"By this sign ye shall know him; Within his mother's arm Among the sweet-breathed cattle He slumbers without harm, While wicked hearts are troubled And tyrants take alarm."

And Gabriel said to Melchior, "My comrade, I will send My star to go before you, That ye may comprehend Where leads your mystic learning In a humaner trend."

And Michael said to Gaspar, "Thou royal builder, go With tribute of thy riches! Though time shall overthrow Thy kingdom, no undoing His gentle might shall know."

Then while the kings' hearts greatened And all the chamber shone, As when the hills at sundown Take a new glory on And the air thrills with purple, Their visitors were gone.

Then straightway up rose Gaspar, Melchior and Balthasar, And passed out through the murmur Of palace and bazar, To make without misgiving The journey of the Star.

The Angels of Man

The word of the Lord of the outer worlds Went forth on the deeps of space, That Michael, Gabriel, Rafael, Should stand before his face, The seraphs of his threefold will, Each in his ordered place.

Brave Michael, the right hand of God, Strong Gabriel, his voice, Fair Rafael, his holy breath That makes the world rejoice,-- Archangels of omnipotence, Of knowledge, and of choice;

Michael, angel of loveliness In all things that survive, And Gabriel, whose part it is To ponder and contrive, And Rafael, who puts the heart In every thing alive.

Came Rafael, the enraptured soul, Stainless as wind or fire, The urge within the flux of things, The life that must aspire, With whom is the beginning, The worth, and the desire;

And Gabriel, the all-seeing mind, Bringer of truth and light, Who lays the courses of the stars In their stupendous flight, And calls the migrant flocks of spring Across the purple night;

And Michael, the artificer Of beauty, shape, and hue, Lord of the forges of the sun, The crucible of the dew, And driver of the plowing rain When the flowers are born anew.

Then said the Lord: "Ye shall account For the ministry ye hold, Since ye have been my sons to keep My purpose from of old. How fare the realms within your sway To perfections still untold?"

Answered each as he had the word. And a great silence fell On all the listening hosts of heaven To hear their captains tell,-- With the breath of the wind, the call of a bird. And the cry of a mighty bell.

Then the Lord said: "The time is ripe For finishing my plan, And the accomplishment of that For which all time began. Therefore on you is laid the task Of the fashioning of man;

"In your own likeness shall he be, To triumph in the end. I only give him Michael's strength To guard him and defend, With Gabriel to be his guide, And Rafael his friend.

"Ye shall go forth upon the earth, And make there Paradise, And be the angels of that place To make men glad and wise, With loving-kindness in their hearts, And knowledge in their eyes.

"And ye shall be man's counsellors That neither rest nor sleep, To cheer the lonely, lift the frail, And solace them that weep. And ever on his wandering trail Your watch-fires ye shall keep;

"Till in the far years he shall find The country of his quest, The empire of the open truth, The vision of the best, Foreseen by every mother saint With her new-born on her breast."

At the Making of Man

_First all the host of Raphael In liveries of gold, Lifted the chorus on whose rhythm The spinning spheres are rolled,-- The Seraphs of the morning calm Whose hearts are never cold._

He shall be born a spirit, Part of the soul that yearns, The core of vital gladness That suffers and discerns, The stir that breaks the budding sheath When the green spring returns,--

The gist of power and patience Hid in the plasmic clay, The calm behind the senses, The passionate essay To make his wise and lovely dream Immortal on a day.

The soft, Aprilian ardors That warm the waiting loam Shall whisper in his pulses To bid him overcome, And he shall learn the wonder-cry Beneath the azure dome.

And though all-dying nature Should teach him to deplore, The ruddy fires of autumn Shall lure him but the more To pass from joy to stronger joy, As through an open door.

He shall have hope and honor, Proud trust and courage stark, To hold him to his purpose Through the unlighted dark, And love that sees the moon's full orb In the first silver arc.

And he shall live by kindness And the heart's certitude, Which moves without misgiving In ways not understood, Sure only of the vast event,-- The large and simple good.

_Then Gabriel's host in silver gear And vesture twilight blue, The spirits of immortal mind, The warders of the true, Took up the theme that gives the world Significance anew._

He shall be born to reason, And have the primal need To understand and follow Wherever truth may lead,-- To grow in wisdom like a tree Unfolding from a seed.

A watcher by the sheepfolds, With wonder in his eyes, He shall behold the seasons, And mark the planets rise, Till all the marching firmament Shall rouse his vast surmise.

Beyond the sweep of vision, Or utmost reach of sound, This cunning fire-maker, This tiller of the ground, Shall learn the secrets of the suns And fathom the profound.

For he must prove all being Sane, beauteous, benign, And at the heart of nature Discover the divine,-- Himself the type and symbol Of the eternal trine.

He shall perceive the kindling Of knowledge, far and dim, As of the fire that brightens Below the dark sea-rim, When ray by ray the splendid sun Floats to the world's wide brim.

And out of primal instinct, The lore of lair and den, He shall emerge to question How, wherefore, whence, and when, Till the last frontier of the truth Shall lie within his ken.

_Then Michael's scarlet-suited host Took up the word and sang; As though a trumpet had been loosed In heaven, the arches rang; For these were they who feel the thrill Of beauty like a pang._

He shall be framed and balanced For loveliness and power, Lithe as the supple creatures, And colored as a flower, Sustained by the all-feeding earth, Nurtured by wind and shower,